our Houses of Parliament, with their bewildering but grandiose
agglomeration of shafts and turrets, spires and pinnacles; and the two
buildings should rank side by side in the esteem of the English-speaking
peoples, as the twin foci of our civilisation.

LETTER VII

American Hospitality--Instances--Conversation and
Story-Telling--Over-Profusion in Hospitality--Expensiveness of Life in
America--The American Barber--Postscript: An Anglo-American Club.

BOSTON.

Much has been said of American hospitality; too much cannot possibly be
said. Here am I in Boston, the guest of one of the foremost clubs of the
city. I sit, as I write, at my bedroom window, with a view over the
whole of Boston Common, and the beautiful spires of the Back-Bay region
beyond. I step out on my balcony, and the gilded dome of the State
House--"the Hub of the Universe"--is but a stone's-throw off. Through
the leafless branches of the trees I can see the back of St. Gaudens'
beautiful Shaw Monument, and beyond it the graceful dip of upper
Beacon-street. My room is as spacious and luxurious as heart can desire,
lighted by half a dozen electric lamps, and with a private bath-room
attached, which is itself nearly as large as the bedroom assigned me in
the "swagger" hotel of New York--an establishment, by the way, of which
it has been wittily said that its purpose is "to provide exclusiveness
for the masses." All the comforts of the club are at my command; the
rooms are delightful, the food and service excellent. In short, I could
not be more conveniently or agreeably situated. Of course I pay the club
charges for my room and meals, but it is mere hospitality to allow me to
do so. And how do I come to be established in these quarters? The little
story is absolutely commonplace, but all the more typical.

In Washington I made the acquaintance of a gentleman who invited me to
lunch at the leading diplomatic and social club. I had no claim upon him
of any sort, beyond the most casual introduction. He regaled me with
little-neck clams, terrapin, and all the delicacies of the season, and
invited to meet me half a dozen of the most interesting men in the city,
all of them strangers to me until that moment. I found myself seated
next an exceedingly amiable man, whose name I had not caught when we
were introduced. One of the first things he asked me was--not "What did
I think of America?" no one ever asked me that--but "Where was I going
next?" To Bo