literally more money than they knew what to do with,
and desirous of any means of indicating their powers of expenditure.
It has been said of another hotel at Bar Harbor that "Anyone can stay
there who is worth two millions of dollars, or can produce a
certificate from the Recorder of New York that he is a direct
descendant of Hendrik Hudson or Diedrich Knickerbocker."

Many other American hotels suggest themselves to me as sufficiently
individual in character to discriminate them from the ruck. Such are
the Hygieia at Old Point Comfort, with its Southern guests in summer
and its Northern guests in winter; looking out from its carefully
enclosed and glazed piazzas over the waste of Hampton Roads, where the
"Merrimac" wrought devastation to the vessels of the Union until
itself vanquished by the turret-ship "Monitor;" the enormous
caravansaries of Saratoga, one of which alone accommodates two
thousand visitors, or the population of a small town, while the three
largest have together room for five thousand people; the hotel at the
White Sulphur Springs of Virginia, for nearly a century the typical
resort of the wealth and aristocracy of the South, and still
furnishing the eligible stranger with a most attractive picture of
Southern beauty, grace, warm-heartedness, and manners; the Stockbridge
Inn in the Berkshire Hills, long a striking exception to the statement
that no country inns of the best English type can be found in the
United States, but unfortunately burned down a year or two ago; the
Catskill Mountain House, situated on an escarpment rising so abruptly
from the plain of the Hudson that the view from it has almost the same
effect as if we were leaning out of the car of a balloon or over the
battlements of a castle two thousand feet high; the colossal
Auditorium of Chicago, with its banquet hall and kitchen on the tenth
floor; and the Palace Hotel of San Francisco, with its twelve hundred
beds and its covered and resonant central court. Enough has, however,
been said to show that all American hotels are not the immense and
featureless barracks that many Europeans believe, but that they also
run through a full gamut of variety and character.

The restaurant is by no means such an institution in the United States
as in the continental part of Europe; in this matter the American
habit is more on all fours with English usage. The cafe of Europe is,
perhaps, best represented by the piazza. Of course there are numerou