seen the air full of dancing particles of light, like the gold leaf in
Dantzic brandy. One of the most impressive things I ever saw, though I
did not then realise its tragic significance, was the huge column of
smoke that rose into the clear blue air from the Windsor Hotel fire. I
happened to come out on Fifth Avenue, close to the Manhattan Club, just
as the tail of the St. Patrick's Day procession was passing; and,
looking up the avenue after it, I was ware of a gigantic white pillar
standing motionless, as it seemed to me, and cleaving the limitless blue
dome almost to the zenith. The procession moved quietly on; no one
appeared to take any notice; and as fires are ineffective in the
daylight, I turned down the avenue instead, of up, and saw no more of
the spectacle. But I shall never forget that "pillar of cloud by day,"
standing out in the sunshine, white as marble or sea foam.

At night, again, under the purple, star-lit sky, street life in the
central region of New York is indescribably exhilarating. From Union
Square to Herald Square, and even further up, Broadway and many of the
cross streets flash out at dusk into the most brilliant illumination.
Theatres, restaurants, stores, are outlined in incandescent lamps; the
huge electric trolleys come sailing along in an endless stream,
profusely jewelled with electricity; and down the thickly-gemmed vista
of every cross street one can see the elevated trains, like luminous
winged serpents, skimming through the air.[D] The great restaurants are
crowded with gaily-dressed merry-makers; and altogether there is a
sense of festivity in the air, without any flagrantly meretricious
element in it, which I plead guilty to finding very enjoyable. From the
moral, and even from the loftily æsthetic point of view, this gaudy,
glittering Vanity Fair is no doubt open to criticism. What reconciles me
to it æsthetically is the gemlike transparency of its colouring. Garish
it is, no doubt, but not in the least stifling, smoky, or lurid. The