The scenes that took place at the socialist congress at Amsterdam were repeated on the Boston platform,—a Japanese and a Russian shook hands amid a storm of applause. According to old concepts were not both of them traitors to their native countries? Or is the whole thing somewhat comical? On the contrary, is not this action more attractive than that which was related on the same day in a report from the theater of war. In one grave two dead men were found clutching each other; the hand of the Japanese was clinched on the Russian’s throat and the Russian’s fingers had penetrated the eye sockets of the Japanese. A Hindoo, in native costume, from the sacred land of the Lama, was also there. He complained of the desecration that the war had wrought in the monks’ places of devotion. “I come from the jungles,” so his speech began, “and to the jungles I return.” A tiny Chinese woman, also in national costume, was one of the most popular speakers at the Congress. Her name is Dr. Kim. Educated by English missionaries, she had come to America to study medicine, and now she is going back to China to practice there. She speaks exquisite English, and with the sweetest voice and a smiling mouth she spoke the bitterest truths to the Europeans about the presumption with which they were trying to impose their warlike civilization upon an older and peaceful culture, and their dogmas upon a ripened philosophical view of the world, and, finally, were aiming to treat the Chinese Empire as a country to be looted. “We can learn much from you, friends” (the word “friends” she spoke with a peculiarly sweet intonation), “that we grant; and if those lusts of conquest prevail, then we shall have to be grateful for learning from you, friends” (spoken tenderly), “the art of defending ourselves successfully against you.” I have had opportunity for but little sight-seeing about Boston, for the days were filled with meetings and labors. But the Public Library I did visit. Oh, those book palaces, those book cathedrals in America! What is not granted there to the people hungry for learning! And in what form it is given! The building is adorned with all the magic of architectural and plastic arts; the frescoes that adorn the palatial stairway—designed by Puvis de Chavannes—are a poem; another great master, Sargent, was intrusted with the decoration of some of the inner rooms. Beauty everywhere!