Boston, January 1, 1901. We thought we had seen the birth of the Twentieth Century in Rome; when we reached Boston we found out we were mistaken, for here the new century begins to-day--what luck to celebrate twice! Last night at fifteen minutes before midnight, we were on Beacon Hill, outside the State House, where half of Boston had gathered for a mass meeting, called by the Twentieth Century Club. The services began by Boston’s G. O. M., Edward Everett Hale, reading the Nineteenth Psalm. The night was mild, not a breath of east wind, the stars like diamonds, the opening words most appropriate: “The Heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork.” The Handel and Haydn Society sang a cantata in great form, then a host of trumpets rang out a splendid call, the retreat of the dear old Nineteenth Century--I felt that I held it dying in my arms. The whole vast crowd that had stood silent then burst out with “My Country, ’tis of Thee” as I never quite heard it sung before. At twelve o’clock the bells swung and rung themselves hoarse in every belfry in Boston, and people began to wish each other “Happy Century”, instead of “Happy New Year!” * * * * * January 2. Last evening to an original festivity arranged by the Saturday Morning Club. All the dresses were of the styles worn between 1800 and 1880. The prettiest was a tulle ball dress of 1859 worn over a large crinoline; the ugliest one a magenta silk of about 1870 with a ruffled train and an enormous bustle. The papers are full of stories of old people who have lived in three centuries; we who were born in the fifties haven’t that chance. * * * * * January 7. Gave a talk upon my Roman experiences before the New England Woman’s Club. I sounded a blast for the American School for Classical Study in Rome and for Richard Norton, who made it the vital place it now is. The school was dead-alive till he took it, breathed upon it and made it alive with his life. A greater transformation I never saw, nor a more striking illustration of how a man can work his vitality into a stodgy institution like yeast into heavy dough, and see it rise, almost overnight. 1902 was a year filled with the absorbing interests of travel. We had for our companions two young friends, Gladys and Marion Lawson. As I write, _vingt ans après_, my clearest memories are of our visit to Greece, and of London in this the coronation year. [To my Mother.]