he New York fashionable
dinner, so far as its menu is concerned, seemed to me incomparably
simpler than its fashionable counterpart in London. The only form of
extravagance, or of what one might call ostentation, so far as I could
see, was what would have been thought in London the multitude of
superfluous footmen, and in houses like that of Lloyd Bryce even this
feature was wanting. The only dinner which, within the limits of my own
experience, represented the extravagance so often depicted by
journalists--a dinner which was signalized by monumental plate, which
rose from the table to the ceiling--was at a house which, despite its
magnitude, was practically ignored by the arbitresses of polite society.

When the delivery of my addresses at Columbia University was completed I
went from New York to Cambridge and remained there for ten days. Harvard
in many ways reminded me of our own Cambridge. The professors, among
whom I made many charming acquaintances, had not only the accent, but
also the intonation of Englishmen. They had with them more, too, of the
ways of the outer world than is commonly found in the university dons of
England. Notable among these was Prof. William James, with whom I was
already familiar through his singularly interesting book, _Varieties of
Religious Experience_--to me very much more interesting than his
brother's later novels.

At Harvard, also, I was presented to Mr. Roosevelt, who had come there
for the purpose of addressing a great meeting of students. The
presentation took place in a large private room, and was a ceremony
resembling that of a presentation to the King of England. Some dozen or
more persons were introduced to the President in succession, their names
being announced by some _de facto_ official. With each of these he
entered into a more or less prolonged conversation. I observed his
methods with interest. In each case he displayed a remarkable knowledge
of the achievements or opinions of the person whom he was for the time
addressing; and, having thus done his duty to these, he proceeded to an
exposition, much more lengthy, of his own. When my turn came he was very
soon confiding to me that nothing which he had read for years had struck
him so forcibly as parts of my own _Veil of the Temple_, which he had
evidently read with care. He crowned these flattering remarks by asking
me, should this be possible, to come and see him at Washington before I
returned to England; and then,