I had heard of Boston almost more than of any town in the United States. Henry James whom I’d loved from childhood, had come from there, and my mother-in-law who used to say to me: “I am not American, I am Bostonian.” Henry Adams I had known, and Cabot Lodge, the friend of my father, they too came from there. I had heard of the child who recited the Lord’s prayer saying: “... Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, as it is in Boston,” and so I started off with curiosity, and expectations. I got there on Friday night just in time to speak at Ford Hall, which was fitted with a motley crowd (and some Motleys among the crowd, who had come out of curiosity to see their unknown in-law, and who would never otherwise have dreamt of going to such a meeting!) The audience were responsive and sympathetic, but I knew they had to be cajoled, entertained, amused. I made them laugh. So they stayed and listened. I made an appeal, and brought in a few hundred dollars. But I despise the methods that have to be used to induce sympathy for starving babies. People have to be bribed to give, bribed by the possibility of amusement--endless vitality is exhausted in organising balls, theatre performances, concerts, or entertaining lectures that will draw the otherwise apathetic. I have seen in a little fifth story room on the East Side, the voluntary efforts of skilled workers, who are giving up their Saturday afternoons and holidays and giving their labor free and making garments for the children of Russia from the lengths of woolen material donated by various mills. There I saw some of the garment workers who have been so long out on strike, not only contributing their work, but a dollar a month besides towards the rent of their premises. These were the “Tailors’ Technical Aid Society” for Russian children. These were the people whose services brought a lump to my throat as I watched the zeal and earnestness with which they worked. Theirs was the real blessedness of giving. To the people of leisure and means I hate to appeal, telling them my personal narrative lightly for their entertainment. Even as I did it, I vowed it should be the last time. On Saturday I was invited to lunch and speak at the Harvard Liberal Club. I went, thinking it would be pleasant and liking immature youth, and having thoughts full of the remote future possibilities of Dick’s education. As it turned out they were not liberal at all but rather prejudiced, and I was assailed with economic questions and problems. Very erudite indeed were these young men. But they seemed to believe in human nature working only for gain, ignoring completely the existence of enthusiasms and beliefs, and sacrifices for ideals, which made those skilled workers, just referred to, work for no gain at all, as they never would have worked for an employer. I put up the best fight I could, but in the end, feeling exhausted and battered, I thanked God that I had no education but at least an open heart.