With the old buildings, the old spirit of _laissez faire_ went up in smoke, and in the embers a municipal conscience was born.

Almost as though by the light of the flames which engulfed it, the city began to see itself as it had never seen itself before: to take account of stock, to plan broadly for the future.
Nor has the new-born spirit died.

Only last year an extensive red-light district was closed effectively and once for all.

Baltimore is to-day free from flagrant commercialized vice.

And if not quite all the old cobble pavements and open-gutter drains have been eliminated, there are but few of them left--left almost as though for purposes of contrast--and the Baltimorean who takes you to the Ghetto and shows you these ancient remnants may immediately thereafter escort you to the Fallsway, where the other side of the picture is presented.
The Fallsway is a brand-new boulevard of pleasing aspect, the peculiar feature of which is that it is nothing more or less than a cover over the top of Jones's Falls, which figured in the early history of Baltimore as a water course, but which later came to figure as a great, open, trunk sewer.
Every one in Baltimore is proud of the Fallsway, but particularly so are the city engineers who carried the work through.