u will find in every foreign capital among the resident Americans, just
such a state of affairs as convulsed that German spa. The native
"swells" have come to be the apple of discord that divides our good
people among themselves. Those who have been successful in knowing the
foreigners avoid their compatriots and live with their new friends, while
the other group who, from laziness, disinclination, or principle (?) have
remained true to their American circle, cannot resist calling the others
snobs, and laughing (a bit enviously, perhaps) at their upward struggles.

It is the same in Florence. The little there was left of an American
society went to pieces on that rock. Our parents forty years ago seem to
me to have been much more self-respecting and sensible. They knew
perfectly well that there was nothing in common between themselves and
the Italian nobility, and that those good people were not going to put
themselves out to make the acquaintance of a lot of strangers, mostly of
another religion, unless it was to be materially to their advantage. So
they left them quietly alone. I do not pretend to judge any one's
motives, but confess I cannot help regarding with suspicion a foreigner
who leaves his own circle to mingle with strangers. It resembles too
closely the amiabilities of the wolf for the lamb, or the sudden
politeness of a school-boy to a little girl who has received a box of
candies.

No. 37--The Newport of the Past

Few of the "carriage ladies and gentlemen" who disport themselves in
Newport during the summer months, yachting and dancing through the short
season, then flitting away to fresh fields and pastures new, realize that
their daintily shod feet have been treading historic ground, or care to
cast a thought back to the past. Oddly enough, to the majority of people
the past is a volume rarely opened. Not that it bores them to read it,
but because they, like children, want some one to turn over its yellow
leaves and point out the pictures to them. Few of the human motes that
dance in the rays of the afternoon sun as they slant across the little
Park, think of the fable which asserts that a sea-worn band of
adventurous men, centuries before the Cabots or the Genoese discoverer
thought of crossing the Atlantic, had pushed bravely out over untried
seas and landed on this rocky coast. Yet one apparent evidence of their
stay tempts our thoughts back to the times when it is said to have be