To see and to
feel the best of it, you must be down in the Narrows, or somewhere
near there. The fierce heat has gone out of the air, but there is a
gentle warmth left in it. All the shores near you are turning from
green to brown and yellow, with here and there a dash of red. The sun
makes every sail in the bay a gleaming spot of white. Far up the bay
you see just an end of the city, with the tall buildings standing so
close that it looks like one great castle, built all over a hill that
slopes steeply down to the water on both sides. The Bridge looks like
a spider's web, spun across to the other shore. Beyond it all the
hills look purple, through the thin mist. If, instead of having seen
all this often, you saw it for the first time--if you were coming from
a far country, where you had always been poor--if you had toiled all
your life to pay your rent, never expecting to do more--then perhaps
you would look, more than anything else, at the giant woman standing
before you and holding her torch high into the sky to light the world.
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