the latter city they are merely tolerated because they do spend.  The Londoner seems to think that Americans are people whose only claim to be classed as civilized is that they have money, and the regrettable thing about that is that the money is not English.  But the French are more logical and freer from prejudices than the British; so the difference of attitude is easily explained.  Only once in Paris did I have cause to blush for my American citizenship.  I had become quite friendly with a young man from Luxemburg whom I had met at the big cafe.  He was a stolid, slow-witted fellow, but, as we say, with a heart of gold.  He and I grew attached to each other and were together frequently.  He was a great admirer of the United States and never grew tired of talking to me about the country and asking for information.  It was his intention to try his fortune there some day.  One night he asked me in a tone of voice which indicated that he expected an authoritative denial of an ugly rumor:  “Did they really burn a man alive in the United States?” I never knew what I stammered out to him as an answer.  I should have felt relieved if I could even have said to him:  “Well, only one.”

When we arrived in London, my sadness at leaving Paris was turned into despair.  After my long stay in the French capital, huge, ponderous, massive London seemed to me as ugly a thing as man could contrive to make.  I thought of Paris as a beauty spot on the face of the earth, and of London as a big freckle.  But soon London’s massiveness, I might say its very ugliness, began to impress me.  I began to experience that sense of grandeur which one feels when he looks at a great mountain or a mighty river.  Beside London Paris becomes a toy, a pretty plaything.  And I must own that before I left the world’s metropolis I discovered much there that was beautiful.  The beauty in and about London is entirely different from that in and about Paris; and I could not but admit that the beauty of the French city seemed hand-made, artificial, as though set up for the photographer’s camera, everything nicely adjusted so as not to spoil the picture; while that of the English city was rugged, natural, and fresh.

How these two cities typify the two peoples who built them!  Even the sound of their names expresses a certain racial difference.  Paris is the concrete expression of the gaiety, regard for symmetry, love of art, and, I might well add, of the morality of the French people.  London stands for the conservatism, the solidarity, the utilitarianism, and, I might well add, the hypocrisy of the Anglo-Saxon.  It may sound odd to speak of the morality of the French, if not of the hypocrisy of the English; but this seeming paradox impresses me as a deep truth.  I saw many things in Paris which were immoral according to English standards, but the absence of hypocrisy, the absence of the spirit to do the thing if it might only be done in secret, robbed these very immoralities of the damning