Evening star., 1947-08-31

Reviewed by
MARY McGRORY.
Beautiful, old Boston has been
pretty thoroughly taken apart in the
national press during the past few
years. It's political acrobatics, its
money troubles (due in large part to
the independence of surrounding
townships) and its racial discords
(much lessened, by the way, since
the first flaming headlines in out
of-town Journalist have been held up
for the scorn of the rest of the Ma
ton by a steady stream Of observers,
including Georgia's Ellis Arnall.
Now team of New Englanders have
put Boston together again, so to
speak, in a handsome and affec-
tionate volume of prose and pictures
which proves that its charm at least
is incorruptible.
In her sprightly, scholarly text,
Esther Forbes, Pulitzer Prize
winning biographer of Paul Revere,
does not dwell on the controversial
aspects of the Boston scene. She
stresses history and atmosphere,
of which the city has almost more
shan it's share. And in recalling its
magnificent past. which Boston
takes more or less for granted, she
is perhaps suggesting that by a
proper exertion of its inherent
regional qualities, it may once again
become "the Hub of the Universe" 7"
Well Qualified.
Miss Forbes is, of course, from
Worcester, which was strictly out of
bounds to the late George Apley.
But a long and loving familiarity
with every historic brick in the city
have qualified her perfectly for her
role of guide. She has summed up
admirably the prevailing outland
attitude toward the city:
Probably no city in America has
furnished more jokes-its banned
books and it's uplift, it's baked beans.
rubber plants, sensible shoes, brown
bread, Goldfish cakes and accent, the
markers on the trees in the Public
Garden, the mudscrapers, serious
culture and traffic snarls. But
no American city has been more
loved. The gold dome of the State
House and the lavender panes on
Beacon Hill. The delicate perfec-
ton of a doorway and a glimpse of
a Hepplewhite chairback through a
white curtain " Boston can still
mix idealism with indifference-and
be called hypocritical. And still, for
better or worse. walks little by
her wild lone"
Arthur Grifins photographs are
above reproach. He has caught
everything but the east wind that
sweeps up from the harbor on a
hot day. While doing full justice
to the csowding mementoes of
Puritan and Revolutionary days,
the storied slopes of Beacon Hill,
the museums and Symphony Hall,
he has outdone himself in the pic
lures of the Common and the Pub
lie Garden, that 72-acre patch of
green in the heart of the city that
the true Bostonian loves as he does
his own front yard.
A Fine Portrait.
Ralph Waldo Emerson once herded
COWS on the Common. Now lovers
sit on the benches around the
Parkman Bandstand oblivious to
the ceaseless harangues of anna
teur orators. Homeward-bound Pc
destrians have to pick their way
through knots of North End young
sters squirming into their clothes
after a hard day in the hip-deep
waves of the Frog Pond. Across the
street in the more circumspect Pub
lie Gardens, lovers of beauty stroll
among symmetrically perfect flower
beds and admire bulbs which are
arranged to spell out greetings to
visiting dignitaries. Children plead
for one more ride on the swan
boat and sailors navigate rowboats
through the quiet waters OF the
Lagoon. And everywhere underfoot
are importunate squirrels and pi-
geons which have been spoiled by
the tourists. Mr.. Griffin has pic
tured it beautifully. (He had moth
ing to do with the reproduction,
which in the case of several of the
color photographs is not too felici-
tous.)
Between them, Miss Forbes, with
her brisk, bright prose, and Mr..
Griffin with his lucid pictures, they
have provided the ideal introduc-
ton to a city which needs to be
understood as well as seen. THE
Boston Book" offers hearts balm
for the natives, enlightenment for
the visitor and a severe case OF
nostalgia for the exile. You couldn't
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