the american mind _the e. t. earl lectures_ by the same author the american mind park-street papers john greenleaf whittier: a memoir walt whitman the amateur spirit a study of prose fiction the powers at play the plated city salem kittredge and other stories the broughton house the american mind by bliss perry [illustration: the riverside press] boston and new york houghton mifflin company copyright, , by bliss perry all rights reserved _published october _ to walter morris hart preface _the material for this book was delivered as the e. t. earl lectures for at the pacific theological seminary, berkeley, california, and i wish to take this opportunity to express to the president and faculty of that institution my appreciation of their generous hospitality._ _the lectures were also given at the lowell institute, boston, the brooklyn institute, and elsewhere, under the title "american traits in american literature." in revising them for publication a briefer title has seemed desirable, and i have therefore availed myself of jefferson's phrase "the american mind," as suggesting, more accurately perhaps than the original title, the real theme of discussion._ b. p. cambridge, . contents i. race, nation, and book ii. the american mind iii. american idealism iv. romance and reaction v. humor and satire vi. individualism and fellowship the american mind i race, nation, and book many years ago, as a student in a foreign university, i remember attacking, with the complacency of youth, a german history of the english drama, in six volumes. i lost courage long before the author reached the age of elizabeth, but i still recall the subject of the opening chapter: it was devoted to the physical geography of great britain. writing, as the good german professor did, in the triumphant hour of taine's theory as to the significance of place, period, and environment in determining the character of any literary production, what could be more logical than to begin at the beginning? have not the chalk cliffs guarding the southern coast of england, have not the fatness of the midland counties and the soft rainy climate of a north atlantic island, and the proud, tenacious, self-assertive folk that are bred there, all left their trace upon _a midsummer night's dream_, and _every man in his humour_ and _she stoops to conquer_? undoubtedly. latitude and longitude, soil and rainfall and food-supply, racial origins and crossings, political and social and economic conditions, must assuredly leave their marks upon the mental and artistic productiveness of a people and upon the personality of individual writers. taine, who delighted to point out all this, and whose _english literature_ remains a monument of the defects as well as of the advantages of his method, was of course not the inventor of the climatic theory. it is older than aristotle, who discusses it in his treatise on _politics_. it was a topic of interest to the scholars of the renaissance. englishmen of the seventeenth century, with an unction of pseudo-science added to their natural patriotism, discovered in the english climate one of the reasons of england's greatness. thomas sprat, writing in on the history of the royal society, waxes bold and asserts: "if there can be a true character given of the universal temper of any nation under heaven, then certainly this must be ascribed to our countrymen, that they have commonly an unaffected sincerity, that they love to deliver their minds with a sound simplicity, that they have the middle qualities between the reserved, subtle southern and the rough, unhewn northern people, that they are not extremely prone to speak, that they are more concerned what others will think of the strength than of the fineness of what they say, and that a universal modesty possesses them. these qualities are so conspicuous and proper to the soil that we often hear them objected to us by some of our neighbor satyrists in more disgraceful expressions.... even the position of our climate, the air, the influence of the heaven, the composition of the english blood, as well as the embraces of the ocean, seem to join with the labours of the _royal society_ to render our country a land of experimental knowledge." the excellent sprat was the friend and executor of the poet cowley, who has in the preface to his _poems_ a charming passage about the relation of literature to the external circumstances in which it is written. "if _wit_ be such a _plant_ that it scarce receives heat enough to keep it alive even in the _summer_ of our cold _clymate_, how can it choose but wither in a long and a sharp _winter_? a warlike, various and a tragical age is best to write _of_, but worst to write _in_." and he adds this, concerning his own art of poetry: "there is nothing that requires so much serenity and chearfulness of _spirit_; it must not be either overwhelmed with the cares of _life_, or overcast with the _clouds_ of _melancholy_ and _sorrow_, or shaken and disturbed with the storms of injurious _fortune_; it must, like the _halcyon_, have fair weather to breed in. the soul must be filled with bright and delightful _idaeas_, when it undertakes to communicate delight to others, which is the main end of _poesie_. one may see through the stile of _ovid de trist._, the humbled and dejected condition of _spirit_ with which he wrote it; there scarce remains any footstep of that _genius_, _quem nec jovis ira, nec ignes_, etc. the _cold_ of the country has strucken through all his faculties, and benummed the very _feet_ of his _verses_." madame de staël's _germany_, one of the most famous of the "national character" books, begins with a description of the german landscape. but though nobody, from ovid in exile down to madame de staël, questions the general significance of place, time, and circumstances as affecting the nature of a literary product, when we come to the exact and as it were mathematical demonstration of the precise workings of these physical influences, our generation is distinctly more cautious than were the literary critics of forty years ago. indeed, it is a hundred years since fisher ames, ridiculing the theory that climate acts directly upon literary products, said wittily of greece: "the figs are as fine as ever, but where are the pindars?" the theory of race, in particular, has been sharply questioned by the experts. "saxon" and "norman," for example, no longer seem to us such simple terms as sufficed for the purpose of scott's _ivanhoe_ or of thierry's _norman conquest_, a book inspired by scott's romance. the late professor freeman, with characteristic bluntness, remarked of the latter book: "thierry says at the end of his work that there are no longer either normans or saxons except in history.... but in thierry's sense of the word, it would be truer to say that there never were 'normans' or 'saxons' anywhere, save in the pages of romances like his own." there is a brutal directness about this verdict upon a rival historian which we shall probably persist in calling "saxon"; but it is no worse than the criticisms of matthew arnold's essay on "the celtic spirit" made to-day by university professors who happen to know old irish at first hand, and consequently consider arnold's opinion on celtic matters to be hopelessly amateurish. the wiser scepticism of our day concerning all hard-and-fast racial distinctions has been admirably summed up by josiah royce. "a race psychology," he declares, "is still a science for the future to discover.... we do not scientifically know what the true racial varieties of mental type really are. no doubt there are such varieties. the judgment day, or the science of the future, may demonstrate what they are. we are at present very ignorant regarding the whole matter." nowhere have the extravagances of the application of racial theories to intellectual products been more pronounced than in the fields of art and literature. audiences listen to a waltz which the programme declares to be an adaptation of a hungarian folk-song, and though they may be more ignorant of hungary than shakespeare was of bohemia, they have no hesitation in exclaiming: "how truly hungarian this is!" or, it may be, how truly "japanese" is this vase which was made in japan--perhaps for the american market; or how intensely "russian" is this melancholy tale by turgenieff. this prompt deduction of racial qualities from works of art which themselves give the critic all the information he possesses about the races in question,--or, in other words, the enthusiastic assertion that a thing is like itself,--is one of the familiar notes of amateur criticism. it is travelling in a circle, and the corregiosity of corregio is the next station. blood tells, no doubt, and a masterpiece usually betrays some token of the place and hour of its birth. a knowledge of the condition of political parties in athens in b.c. adds immensely to the enjoyment of the readers of aristophanes; the fun becomes funnier and the daring even more splendid than before. molière's training as an actor does affect the dramaturgic quality of his comedies. all this is demonstrable, and to the prevalent consciousness of it our generation is deeply indebted to taine and his pupils. but before displaying dogmatically the inevitable brandings of racial and national traits on a national literature, before pointing to this and that unmistakable evidence of local or temporal influence on the form or spirit of a masterpiece, we are now inclined to make some distinct reservations. these reservations are not without bearing upon our own literature in america. there are, for instance, certain artists who seem to escape the influences of the time-spirit. the most familiar example is that of keats. he can no doubt be assigned to the george the fourth period by a critical examination of his vocabulary, but the characteristic political and social movements of that epoch in england left him almost untouched. edgar allan poe might have written some of his tales in the seventeenth century or in the twentieth; he might, like robert louis stevenson, have written in samoa rather than in the baltimore, philadelphia, or new york of his day; his description of the ragged mountains of virginia, within very sight of the university which he attended, was borrowed, in the good old convenient fashion, from macaulay; in fact, it requires something of poe's own ingenuity to find in poe, who is one of the indubitable assets of american literature, anything distinctly american. wholly aside from such spiritual insulation of the single writer, there is the obvious fact that none of the arts, not even literature, and not all of them together, can furnish a wholly adequate representation of racial or national characteristics. it is well known to-day that the so-called "classic" examples of greek art, most of which were brought to light and discoursed upon by critics from two to four centuries ago, represent but a single phase of greek feeling; and that the greeks, even in what we choose to call their most characteristic period, had a distinctly "romantic" tendency which their more recently discovered plastic art betrays. but even if we had all the lost statues, plays, poems, and orations, all the greek paintings about which we know so little, and the greek music about which we know still less, does anybody suppose that this wealth of artistic expression would furnish a wholly satisfactory notion of the racial and psychological traits of the greek people? one may go even further. does a truly national art exist anywhere,--an art, that is to say, which conveys a trustworthy and adequate expression of the national temper as a whole? we have but to reflect upon the european and american judgments, during the last thirty years, concerning the representative quality of the art of japan, and to observe how many of those facile generalizations about the japanese character, deduced from vases and prints and enamel, were smashed to pieces by the russo-japanese war. this may illustrate the blunders of foreign criticism, perhaps, rather than any inadequacy in the racially representative character of japanese art. but it is impossible that critics, and artists themselves, should not err, in the conscious endeavor to pronounce upon the infinitely complex materials with which they are called upon to deal. we must confess that the expression of racial and national characteristics, by means of only one art, such as literature, or by all the arts together, is at best imperfect, and is always likely to be misleading unless corroborated by other evidence. for it is to be remembered that in literature, as in the other fields of artistic activity, we are dealing with the question of form; of securing a concrete and pleasurable embodiment of certain emotions. it may well happen that literature not merely fails to give an adequate report of the racial or national or personal emotions felt during a given epoch, but that it fails to report these emotions at all. not only the "old, unhappy, far-off" things of racial experience, but the new and delight-giving experiences of the hour, may lack their poet. widespread moods of public elation or wistfulness or depression have passed without leaving a shadow upon the mirror of art. there was no one to hold the mirror or even to fashion it. no note of renaissance criticism, whether in italy, france, or england, is more striking, and in a way more touching, than the universal feeling that in the rediscovery of the classics men had found at last the "terms of art," the rules and methods of a game which they had long wished to be playing. englishmen and frenchmen of the sixteenth century will not allow that their powers are less virile, their emotions less eager, than those of the greeks and romans. only, lacking the very terms of art, they had not been able to arrive at fit expression; the soul had found no body wherewith to clothe itself into beauty. as they avowed in all simplicity, they needed schoolmasters; the discipline of aristotle and horace and virgil; a body of critical doctrine, to teach them how to express the france and england or italy of their day, and thus give permanence to their fleeting vision of the world. naïve as may have been the renaissance expression of this need of formal training, blind as it frequently was to the beauty which we recognize in the undisciplined vernacular literatures of mediæval europe, those groping scholars were essentially right. no one can paint or compose by nature. one must slowly master an art of expression. now through long periods of time, and over many vast stretches of territory, as our own american writing abundantly witnesses, the whole formal side of expression may be neglected. "literature," in its narrower sense, may not exist. in that restricted and higher meaning of the term, literature has always been uncommon enough, even in athens or florence. it demands not merely personal distinction or power, not merely some uncommon height or depth or breadth of capacity and insight, but a purely artistic training, which in the very nature of the case is rare. millions of russians, perhaps, have felt about the general problems of life much as turgenieff felt, but they lacked the sheer literary art with which the _notes of a sportsman_ was written. thousands of frontier lawyers and politicians shared lincoln's hard and varied and admirable training in the mastery of speech, but in his hands alone was the weapon wrought to such perfection of temper and weight and edge that he spoke and wrote literature without knowing it. such considerations belong, i am aware, to the accepted commonplaces,--perhaps to what william james used to call "the unprofitable delineation of the obvious." everybody recognizes that literary gifts imply an exceptionally rich development of general human capacities, together with a professional aptitude and training of which but few men are capable. there is but one lumberman in camp who can play the fiddle, though the whole camp can dance. thus the great book, we are forever saying, is truly representative of myriads of minds in a certain degree of culture, although but one man could have written it. the writing member of a family is often the one who acquires notoriety and a bank account, but he is likely to have candid friends who admit, though not always in his presence, that, aside from this one professional gift and practice, he is not intellectually or emotionally or spiritually superior to his brothers and sisters. waldo emerson thought himself the intellectual inferior of his brother charles; and good observers loved to maintain that john holmes was wittier than oliver wendell, and ezekiel webster a better lawyer than daniel. applied to the literary history of a race, this principle is suggestive. we must be slow to affirm that, because certain ideas and feelings did not attain, in this or that age or place, to purely literary expression, they were therefore not in existence. the men and women of the colonial period in our own country, for instance, have been pretty uniformly declared to have been deficient in the sense of beauty. what is the evidence? it is mostly negative. they produced no poetry, fiction, painting, sculpture, or music worthy of the name. they were predominantly puritan, and the whole world has been informed that english puritanism was hostile to art. they were preoccupied with material and moral concerns. even if they had remained in england, professor trent affirms, these contemporaries of milton and bunyan would have produced no art or literature. now it is quite true that for nearly two hundred years after the date of the first settlement of the american colonists, opportunities for cultivating the arts did not exist. but that the sense of beauty was wholly atrophied, i, for one, do not believe. the passionate eagerness with which the forefathers absorbed the noblest of all poetry and prose in the pages of their one book, the bible; the unwearied curiosity and care with which those farmers and fishermen and woodsmen read the signs of the sky; their awe of the dark wilderness and their familiar traffic with the great deep; the silences of lonely places; the opulence of primeval meadows by the clear streams; the english flowers that were made to bloom again in farmhouse windows and along garden walks; the inner visions, more lovely still, of duty and of moral law; the spirit of sacrifice; the daily walk with god, whether by green pastures of the spirit or through ways that were dark and terrible;--is there in all this no discipline of the soul in moral beauty, and no training of the eye to perceive the exquisite harmonies of the visible earth? it is true that the puritans had no professional men of letters; it is true that doctrinal sermons provided their chief intellectual sustenance; true that their lives were stern, and that many of the softer emotions were repressed. but beauty may still be traced in the fragments of their recorded speech, in their diaries and letters and phrases of devotion. you will search the eighteenth century of old england in vain for such ecstasies of wonder at the glorious beauty of the universe as were penned by jonathan edwards in his youthful _diary_. there is every presumption, from what we know of the two men, that whittier's father and grandfather were peculiarly sensitive to the emotions of home and neighborhood and domesticity which their gifted descendant--too physically frail to be absorbed in the rude labor of the farm--has embodied in _snow-bound_. the quaker poet knew that he surpassed his forefathers in facility in verse-making, but he would have been amused (as his _margaret smith's journal_ proves) at the notion that his ancestors were without a sense of beauty or that they lacked responsiveness to the chords of fireside sentiment. he was simply the only whittier, except his sister elizabeth, who had ever found leisure, as old-fashioned correspondents used to say, "to take his pen in hand." this leisure developed in him the sense--latent no doubt in his ancestors--of the beauty of words, and the excitement of rhythm. emerson's _journal_ in the eighteen-thirties glows with a dionysiac rapture over what he calls "delicious days"; but did the seven generations of clergymen from whom emerson descended have no delicious and haughty and tender days that passed unrecorded? formal literature perpetuates and glorifies many aspects of individual and national experience; but how much eludes it wholly, or is told, if at all, in broken syllables, in pentecostal tongues that seem to be our own and yet are unutterably strange! to confess thus that literature, in the proper sense of the word, represents but a narrow segment of personal or racial experience, is very far from a denial of the genuineness and the significance of the affirmations which literature makes. we recognize instinctively that whittier's _snow-bound_ is a truthful report, not merely of a certain farmhouse kitchen in east haverhill, massachusetts, during the early nineteenth century, but of a mode of thinking and feeling which is widely diffused wherever the anglo-saxon race has wandered. perhaps _snow-bound_ lacks a certain universality of suggestiveness which belongs to a still more famous poem, _the cotter's saturday night_ of burns, but both of these portrayals of rustic simplicity and peace owe their celebrity to their truly representative character. they are evidence furnished by a single art, as to a certain mode and coloring of human existence; but every corroboration of that evidence heightens our admiration for the artistic sincerity and insight of the poet. to draw an illustration from a more splendid epoch, let us remind ourselves that the literature of the "spacious times of great elizabeth"--a period of strong national excitement, and one deeply representative of the very noblest and most permanent traits of english national character--was produced within startlingly few years and in a local territory extremely limited. the very language in which that literature is clothed was spoken only by the court, by a couple of counties, and at the two universities. its prose and verse were frankly experimental. it is true that such was the emotional ferment of the score of years preceding the armada, that great captains and voyagers who scarcely wrote a line were hailed as kings of the realm of imagination, and that puttenham, in phrases which that generation could not have found extravagant, inscribes his book on poetry to queen elizabeth as the "most excellent poet" of the age. well, the glorified political images may grow dim or tawdry with time, but the poetry has endured, and it is everywhere felt to be a truly national, a deeply racial product. its time and place and hour were all local; but the canadian and the american, the south african and australasian englishman feels that that elizabethan poetry is his poetry still. when we pass, therefore, as we must shortly do, to the consideration of this and that literary product of america, and to the scrutiny of the really representative character of our books, we must bear in mind that the questions concerning the race, the place, the hour, the man,--questions so familiar to modern criticism,--remain valid and indeed essential; but that in applying them to american writing there are certain allowances, qualifications, adjustments of the scale of values, which are no less important to an intelligent perception of the quality of our literature. this task is less simple than the critical assessment of a typical german or french or scandinavian writer, where the strain of blood is unmixed, the continuity of literary tradition unbroken, the precise impact of historical and personal influences more easy to estimate. i open, for example, any one of half a dozen french studies of balzac. here is a many-sided man, a multifarious writer, a personality that makes ridiculous the merely formal pigeon-holing and labelling processes of professional criticism. and yet with what perfect precision of method and certainty of touch do le breton, for example, or brunetière, in their books on balzac, proceed to indicate those impulses of race and period and environment which affected the character of balzac's novels! the fact that he was born in tours in results in the inevitable and inevitably expert paragraphs about gallic blood, and the physical exuberance of the touraine surroundings of his youth, and the post-revolutionary tendency to disillusion and analysis. and so with balzac's education, his removal to paris in the restoration period, his ventures in business and his affairs of love, his admiration for shakespeare and for fenimore cooper; his mingled romanticism and realism; his titanism and his childishness; his stupendous outline for the human comedy; and his scarcely less astounding actual achievement. all this is discussed by his biographers with the professional dexterity of critics trained intellectually in the latin traditions and instinctively aware of the claims of race, biographers familiar with every page of french history, and profoundly interested, like their readers, in every aspect of french life. alas, we may say, in despairing admiration of such workmanship, "they order these things better in france." and they do; but racial unity, and long lines of national literary tradition, make these things easier to order than they are with us. the intellectual distinction of american critical biographies like lounsbury's _cooper_ or woodberry's _hawthorne_ is all the more notable because we possess such a slender body of truly critical doctrine native to our own soil; because our national literary tradition as to available material and methods is hardly formed; because the very word "american" has a less precise connotation than the word "new zealander." let us suppose, for instance, that like professor woodberry a few years ago, we were asked to furnish a critical study of hawthorne. the author of _the scarlet letter_ is one of the most justly famous of american writers. but precisely what national traits are to be discovered in this eminent fellow-countryman of ours? we turn, like loyal disciples of taine and sainte-beuve, to his ancestral stock. we find that it is english as far back as it can be traced; as purely english as the ancestry of dickens or thackeray, and more purely english than the ancestry of browning or burke or his majesty george the fifth. was hawthorne, then, simply an englishman living in america? he himself did not think so,--as his _english note-books_ abundantly prove. but just what subtle racial differentiation had been at work, since william hawthorne migrated to massachusetts with winthrop in ? here we face, unless i am mistaken, that troublesome but fascinating question of physical geography. climate, soil, food, occupation, religious or moral preoccupation, social environment, salem witchcraft and salem seafaring had all laid their invisible hands upon the physical and intellectual endowment of the child born in . does this make nathaniel hawthorne merely an "englishman with a difference," as mr. kipling, born in india, is an "englishman with a difference"? hawthorne would have smiled, or, more probably, he would have sworn, at such a question. he considered himself an american democrat; in fact a _contra mundum_ democrat, for good or for ill. is it, then, a political theory, first put into full operation in this country a scant generation before hawthorne's birth, which made him un-english? we must walk warily here. our canadian neighbors of english stock have much the same climate, soil, occupations, and preoccupations as the inhabitants of the northern territory of the united states. they have much the same courts, churches, and legislatures. they read the same books and magazines. they even prefer baseball to cricket. they are loyal adherents of a monarchy, but they are precisely as free, as self-governing, and--in the social sense of the word--as "democratic"--in spite of the absence of a republican form of government--as the citizens of that "land of the free and home of the brave" which lies to the south of them. yet canadian literature, one may venture to affirm, has remained to this hour a "colonial" literature, or, if one prefers the phrase, a literature of "greater britain." was hawthorne possibly right in his instinct that politics did make a difference, and that in writing _the marble faun_,--the scene of which is laid in rome,--or _the house of the seven gables_,--which is a story of salem,--he was consistently engaged in producing, not "colonial" or "greater-british" but distinctly american literature? we need not answer this question prematurely, if we wish to reserve our judgment, but it is assuredly one of the questions which the biographers and critics of our men of letters must ultimately face and answer. furthermore, the student of literature produced in the united states of america must face other questions almost as complicated as this of race. in fact, when we choose hawthorne as a typical case in which to observe the american refashioning of the english temper into something not english, we are selecting a very simple problem compared with the complexities which have resulted from the mingling of various european stocks upon american soil. but take, for the moment, the mere obvious matter of expanse of territory. we are obliged to reckon, not with a compact province such as those in which many old world literatures have been produced, but with what our grandfathers considered a "boundless continent." this vast national domain was long ago "organized" for political purposes: but so far as literature is concerned it remains unorganized to-day. we have, as has been constantly observed, no literary capital, like london or paris, to serve as the seat of centralized authority; no code of literary procedure and conduct; no "lawgivers of parnassus"; no supreme court of letters, whose judgments are recognized and obeyed. american public opinion asserts itself with singular unanimity and promptness in the field of politics. in literary matters we remain in the stage of anarchic individualism, liable to be stampeded from time to time by mob-excitement over a popular novel or moralistic tract, and then disintegrating, as before, into an incoherent mass of individually intelligent readers. the reader who has some personal acquaintance with the variations of type in different sections of this immense territory of ours finds his curiosity constantly stimulated by the presence of sectional and local characteristics. there are sharply cut provincial peculiarities, of course, in great britain and in germany, in italy and spain, and in all of the countries a corresponding "regional" literature has been developed. our provincial variations of accent and vocabulary, in passing from north to south or east to west, are less striking, on the whole, than the dialectical differences found in the various english counties. but our general uniformity of grammar and the comparatively slight variations in spoken accent cover an extraordinary variety of local and sectional modes of thinking and feeling. the reader of american short stories and lyrics must constantly ask himself: is this truth to local type consistent with the main trend of american production? is this merely a bit of virginia or texas or california, or does it, while remaining no less southern or western in its local coloring, suggest also the ampler light, the wide generous air of the united states of america? the observer of this relationship between local and national types will find some american communities where all the speech or habitual thought is of the future. foreigners usually consider such communities the most typically "american," as doubtless they are; but there are other sections, still more faithfully exploited by local writers, where the mood is wistful and habitually regards the past. america, too, like the old world,--and in new england more than elsewhere,--has her note of decadence, of disillusion, of autumnal brightness and transiency. some sections of the country, and notably the slave-holding states in the forty years preceding the civil war, have suffered widespread intellectual blight. the best talent of the south, for a generation, went into politics, in the passionately loyal endeavor to prop up a doomed economic and social system; and the loss to the intellectual life of the country cannot be reckoned. over vast sections of our prosperous and intelligent people of the mississippi basin to-day the very genius of commonplaceness seems to hover. take the great state of iowa, with its well-to-do and homogeneous population, its fortunate absence of perplexing city-problems, its general air of prosperity and content. it is a typical state of the most typically american portion of the country; but it breeds no books. yet in indiana, another state of the same general conditions as to population and prosperity, and only one generation further removed than iowa from primitive pioneer conditions, books are produced at a rate which provokes a universal american smile. i do not affirm that the literary critic is bound to answer all such local puzzles as this. but he is bound at least to reflect upon them, and to demand of every local literary product throughout this varied expanse of states: is the root of the "all-american" plant growing here, or is it not? furthermore, the critic must pursue this investigation of national traits in our writing, not only over a wide and variegated territory, but through a very considerable sweep of time. american literature is often described as "callow," as the revelation of "national inexperience," and in other similar terms. it is true that we had no professional men of letters before irving and that the blossoming time of the notable new england group of writers did not come until nearly the middle of the nineteenth century. but we have had time enough, after all, to show what we wish to be and what we are. there have been european books about america ever since the days of columbus; it is three hundred years since the first books were written in america. modern english prose, the language of journalism, of science, of social intercourse, came into being only in the early eighteenth century, in the age of queen anne. but cotton mather's _magnalia_, a vast book dealing with the past history of new england, was printed in , only a year later than defoe's _true-born englishman_. for more than two centuries the development of english speech and english writing on this side of the atlantic has kept measurable pace--now slower, now swifter--with the speech of the mother country. when we recall the scanty term of years within which was produced the literature of the age of elizabeth, it seems like special pleading to insist that america has not yet had time to learn or recite her bookish lessons. this is not saying that we have had a continuous or adequate development, either of the intellectual life, or of literary expression. there are certain periods of strong intellectual movement, of heightened emotion, alike in the colonial epoch and since the adoption of our present form of government, in which it is natural to search for revelations of those qualities which we now feel to be essential to our national character. certain epochs of our history, in other words, have been peculiarly "american," and have furnished the most ideal expression of national tendencies. if asked to select the three periods of our history which in this sense have been most significant, most of us, i imagine, would choose the first vigorous epoch of new england puritanism, say from to ; then, the epoch of the great virginians, say from to ; and finally the epoch of distinctly national feeling, in which new england and the west were leaders, between and . those three generations have been the most notable in the three hundred years since the permanent settlements began. each of them has revealed, in a noble fashion, the political, ethical, and emotional traits of our people; and although the first two of the three periods concerned themselves but little with literary expression of the deep-lying characteristics of our stock, the expression is not lacking. thomas hooker's sermon on the "foundation of political authority," john winthrop's grave advice on the "nature of liberty," jefferson's "declaration," webster's "reply to hayne," lincoln's "inaugurals," are all fundamentally american. they are political in their immediate purpose, but, like the speeches of edmund burke, they are no less literature because they are concerned with the common needs and the common destiny. hooker and winthrop wrote before our formal national existence began; jefferson, at the hour of the nation's birth; and lincoln, in the day of its sharpest trial. yet, though separated from one another by long intervals of time, the representative figures of the three epochs, english in blood and american in feeling, are not so unlike as one might think. a thorough grasp of our literature thus requires--and in scarcely less a degree than the mastery of one of the literatures of europe--a survey of a long period, the search below the baffling or contradictory surface of national experience for the main drift of that experience, and the selection of the writers, of one generation after another, who have given the most fit and permanent and personalized expression to the underlying forces of the national life. there is another preliminary word which needs no less to be said. it concerns the question of international influences upon national literature. our own generation has been taught by many events that no race or country can any longer live "to itself." internationalism is in the very atmosphere: and not merely as regards politics in the narrowed sense, but with reference to questions of economics, sociology, art, and letters. the period of international isolation of the united states, we are rather too fond of saying, closed with the spanish-american war. it would be nearer the truth to say that so far as the things of the mind and the spirit are concerned, there has never been any absolute isolation. the middle west, from the days of jackson to lincoln, that raw west described by dickens and mrs. trollope, comes nearer isolation than any other place or time. the period of the most eloquent assertions of american independence in artistic and literary matters was the epoch of new england transcendentalism, which was itself singularly cosmopolitan in its literary appetites. the letters and journals of emerson, whitman, and thoreau show the strong european meat on which these men fed, just before their robust declarations of our self-sufficiency. but there is no real self-sufficiency, and emerson and whitman themselves, in other moods, have written most suggestive passages upon our european inheritances and affiliations. the fortunes of the early new england colonies, in fact, were followed by protestant europe with the keen solicitude and affection of kinsmen. oliver cromwell signs his letter to john cotton in , "your affectionate friend to serve you." the settlements were regarded as outposts of european ideas. their calvinism, so cheaply derided and so superficially understood, even to-day, was the intellectual platform of that portion of europe which was mentally and morally awake to the vast issues involved in individual responsibility and self-government. contemporary european democracy is hardly yet aware that calvin's _institutes_ is one of its great charters. continental protestantism of the seventeenth century, like the militant republicanism of the english commonwealth, thus perused with fraternal interest the letters from massachusetts bay. and if europe watched america in those days, it was no less true that america was watching europe. towards the end of the century, cotton mather, "prostrate in the dust" before the lord, as his newly published _diary_ tells us, is wrestling "on the behalf of whole nations." he receives a "strong persuasion that very overturning dispensations of heaven will quickly befal the french empire"; he "lifts up his cries for a mighty and speedy revolution" there. "i spread before the lord the condition of his church abroad ... especially in great britain and in france. and i prayed that the poor vaudois may not be ruined by the peace now made between france and savoy. i prayed likewise for further mortifications upon the turkish empire." here surely was one colonial who was trying, in cecil rhodes's words, to "think continentally!" furthermore, the leaders of those early colonies were in large measure university men, disciplined in the classics, fit representatives of european culture. it has been reckoned that between the years and there were in new england as many graduates of cambridge and oxford as could be found in any population of similar size in the mother country. at one time during those years there was in massachusetts and connecticut alone a cambridge graduate for every two hundred and fifty inhabitants. like the exiled greeks in matthew arnold's poem, they "undid their corded bales"--of learning, it is true, rather than of merchandise--upon these strange and inhospitable shores: and the traditions of greek and hebrew and latin scholarship were maintained with no loss of continuity. to the lover of letters there will always be something fine in the thought of that narrow seaboard fringe of faith in the classics, widening slowly as the wilderness gave way, making its invisible road up the rivers, across the mountains, into the great interior basin, and only after the civil war finding an enduring home in the magnificent state universities of the west. lovers of greek and roman literature may perhaps always feel themselves pilgrims and exiles in this vast industrial democracy of ours, but they have at least secured for us, and that from the very first day of the colonies, some of the best fruitage of internationalism. for that matter, what was, and is, that one book--to the eyes of the protestant seventeenth century infallible and inexpressively sacred--but the most potent and universal commerce of ideas and spirit, passing from the orient, through greek and roman civilization, into the mind and heart of western europe and america? "oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the twain shall meet," declares a confident poet of to-day. but east and west met long ago in the matchless phrases translated from hebrew and greek and latin into the english bible; and the heart of the east there answers to the heart of the west as in water face answereth to face. that the colonizing englishmen of the seventeenth century were hebrews in spiritual culture, and heirs of greece and rome without ceasing to be anglo-saxon in blood, is one of the marvels of the history of civilization, and it is one of the basal facts in the intellectual life of the united states of to-day. yet that life, as i have already hinted, is not so simple in its terms as it might be if we had to reckon merely with the men of a single stock, albeit with imaginations quickened by contact with an oriental religion, and minds disciplined, directly or indirectly, by the methods and the literatures which the revival of learning imposed upon modern europe. american formal culture is, and has been, from the beginning, predominantly english. yet it has been colored by the influences of other strains of race, and by alien intellectual traditions. such international influences as have reached us through german and scandinavian, celtic and italian, russian and jewish immigration, are well marked in certain localities, although their traces may be difficult to follow in the main trend of american writing. the presence of negro, irishman, jew, and german, has affected our popular humor and satire, and is everywhere to be marked in the vocabulary and tone of our newspapers. the cosmopolitan character of the population of such cities as new york and chicago strikes every foreign observer. each one of the manifold races now transplanted here and in process of americanization has for a while its own newspapers and churches and social life carried on in a foreign dialect. but this stage of evolution passes swiftly. the assimilative forces of american schools, industry, commerce, politics, are too strong for the foreign immigrant to resist. the italian or greek fruit pedler soon prefers to talk english, and his children can be made to talk nothing else. this extraordinary amalgamating power of english culture explains, no doubt, why german and scandinavian immigration--to take examples from two of the most intelligent and educated races that have contributed to the up-building of the country--have left so little trace, as yet, upon our more permanent literature. but blood will have its say sooner or later. no one knows how profoundly the strong mentality of the jew, already evident enough in the fields of manufacturing and finance, will mould the intellectual life of the united states. the mere presence, to say nothing of the rapid absorption, of these millions upon millions of aliens, as the children of the puritans regard them, is a constant evidence of the subtle ways in which internationalism is playing its part in the fashioning of the american temper. the moulding hand of the german university has been laid upon our higher institutions of learning for seventy years, although no one can demonstrate in set terms whether the influence of goethe, read now by three generations of american scholars and studied by millions of youth in the schools, has left any real mark upon our literature. abraham lincoln, in his store-keeping days, used to sit under a tree outside the grocery store of lincoln and berry, reading voltaire. one would like to think that he then and there assimilated something of the incomparable lucidity of style of the great frenchman. but voltaire's influence upon lincoln's style cannot be proved, any more than rousseau's direct influence upon jefferson. tolstoï and ibsen have, indeed, left unmistakable traces upon american imaginative writing during the last quarter of a century. frank norris was indebted to zola for the scheme of that uncompleted trilogy, the prose epic of the wheat; and owen wister has revealed a not uncommon experience of our younger writing men in confessing that the impulse toward writing his western stories came to him after reading the delightful pages of a french romancer. but all this tells us merely what we knew well enough before: that from colonial days to the present hour the atlantic has been no insuperable barrier between the thought of europe and the mind of america; that no one race bears aloft all the torches of intellectual progress; and that a really vital writer of any country finds a home in the spiritual life of every other country, even though it may be difficult to find his name in the local directory. finally, we must bear in mind that purely literary evidence as to the existence of certain national traits needs corroboration from many non-literary sources. if it is dangerous to judge modern japan by the characteristics of a piece of pottery, it is only less misleading to select half a dozen excellent new england writers of fifty years ago as sole witnesses to the qualities of contemporary america. we must broaden the range of evidence. the historians of american literature must ultimately reckon with all those sources of mental and emotional quickening which have yielded to our pioneer people a substitute for purely literary pleasures: they must do justice to the immense mass of letters, diaries, sermons, editorials, speeches, which have served as the grammar and phrase-book of national feeling. a history of our literature must be flexible enough, as i have said elsewhere, to include "the social and economic and geographical background of american life; the zest of the explorer, the humor of the pioneer; the passion of old political battles; the yearning after spiritual truth and social readjustment; the baffled quest of beauty. such a history must be broad enough for the _federalist_ and for webster's oratory, for beecher's sermons and greeley's editorials, and the lincoln-douglas debates. it must picture the daily existence of our citizens from the beginning; their working ideas, their phrases and shibboleths and all their idols of the forum and the cave. it should portray the misspelled ideals of a profoundly idealistic people who have been usually immersed in material things." our most characteristic american writing, as must be pointed out again and again, is not the self-conscious literary performance of a poe or a hawthorne. it is civic writing; a citizen literature, produced, like the _federalist_, and garrison's editorials and grant's _memoirs_, without any stylistic consciousness whatever; a sort of writing which has been incidental to the accomplishment of some political, social, or moral purpose, and which scarcely regards itself as literature at all. the supreme example of it is the "gettysburg address." homeliness, simplicity, directness, preoccupation with moral issues, have here been but the instrument of beauty; phrase and thought and feeling have a noble fitness to the national theme. "nothing of europe here," we may instinctively exclaim, and yet the profounder lesson of this citizen literature of ours is in the universality of the fundamental questions which our literature presents. the "gettysburg address" would not to-day have a secure fame in europe if it spoke nothing to the ear and the heart of europe. and this brings us back to our main theme. lincoln, like franklin, like many another lesser master of our citizen literature, is a typical american. in the writing produced by such men, there cannot but be a revelation of american characteristics. we are now to attempt an analysis of these national traits, as they have been expressed by our representative writers. simple as the problem seems, when thus stated, its adequate performance calls for a constant sensitiveness to the conditions prevalent, during a long period, in english and continental society and literature. the most rudimentary biographical sketch of such eminent contemporary american authors as mr. henry james and mr. howells shows that europe is an essential factor in the intellectual life and in the artistic procedure of these writers. yet in their racial and national relationships they are indubitably american. in their local variations from type they demand from the critic an understanding of the culture of the ohio valley, and of boston and new york. the analysis of the mingled racial, psychological, social, and professional traits in these masters of contemporary american fiction presents to the critic a problem as fascinating as, and i think more complex than, a corresponding study of meredith or hardy, of daudet or d'annunzio. in the three hundred years that have elapsed since englishmen who were trained under queen elizabeth settled at jamestown, virginia, we have bred upon this soil many a master of speech. they have been men of varied gifts: now of clear intelligence, now of commanding power; men of rugged simplicity and of tantalizing subtlety; poets, novelists, orators, essayists, and publicists, who have interpreted the soul of america to the mind of the world. our task is to exhibit the essential americanism of these spokesmen of ours, to point out the traits which make them most truly representative of the instincts of the tongue-tied millions who work and plan and pass from sight without the gift and art of utterance; to find, in short, among the books which are recognized as constituting our american literature, some vital and illuminating illustrations of our national characteristics. for a truly "american" book--like an american national game, or an american city--is that which reveals, consciously or unconsciously, the american mind. ii the american mind the origin of the phrase, "the american mind," was political. shortly after the middle of the eighteenth century, there began to be a distinctly american way of regarding the debatable question of british imperial control. during the period of the stamp act agitation our colonial-bred politicians and statesmen made the discovery that there was a mode of thinking and feeling which was native--or had by that time become a second nature--to all the colonists. jefferson, for example, employs those resonant and useful words "the american mind" to indicate that throughout the american colonies an essential unity of opinion had been developed as regards the chief political question of the day. it is one of the most striking characteristics of the present united states that this instinct of political unity should have endured, triumphing over every temporary motive of division. the inhabitants of the united states belong to a single political type. there is scarcely a news-stand in any country of continental europe where one may not purchase a newspaper openly or secretly opposed to the government,--not merely attacking an unpopular administration or minister or ruler,--but desiring and plotting the overthrow of the entire political system of the country. it is very difficult to find such a newspaper anywhere in the united states. i myself have never seen one. the opening sentence of president butler's admirable little book, _the american as he is_, originally delivered as lectures before the university of copenhagen, runs as follows: "the most impressive fact in american life is the substantial unity of view in regard to the fundamental questions of government and of conduct among a population so large, distributed over an area so wide, recruited from sources so many and so diverse, living under conditions so widely different." but the american type of mind is evident in many other fields than that of politics. the stimulating book from which i have just quoted, attempts in its closing paragraph, after touching upon the more salient features of our national activity, to define the typical american in these words:-- "the typical american is he who, whether rich or poor, whether dwelling in the north, south, east, or west, whether scholar, professional man, merchant, manufacturer, farmer, or skilled worker for wages, lives the life of a good citizen and good neighbor; who believes loyally and with all his heart in his country's institutions, and in the underlying principles on which these institutions are built; who directs both his private and his public life by sound principles; who cherishes high ideals; and who aims to train his children for a useful life and for their country's service." this modest and sensible statement indicates the existence of a national point of view. we have developed in the course of time, as a result of certain racial inheritances and historic experiences, a national "temper" or "ethos"; a more or less settled way of considering intellectual, moral, and social problems; in short, a peculiarly national attitude toward the universal human questions. in a narrower sense, "the american mind" may mean the characteristics of the american intelligence, as it has been studied by mr. bryce, de tocqueville, and other trained observers of our methods of thinking. it may mean the specific achievements of the american intelligence in fields like science and scholarship and history. in all these particular departments of intellectual activity the methods and the results of american workers have recently received expert and by no means uniformly favorable assessment from investigators upon both sides of the atlantic. but the observer of literary processes and productions must necessarily take a somewhat broader survey of national tendencies. he must study what nathaniel hawthorne, with the instinct of a romance writer, preferred to call the "heart" as distinguished from the mere intellect. he must watch the moral and social and imaginative impulses of the individual; the desire for beauty; the hunger for self-expression; the conscious as well as the unconscious revelation of personality; and he must bring all this into relation--if he can, and knowing that the finer secrets are sure to elude him!--with the age-long impulses of the race and with the mysterious tides of feeling that flood or ebb with the changing fortunes of the nation. one way to begin to understand the typical american is to take a look at him in europe. it does not require a professional beggar or a licensed guide to identify him. not that the american in europe need recall in any particular the familiar pictorial caricature of "uncle sam." he need not bear any outward resemblances to such stage types as that presented in "the man from home." he need not even suggest, by peculiarities of speech or manner, that he has escaped from the pages of those novels of international observation in which mr. james and mr. howells long ago attained an unmatched artistry. our "american abroad," at the present hour, may be studied without the aid of any literary recollections whatever. there he is, with his wife and daughters, and one may stare at him with all the frankness of a compatriot. he is obviously well-to-do,--else he would not be there at all,--and the wife and daughters seem very well-to-do indeed. he is kindly; considerate--sometimes effusively considerate--of his fellow travellers; patient with the ladies of his family, who in turn are noticeably patient with him. he is genial--very willing to talk with polyglot headwaiters and chauffeurs; in fact the wife and daughters are also practised conversationalists, although their most loyal admirers must admit that their voices _are_ a trifle sharp or flat. these ladies are more widely read than "papa." he has not had much leisure for ruskin and symonds and ferrero. his lack of historical training limits his curiosity concerning certain phases of his european surroundings; but he uses his eyes well upon such general objects as trains, hotel-service, and englishmen. in spite of his habitual geniality, he is rather critical of foreign ways, although this is partly due to his lack of acquaintance with them. intellectually, he is really more modest and self-distrustful than his conversation or perhaps his general bearing would imply; in fact, his wife and daughters, emboldened very likely by the training of their women's clubs, have a more commendable daring in assaulting new intellectual positions. yet the american does not lack quickness, either of wits or emotion. his humor and sentiment make him an entertaining companion. even when his spirits run low, his patriotism is sure to mount in proportion, and he can always tell you with enthusiasm in just how many days he expects to be back again in what he calls "god's country." this, or something like this, is the "american" whom the european regards with curiosity, contempt, admiration, or envy, as the case may be, but who is incontestably modifying western europe, even if he is not, as many journalists and globe-trotters are fond of asserting, "americanizing" the world. interesting as it is to glance at him against that european background which adds picturesqueness to his qualities, the "man from home" is still more interesting in his native habitat. there he has been visited by hundreds of curious and observant foreigners, who have left on record a whole literature of bewildered and bewildering, irritating and flattering and amusing testimony concerning the americans. settlers like crèvecoeur in the glowing dawn of the republic, poets like tom moore, novelists like charles dickens,--other novelists like mr. arnold bennett,--professional travellers like captain basil hall, students of contemporary sociology like paul bourget and mr. h. g. wells, french journalists, german professors, italian admirers of colonel roosevelt, political theorists like de tocqueville, profound and friendly observers like mr. bryce, have had, and will continue to have, their say. the reader who tries to take all this testimony at its face value, and to reconcile its contradictions, will be a candidate for the insane asylum. yet the testimony is too amusing to be neglected and some of it is far too important to be ignored. mr. john graham brooks, after long familiarity with these foreign opinions of america, has gathered some of the most representative of them into a delightful and stimulating volume entitled _as others see us_. there one may find examples of what the foreigner has seen, or imagined he has seen, during his sojourn in america, and what he has said about it afterwards. mr. brooks is too charitable to our visitors to quote the most fantastic and highly colored of their observations; but what remains is sufficiently bizarre. the real service of such a volume is to train us in discounting the remarks made about us in a particular period like the eighteen-thirties, or from observations made in a special place, like newport, or under special circumstances, like a bishop's private car. it helps us to make allowances for the inevitable angle of nationality, the equally inevitable personal equation. a recent ambitious book on america, by a washington journalist of long residence here, although of foreign birth, declares that "the chief trait of the american people is the love of gain and the desire of wealth acquired through commerce." that is the opinion of an expert observer, who has had extraordinary chances for seeing precisely what he has seen. i think it, notwithstanding, a preposterous opinion, fully as preposterous as professor muensterberg's notion that america has latterly grown more monarchical in its tendencies,--but i must remember that, in my own case, as in that of the journalist under consideration, there are allowances to be made for race, and training, and natural idiosyncracy of vision. the native american, it may be well to remember, is something of an observer himself. if his observations upon the characteristics of his countrymen are less piquant than the foreigner's, it is chiefly because the american writes, upon the whole, less incisively than he talks. but incisive native writing about american traits is not lacking. if a missionary, say in south africa, has read the new york _nation_ every week for the past forty years, he has had an extraordinary "moving picture" of american tendencies, as interpreted by independent, trenchant, and high-minded criticism. that a file of the _nation_ will convey precisely the same impression of american tendencies as a file of the _sun_, for instance, or the _boston evening transcript_, is not to be affirmed. the humor of the london _punch_ and the new york _life_ does not differ more radically than the aspects of american civilization as viewed by two rival journals in newspaper row. the complexity of the material now collected and presented in daily journalism is so great that adequate editorial interpretation is obviously impossible. all the more insistently does this heterogeneous picture of american life demand the impartial interpretation of the historian, the imaginative transcription of the novelist. humorist and moralist, preacher and mob orator and social essayist, shop-talk and talk over the tea-cup or over the pipe, and the far more illuminating instruction of events, are fashioning day by day the infinitely delicate processes of our national self-assessment. scholars like mr. henry adams or mr. james ford rhodes will explain to us american life as it was during the administrations of jefferson or in the eighteen-fifties. professor turner will expound the significance of the frontier in american history. mr. henry james will portray with unrivalled psychological insight the europeanized american of the eighteen-seventies and eighties. literary critics like professor wendell or professor trent will deduce from our literature itself evidence concerning this or that national quality; and all this mass of american expert testimony, itself a result and a proof of national self-awareness and self-respect, must be put into the scales to balance, to confirm, or to outweigh the reports furnished by foreigners. i do not pretend to be able, like an expert accountant, to draw up a balance-sheet of national qualities, to credit or debit the american character with this or that precise quantity of excellence or defect. but having turned the pages of many books about the united states, and listened to many conversations about its inhabitants in many states of the union, i venture to collect a brief list of the qualities which have been assigned to us, together with a few, but not, i trust, too many, of our admitted national defects. like that excellent german who wrote the history of the english drama in six volumes, i begin with physical geography. the differentiation of the physical characteristics of our branch of the english race is admittedly due, in part, to climate. in spite of the immense range of climatic variations as one passes from new england to new orleans, from the mississippi valley to the high plains of the far west, or from the rainy oregon belt southward to san diego, the settlers of english stock find a prevalent atmospheric condition, as a result of which they begin, in a generation or two, to change in physique. they grow thinner and more nervous, they "lean forward," as has been admirably said of them, while the englishman "leans back"; they are less heavy and less steady; their voices are higher, sharper; their athletes get more easily "on edge"; they respond, in short, to an excessively stimulating climate. an old-fashioned sea-captain put it all into a sentence when he said that he could drink a bottle of wine with his dinner in liverpool and only a half a bottle in new york. explain the cause as we may, the fact seems to be that the body of john bull changes, in the united states, into the body of uncle sam. there are mental differences no less pronounced. no adjective has been more frequently applied to the anglo-saxon than the word "dull." the american mind has been accused of ignorance, superficiality, levity, commonplaceness, and dozens of other defects, but "dulness" is not one of them. "smartness," rather, is the preferred epithet of derogation; or, to rise a little in the scale of valuation, it is the word "cleverness," used with that lurking contempt for cleverness which is truly english and which long survived in the dialect of new england, where the village ne'er-do-well or jack-of-all-trades used to be pronounced a "clever" fellow. the variety of employments to which the american pioneers were obliged to betake themselves has done something, no doubt, to produce a national versatility, a quick assimilation of new methods and notions, a ready adaptability to novel emergencies. an invaluable pioneer trait is curiosity; the settler in a new country, like moses in the wilderness of arabia, must "turn aside to see"; he must look into things, learn to read signs,--or else the indians or frost or freshet will soon put an end to his pioneering. that curiosity concerning strangers which so much irritated dickens and mrs. trollope was natural to the children of western emigrants to whom the difference between sioux and pawnee had once meant life or death. "what's your business, stranger, in these parts?" was an instinctive, because it had once been a vital, question. that it degenerates into mere inquisitiveness is true enough; just as the "acuteness," the "awareness," essential to the existence of one generation becomes only "cuteness," the typical tin-pedler's habit of mind, in the generation following. american inexperience, the national rawness and unsophistication which has impressed so many observers, has likewise its double significance when viewed historically. we have exhibited, no doubt, the amateurishness and recklessness which spring from relative isolation, from ignorance as to how they manage elsewhere this particular sort of thing,--the conservation of forests, let us say, or the government of colonial dependencies. national smugness and conceit, the impatience crystallized in the phrase, "what have we got to do with abroad?" have jarred upon the nerves of many cultivated americans. but it is no less true that a nation of pioneers and settlers, like the isolated individual, learns certain rough-and-ready robinson crusoe ways of getting things done. a california mining-camp is sure to establish law and order in due time, though never, perhaps, a law and order quite according to blackstone. in the most trying crises of american political history, it was not, after all, a question of profiting by european experience. washington and lincoln, in their sorest struggles, had nothing to do with "abroad"; the problem had first to be thought through, and then fought through, in american and not in european terms. not a half-dozen englishmen understood the bearings of the kansas-nebraska bill, or, if they did, we were little the wiser. we had to wait until a slow-minded frontier lawyer mastered it in all its implications, and then patiently explained it to the farmers of illinois, to the united states, and to the world. it is true that the unsophisticated mode of procedure may turn out to be sheer folly,--a "sixteen to one" triumph of provincial barbarism. but sometimes it is the secret of freshness and of force. your cross-country runner scorns the highway, but that is because he has confidence in his legs and loins, and he likes to take the fences. fenimore cooper, when he began to write stories, knew nothing about the art of novel-making as practised in europe, but he possessed something infinitely better for him, namely, instinct, and he took the right road to the climax of a narrative as unerringly as the homing bee follows its viewless trail. no one can be unaware how easily this superb american confidence may turn to over-confidence, to sheer recklessness. we love to run past the signals, in our railroading and in our thinking. emerson will "plunge" on a new idea as serenely as any stock-gambler ever "plunged" in wall street, and a pretty school-teacher will tell you that she has become an advocate of the "new thought" as complacently as an old financier will boast of having bought calumet and hecla when it was selling at . (perhaps the school-teacher may get as good a bargain. i cannot say.) upon the whole, americans back individual guesswork and pay cheerfully when they lose. a great many of them, as it happens, have guessed right. even those who continue to guess wrong, like colonel sellers, have the indefeasible romantic appetite for guessing again. the american temperament and the chances of american history have brought constant temptation to speculation, and plenty of our people prefer to gamble upon what they love to call a "proposition," rather than to go to the bottom of the facts. they would rather speculate than know. doubtless there are purely physical causes that have encouraged this mental attitude, such as the apparently inexhaustible resources of a newly opened country, the consciousness of youthful energy, the feeling that any very radical mistake in pitching camp to-day can easily be rectified when we pitch camp to-morrow. the habit of exaggeration which was so particularly annoying to english visitors in the middle of the last century--annoying even to charles dickens, who was himself something of an expert in exuberance--is a physical and moral no less than a mental quality. that monstrous braggadocio which dickens properly satirized in _martin chuzzlewit_ was partly, of course, the product of provincial ignorance. doubtless there were, and there are still, plenty of pograms who are convinced that henry clay and daniel webster overtop all the intellectual giants of the old world. but that youthful bragging, and perhaps some of the later bragging as well, has its social side. it is a perverted idealism. it springs from group loyalty, from sectional fidelity. the settlement of "eden" may be precisely what dickens drew it: a miasmatic mud-hole. yet we who are interested in the new town do not intend, as the popular phrase has it, "to give ourselves away." we back our own "proposition," so that to this day chicago cannot tell the truth to st. louis, nor harvard to yale. braggadocio thus gets glorified through its rootage in loyalty; and likewise extravagance--surely one of the worst of american mental vices--is often based upon a romantic confidence in individual opinion or in the righteousness of some specific cause. convince a blue-blooded american like wendell phillips that the abolition of slavery is right, and, straightway, words and even facts become to him mere weapons in a splendid warfare. his statements grow rhetorical, reckless, virulent. proof seems to him, as it did to the contemporary transcendentalist philosophers, an impertinence. the sole question is, "are you on the lord's side?" i.e., on the side of wendell phillips. excuse as we may the faults of a gifted combatant in a moral crisis like the abolition controversy, the fact remains that the intellectual dangers of the oratorical temperament are typically american. what is commonly called our "fourth of july" period has indeed passed away. it has few apologists, perhaps fewer than it really deserves. it is possible to regret the disappearance of that old-fashioned assertion of patriotism and pride, and to question whether historical pageants and a "noiseless fourth" will develop any better citizens than the fathers were. but on the purely intellectual side, the influence of that spread-eagle oratory was disastrous. throughout wide-extended regions of the country, and particularly in the south and west, the "orator" grew to be, in the popular mind, the normal representative of intellectual ability. words, rather than things, climbed into the saddle. popular assemblies were taught the vocabulary and the logic of passion, rather than of sober, lucid reasoning. the "stump" grew more potent than school-house and church and bench; and it taught its reckless and passionate ways to more than one generation. the intellectual leaders of the newer south have more than once suffered ostracism for protesting against this glorification of mere oratory. but it is not the south alone that has suffered. wherever a mob can gather, there are still the dangers of the old demagogic vocabulary and rhetoric. the mob state of mind is lurking still in the excitable american temperament. the intellectual temptations of that temperament are revealed no less in our popular journalism. this journalism, it is needless to say, is extremely able, but it is reckless to the last degree. the extravagance of its head-lines and the over-statements of its news columns are direct sources of profit, since they increase the circulation and it is circulation which wins advertising space. i think it is fair to say that the american people, as a whole, like precisely the sort of journalism which they get. the tastes of the dwellers in cities control, more and more, the character of our newspapers. the journals of new york, chicago, and san francisco are steadily gaining in circulation, in resourcefulness, and in public spirit, but they are, for the most part, unscrupulous in attack, sophistical, and passionate. they outvie the popular pulpit in sentimentality. they play with fire. the note of exaggeration which is heard in american oratory and journalism is struck again in the popular magazines. their campaign of "exposure," during the last decade, has been careless of individual and corporate rights and reputations. even the magazine sketches and short stories are keyed up to a hysteric pitch. so universally is this characteristic national tension displayed in our periodical literature that no one is much surprised to read in his morning paper that some one has called the president of the united states a liar,--or that some one has been called a liar by the president of the united states. for an explanation of these defects, shall we fall back upon a convenient maxim of de tocqueville's and admit with him that "a democracy is unsuited to meditation"? we are forced to do so. but then comes the inevitable second thought that a democracy must needs have other things than meditation to attend to. athenian and florentine and versailles types of political despotism have all proved highly favorable to the lucubrations of philosophers and men of letters who enjoyed the despot's approbation. for that matter, no scheme of life was ever better suited to meditation than an indian reservation in the eighteen-seventies, with a great father in washington to furnish blankets, flour, and tobacco. yet that is not quite the american ideal of existence, and it even failed to produce the peaceable fruits of meditation in the indian himself. one may freely admit the shortcomings of the american intelligence; the "commonness of mind and tone" which mr. bryce believes to be inseparable from the presence of such masses of men associated under modern democratic government; the frivolity and extravagance which represent the gasconading of the romantic temper in face of the grey practicalities of everyday routine; the provincial boastfulness and bad taste which have resulted from intellectual isolation; the lack, in short, of a code, whether for thought or speech or behavior. and nevertheless, one's instinctive americanism replies, may it not be better, after all, to have gone without a code for a while, to have lacked that orderly and methodized and socialized european intelligence, and to have had the glorious sense of bringing things to pass in spite of it? there is just one thing that would have been fatal to our democracy. it is the feeling expressed in la bruyère's famous book: "everything has been said, everything has been written, everything has been done." here in america everything was to do; we were forced to conjugate our verbs in the future tense. no doubt our existence has been, in some respects, one of barbarism, but it has been the barbarism of life and not of death. a rawboned baby sprawling on the mud floor of a kentucky log cabin is a more hopeful spectacle than a wholly civilized funeral. "perhaps it is," rejoins the european critic, somewhat impatiently, "but you are confusing the issue. we find certain grave defects in the american mind, defects which, if you had not had what thomas carlyle called 'a great deal of land for a very few people,' would long ago have involved you in disaster. you admit the mental defects, but you promptly shift the question to one of moral qualities, of practical energy, of subduing your wilderness, and so forth. you have too often absented yourself from the wedding banquet, from the european symposium of wit and philosophy, from the polished and orderly and delightful play and interplay of civilized mind,--and your excuse is the old one: that you are trying your yoke of oxen and cannot come. we charge you with intellectual sins, and you enter the plea of moral preoccupation. if you will permit personal examples, you americans have made ere now your national heroes out of men whose reasoning powers remained those of a college sophomore, who were unable to state an opponent's position with fairness, who lacked wholly the judicial quality, who were vainglorious and extravagant, who had, in short, the mind of an exuberant barbarian; but you instantly forget their intellectual defects in the presence of their abounding physical and moral energy, their freedom from any taint of personal corruption, their whole-souled desire and effort for the public good. were not such heroes, impossible as they would have been in any other civilized country, perfectly illuminative of your national state of mind?" for one, i confess that i do not know what reply to make to my imaginary european critic. i suspect that he is right. at any rate, we stand here at the fork of the road. if we do not wish to linger any longer over a catalogue of intellectual sins, let us turn frankly to our moral preoccupations, comforting ourselves, if we like, as we abandon the field of purely intellectual rivalry with europe, in the reflection that it is the muddle-headed anglo-saxon, after all, who is the dominant force in the modern world. the moral temper of the american people has been analyzed no less frequently than their mental traits. foreign and native observers are alike agreed in their recognition of the extraordinary american energy. the sheer power of the american bodily machine, driven by the american will, is magnificent. it is often driven too hard, and with reckless disregard of anything save immediate results. it wears out more quickly than the bodily machine of the englishman. it is typical that the best distance runners of great britain usually beat ours, while we beat them in the sprints. our public men are frequently--as the athletes say--"all in" at sixty. their energy is exhausted at just the time that many an english statesman begins his best public service. but after making every allowance for wasteful excess, for the restless and impatient consumption of nervous forces which nature intended that we should hold in reserve, the fact remains that american history has demonstrated the existence of a dynamic national energy, physical and moral, which is still unabated. immigration has turned hitherward the feet of millions upon millions of young men from the hardiest stocks of europe. they replenish the slackening streams of vigor. when the northern new englander cannot make a living on the old farm, the french canadian takes it off his hands, and not only improves the farm, but raises big crops of boys. so with italians, swedes, germans, irish, jews, and portuguese, and all the rest. we are a nation of immigrants, a digging, hewing, building, breeding, bettering race, of mixed blood and varying creeds, but of fundamental faith in the wages of going on; a race compounded of materials crude but potent; raw, but with blood that is red and bones that are big; a race that is accomplishing its vital tasks, and, little by little, transmuting brute forces and material energies into the finer play of mind and spirit. from the very beginning, the american people have been characterized by idealism. it was the inner light of pilgrim and quaker colonists; it gleams no less in the faces of the children of russian jew immigrants to-day. american irreverence has been noted by many a foreign critic, but there are certain subjects in whose presence our reckless or cynical speech is hushed. compared with current continental humor, our characteristic american humor is peculiarly reverent. the purity of woman and the reality of religion are not considered topics for jocosity. cleanness of body and of mind are held by our young men to be not only desirable but attainable virtues. there is among us, in comparison with france or germany, a defective reverence for the state as such; and a positive irreverence towards the laws of the commonwealth, and towards the occupants of high political positions. mayor, judge, governor, senator, or even president, may be the butt of such indecorous ridicule as shocks or disgusts the foreigner; but nevertheless the personal joke stops short of certain topics which puritan tradition disapproves. the united states is properly called a christian nation, not merely because the supreme court has so affirmed it, but because the phrase "a christian nation" expresses the historical form which the religious idealism of the country has made its own. the bible is still considered, by the mass of the people, a sacred book; oaths in courts of law, oaths of persons elected to great office, are administered upon it. american faith in education, as all the world knows, has from the beginning gone hand in hand with faith in religion; the school-house was almost as sacred a symbol as the meeting-house; and the munificence of american private benefactions to the cause of education furnishes to-day one of the most striking instances of idealism in the history of civilization. the ideal passions of patriotism, of liberty, of loyalty to home and section, of humanitarian and missionary effort, have all burned with a clear flame in the united states. the optimism which lies so deeply embedded in the american character is one phase of the national mind. charles eliot norton once said to me, with his dry humor, that there was an infallible test of the american authorship of any anonymous article or essay: "does it contain the phrase 'after all, we need not despair'? if it does, it was written by an american." in spite of all that is said about the practicality of the american, his love of gain and his absorption in material interests, those who really know him are aware how habitually he confronts his practical tasks in a spirit of romantic enthusiasm. he marches downtown to his prosaic day's job and calls it "playing the game"; to work as hard as he can is to "get into the game," and to work as long as he can is to "stay in the game"; he loves to win fully as much as the jew and he hates to lose fully as much as the englishman, but losing or winning, he carries into his business activity the mood of the idealist. it is easy to think of all this as self-deception as the emotional effusiveness of the american temperament; but to refuse to see its idealism is to mistake fundamentally the character of the american man. no doubt he does deceive himself often as to his real motives: he is a mystic and a bargain-hunter by turns. divided aims, confused ideals, have struggled for the mastery among us, ever since challon's _voyage_, in , announced that the purpose of the first colonists to virginia was "both to seek to convert the savages, as also to seek out what benefits or commodities might be had in those parts." how that "both"--"as also" keeps echoing in american history: "both" to christianize the negro and work him at a profit, "both" duty and advantage in retaining the philippines; "both" international good will and increased armaments; "both" sunday morning precepts and monday morning practice; "both" horns of a dilemma; "both god and mammon"; did ever a nation possess a more marvellous water-tight compartment method of believing and honoring opposites! but in all this unconscious hypocrisy the american is perhaps not worse--though he may be more absurd!--than other men. another aspect of the american mind is found in our radicalism. "to be an american," it has been declared, "is to be a radical." that statement needs qualification. intellectually the american is inclined to radical views; he is willing to push certain social theories very far; he will found a new religion, a new philosophy, a new socialistic community, at the slightest notice or provocation; but he has at bottom a fund of moral and political conservatism. thomas jefferson, one of the greatest of our radical idealists, had a good deal of the english squire in him after all. jeffersonianism endures, not merely because it is a radical theory of human nature, but because it expresses certain facts of human nature. the american mind looks forward, not back; but in practical details of land, taxes, and governmental machinery we are instinctively cautious of change. the state of connecticut knows that her constitution is ill adapted to the present conditions of her population, but the difficulty is to persuade the rural legislators to amend it. yet everybody admits that amendment will come "some day." this admission is a characteristic note of american feeling; and every now and then come what we call "uplift" movements, when radicalism is in the very air, and a thousand good "causes" take fresh vigor. one such period was in the new england of the eighteen-forties. we are moving in a similar--only this time a national--current of radicalism, to-day. but a change in the weather or the crops has before now turned many of our citizens from radicalism into conservatism. there is, in fact, conservatism in our blood and radicalism in our brains, and now one and now the other rules. very typical of american radicalism is that story of the old sea-captain who was ignorant, as was supposed, of the science of navigation, and who cheerfully defended himself by saying that he could work his vessel down to boston light without knowing any navigation, and after that he could go where he "dum pleased." i suspect the old fellow pulled his sextant and chronometer out of his chest as soon as he really needed them. american radicalism is not always as innocent of the world's experience as it looks. in fact, one of the most interesting phases of this twentieth century "uplift" movement is its respect and even glorification of expert opinion. a german expert in city-planning electrifies an audience of chicago club-women by talking to them about drains, ash-carts, and flower-beds. a hundred other experts, in sanitation, hygiene, chemistry, conservation of natural resources, government by commission, tariffs, arbitration treaties, are talking quite as busily; and they have the attention of a national audience that is listening with genuine modesty, and with a real desire to refashion american life on wiser and nobler plans. in this national forward movement in which we are living, radicalism has shown its beneficent aspect of constructive idealism. no catalogue of american qualities and defects can exclude the trait of individualism. we exalt character over institutions, says mr. brownell; we like our institutions because they suit us, and not because we admire institutions. "produce great persons," declares walt whitman, "the rest follows." whether the rest follows or not, there can be no question that americans, from the beginning, have laid singular stress upon personal qualities. the religion and philosophy of the puritans were in this respect at one with the gospel of the frontier. it was the principle of "every man for himself"; solitary confrontation of his god, solitary struggle with the wilderness. "he that will not work," declared john smith after that first disastrous winter at jamestown, "neither let him eat." the pioneer must clear his own land, harvest his own crops, defend his own fireside; his temporal and eternal salvation were strictly his own affair. he asked, and expected, no aid from the community; he could at most "change works" in time of harvest, with a neighbor, if he had one. it was the sternest school of self-reliance, from babyhood to the grave, that human society is ever likely to witness. it bred heroes and cranks and hermits; its glories and its eccentricities are written in the pages of emerson, thoreau, and whitman; they are written more permanently still in the instinctive american faith in individual manhood. our democracy idolizes a few individuals; it ignores their defective training, or, it may be, their defective culture; it likes to think of an andrew jackson who was a "lawyer, judge, planter, merchant, general, and politician," before he became president; it asks only that the man shall not change his individual character in passing from one occupation or position to another; in fact, it is amused and proud to think of grant hauling cordwood to market, of lincoln keeping store or roosevelt rounding-up cattle. the one essential question was put by hawthorne into the mouth of holgrave in the _house of the seven gables_. holgrave had been by turns a schoolmaster, clerk in a store, editor, pedler, lecturer on mesmerism, and daguerreotypist, but "amid all these personal vicissitudes," says hawthorne, "he had never lost his identity.... he had never violated the innermost man, but had carried his conscience along with him." there speaks the local accent of puritanism, but the voice insisting upon the moral integrity of the individual is the undertone of america. finally, and surely not the least notable of american traits, is public spirit. triumphant individualism checks itself, or is rudely checked in spite of itself, by considerations of the general good. how often have french critics confessed, with humiliation, that in spite of the superior socialization of the french intelligence, france has yet to learn from america the art and habit of devoting individual fortunes to the good of the community. our american literature, as has been already pointed out, is characteristically a citizen literature, responsive to the civic note, the production of men who, like the writers of the _federalist_, applied a vigorous practical intelligence, a robust common sense, to questions affecting the interest of everybody. the spirit of fair play in our free democracy has led americans to ask not merely what is right and just for one, the individual, but what are righteousness and justice and fair play for all. democracy, as embodied in such a leader as lincoln, has meant fellowship. nothing finer can be said of a representative american than to say of him, as mr. norton said of mr. lowell, that he had a "most public soul." no one can present such a catalogue of american qualities as i have attempted without realizing how much escapes his classification. conscious criticism and assessment of national characteristics is essential to an understanding of them; but one feels somehow that the net is not holding. the analysis of english racial inheritances, as modified by historical conditions, yields much, no doubt; but what are we to say of such magnificent embodiments of the american spirit as are revealed in the swiss immigrant agassiz, the german exile carl schurz, the native-born mulatto booker washington? the americanism of representative americans is something which must be felt; it is to be reached by imaginative perception and sympathy, no less than by the process of formal analysis. it would puzzle the experts in racial tendencies to find arithmetically the common denominator of such american figures as franklin, washington, jackson, webster, lee, lincoln, emerson, and "mark twain"; yet the countrymen of those typical americans instinctively recognize in them a sort of largeness, genuineness, naturalness, kindliness, humor, effectiveness, idealism, which are indubitably and fundamentally american. there are certain sentiments of which we ourselves are conscious, though we can scarcely translate them into words, and these vaguely felt emotions of admiration, of effort, of fellowship and social faith are the invisible america. take, for a single example, the national admiration for what we call a "self-made" man: here is a boy selling candy and newspapers on a michigan central train; he makes up his mind to be a lawyer; in twelve years from that day he is general counsel for the michigan central road; he enters the senate of the united states and becomes one of its leading figures. the instinctive flush of sympathy and pride with which americans listen to such a story is far more deeply based than any vulgar admiration for money-making abilities. no one cares whether such a man is rich or poor. he has vindicated anew the possibilities of manhood under american conditions of opportunity; the miracle of our faith has in him come true once more. no one can understand america with his brains. it is too big, too puzzling. it tempts, and it deceives. but many an illiterate immigrant has felt the true america in his pulses before he ever crossed the atlantic. the descendant of the pilgrims still remains ignorant of our national life if he does not respond to its glorious zest, its throbbing energy, its forward urge, its uncomprehending belief in the future, its sense of the fresh and mighty world just beyond to-day's horizon. whitman's "pioneers, o pioneers" is one of the truest of american poems because it beats with the pulse of this onward movement, because it is full of this laughing and conquering fellowship and of undefeated faith. iii american idealism our endeavor to state the general characteristics of the american mind has already given us some indication of what americans really care for. the things or the qualities which they like, the objects of their conscious or unconscious striving, are their ideals. "there is what i call the american idea," said theodore parker in the anti-slavery convention of . "this idea demands, as the proximate organization thereof, a democracy--that is, a government of all the people, by all the people, for all the people; of course, a government on the principle of eternal justice, the unchanging law of god; for shortness' sake, i will call it the idea of freedom." that is one of a thousand definitions of american idealism. books devoted to the "spirit of america"--like the volume by henry van dyke which bears that very title--give a programme of national accomplishments and aspirations. but our immediate task is more specific. it is to point out how adequately this idealistic side of the national temperament has been expressed in american writing. has our literature kept equal pace with our thinking and feeling? we do not need, in attempting to answer this question, any definition of idealism, in its philosophical or in its more purely literary sense. there are certain fundamental human sentiments which lift men above brutes, frenchmen above "frog-eaters," and englishmen above "shop-keepers." these ennobling sentiments or ideals, while universal in their essential nature, assume in each civilized nation a somewhat specific coloring. the national literature reveals the myriad shades and hues of private and public feeling, and the more truthful this literary record, the more delicate and noble become the harmonies of local and national thought or emotion with the universal instincts and passions of mankind. on the other hand, when the literature of spain, for instance, or of italy, fails, within a given period, in range and depth of human interest, we are compelled to believe either that the spain or italy of that age was wanting in the nobler ideals, or that it lacked literary interpretation. in the case of america we are confronted by a similar dilemma. since the beginning of the seventeenth century this country has been, in a peculiar sense, the home of idealism; but our literature has remained through long periods thin and provincial, barren in cosmopolitan significance; and the hard fact faces us to-day that only three or four of our writers have aroused any strong interest in the cultivated readers of continental europe. evidently, then, either the torch of american idealism does not burn as brightly as we think, or else our writers, with but few exceptions, have not hitherto possessed the height and reach and grasp to hold up the torch so that the world could see it. let us look first at the flame, and then at the torch-bearers. readers of carlyle have often been touched by the humility with which that disinherited child of calvinism speaks of goethe's doctrine of the "three reverences," as set forth in _wilhelm meister_. again and again, in his correspondence and his essays, does carlyle recur to that teaching of the threefold reverence: reverence for what is above us, for what is around us and for what is under us; that is to say, the ethnic religion which frees us from debasing fear, the philosophical religion which unites us with our comrades, and the christian religion which recognizes humility and poverty and suffering as divine. "to which of these religions do you specially adhere?" inquired wilhelm. "to all the three," replied the sages; "for in their union they produce what may properly be called the true religion. out of those three reverences springs the highest reverence, reverence for oneself." an admirable symbolism, surely; vaguer, no doubt, than the old symbols which carlyle had learned in the kirk at ecclefechan, but less vague, in turn, than that doctrine of reverence for the oversoul, which was soon to be taught at concord. as one meditates upon the idealism of the first colonists in america, one is tempted to ask what their "reverences" were. toward what tangible symbols of the invisible did their eyes instinctively turn? for new england, at least, the answer is relatively simple. one form of it is contained in john adams's well-known prescription for virginia, as recorded in his _diary_ for july , . "major langbourne dined with us again. he was lamenting the difference of character between virginia and new england. i offered to give him a receipt for making a new england in virginia. he desired it; and i recommended to him town-meetings, training-days, town-schools, and ministers." the "ministers," it will be noticed, come last on the adams list. but the order of precedence is unimportant. here are four symbols, or, if you like, "reverences." might not the virginia planters, loyal to their own specific symbol of the "gentleman,"--no unworthy ideal, surely; one that had been glorified in european literature ever since castiligione wrote his _courtier_, and one that had been transplanted from england to virginia as soon as sir walter raleigh's men set foot on the soil which took its name from the virgin queen,--might not the virginia gentlemen have pondered to their profit over the blunt suggestion of the massachusetts commoner? no doubt; and yet how much picturesqueness and nobility--and tragedy, too--we should have missed, if our history had not been full of these varying symbols, clashing ideals, different reverences! one reverence, at least, was common to the englishman of virginia and to the englishman of plymouth and massachusetts bay. they were joint heirs of the reformation, children of that waxing and puissant england which was a nation of one book, the bible; a book whose phrases color alike the _faerie queen_ of spenser and the essays of francis bacon; a book rich beyond all others in human experience; full of poetry, history, drama; the test of conduct; the manual of devotion; and above all, and blinding all other considerations by the very splendor of the thought, a book believed to be the veritable word of the unseen god. for these colonists in the wilderness, as for the protestant europe which they had left irrevocably behind them, the bible was the plainest of all symbols of idealism: it was the first of the "reverences." the church was a symbol likewise, but to the greater portion of colonial america the church meant chiefly the tangible band of militant believers within the limits of a certain township or parish, rather than the mystical bride of christ. except in maryland and virginia, whither the older forms of church worship were early transplanted, there was scanty reverence for the establishment. there was neither clergyman nor minister on board the mayflower. in rufus choate's oration on the pilgrims before the new england society of new york in , occurred the famous sentence about "a church without a bishop and a state without a king"; to which dr. wainwright, rector of st. john's, replied wittily at the dinner following the oration that there "can be no church without a bishop." this is perhaps a question for experts; but thomas hooker, thomas shepard, and john cotton would have sided with rufus choate. the awe which had once been paid to the establishment was transferred, in the seventeenth-century new england, to the minister. the minister imposed himself upon the popular imagination, partly through sheer force of personal ascendency, and partly as a symbol of the theocracy,--the actual governing of the commonwealth by the laws and spirit of the sterner scriptures. the minister dwelt apart as upon an awful sinai. it was no mere romantic fancy of hawthorne that shadowed his countenance with a black veil. the church organization, too,--though it may have lacked its bishop,--had a despotic power over its communicants; to be cast out of its fellowship involved social and political consequences comparable to those following excommunication by the church of rome. hawthorne and whittier and longfellow--all of them sound antiquarians, though none of them in sympathy with the theology of puritanism--have described in fit terms the bareness of the new england meeting-house. what intellectual severity and strain was there; what prodigality of learning; what blazing intensity of devotion; what pathos of women's patience, and of children, prematurely old, stretched upon the rack of insoluble problems! what dramas of the soul were played through to the end in those barn-like buildings, where the musket, perhaps, stood in the corner of the pew! "how aweful is this place!" must have been murmured by the lips of all; though there were many who have added, "this is the gate of heaven." the gentler side of colonial religion is winningly portrayed in whittier's _pennsylvania pilgrim_ and in his imaginary journal of margaret smith. there were sunnier slopes, warmer exposures for the ripening of the human spirit, in the southern colonies. even in new england there was sporadic revolt from the beginning. the number of non-church-members increased rapidly after ; franklin as a youth in boston admired cotton mather's ability, but he did not go to church, "sunday being my studying day." doubtless there were always humorous sceptics like mrs. stowe's delightful sam lawson in _oldtown folks_. lawson's comment on parson simpson's service epitomizes two centuries of new england thinking. "wal," said sam, "parson simpson's a smart man; but i tell ye, it's kind o' discouragin'. why, he said our state and condition by natur was just like this. we was clear down in a well fifty feet deep, and the sides all round nothin' but glare ice; but we was under immediate obligations to get out, 'cause we was free, voluntary agents. but nobody ever had got out, and nobody would, unless the lord reached down and took 'em. and whether he would or not nobody could tell; it was all sovereignty. he said there wan't one in a hundred, not one in a thousand,--not one in ten thousand,--that would be saved. lordy massy, says i to myself, ef that's so they're any of 'em welcome to my chance. _and so i kind o' ris up and come out._" mrs. stowe's novel is fairly representative of a great mass of derivative literature which draws its materials from the meeting-house period of american history. but the direct literature of that period has passed almost wholly into oblivion. jonathan edwards had one of the finest minds of his century; no european standard of comparison is too high for him; he belongs with pascal, with augustine, if you like, with dante. but his great treatises written in the stockbridge woods are known only to a few technical students of philosophy. one terrible sermon, preached at enfield in , is still read by the curious; but scarcely anybody knows of the ineffable tenderness, dignity, and pathos of his farewell sermon to his flock at northampton: and the yale library possesses nearly twelve hundred of edwards's sermons which have never been printed at all. nor does anybody, save here and there an antiquarian, read shepard and hooker and mayhew. and yet these preachers and their successors furnished the emotional equivalents of great prose and verse to generations of men. "that is poetry," says professor saintsbury (in a dangerous latitudinarianism, perhaps!), "which gives the reader the feeling of poetry." here we touch one of the fundamental characteristics of our national state of mind, in its relation to literature. we are careless of form and type, yet we crave the emotional stimulus. milton, greatest of puritan poets, was read and quoted all too seldom in the puritan colonies, and yet those colonists were no strangers to the emotions of sublimity and awe and beauty. they found them in the meeting-house instead of in a book; precisely as, in a later day, millions of americans experienced what was for them the emotional equivalent of poetry in the sermons of henry ward beecher and phillips brooks. french pulpit oratory of the seventeenth century wins recognition as a distinct type of literature; its great practitioners, like massillon, bourdaloue, bossuet, are appraised in all the histories of the national literature and in books devoted to the evolution of literary species. in the american colonies the great preachers performed the functions of men of letters without knowing it. they have been treated with too scant respect in the histories of american literature. it is one of the penalties of protestantism that the audiences, after a while, outgrow the preacher. the development of the historic sense, of criticism, of science, makes an impassable gulf between jonathan edwards and the american churches of the twentieth century. a sense of profound changes in theology has left our contemporaries indifferent to the literature in which the old theology was clothed. there is one department of american literary production, of which bossuet's famous sermon on queen henrietta maria of england may serve to remind us, which illustrates significantly the national idealism. i mean the commemorative oration. the addresses upon the pilgrim fathers by such orators as everett, webster, and choate; the countless orations before such organizations as the new england society of new york and the phi beta kappa; the papers read before historical and patriotic societies; the birthday and centenary discourses upon national figures like washington or lincoln, have all performed, and are still performing, an inestimable service in stimulating popular loyalty to the idealism of the fathers. as literature, most of this production is derivative: we listen to eloquence about the puritans, but we do not read the puritans; the description of arthur dimmesdale's election sermon in _the scarlet letter_, moving as it may be, tempts no one to open the stout collections of election sermons in the libraries. yet the original literature of mediæval chivalry is known only to a few scholars: tennyson's _idylls_ outsell the _mabinogion_ and malory. the actual world of literature is always shop-worn; a world chiefly of second-hand books, of warmed-over emotions and it is not surprising that many listeners to orations about lincoln do not personally emulate lincoln, and that many of the most enthusiastic dealers in the sentiment of the ancestral meeting-house do not themselves attend church. the other ingredients of john adams's ideal commonwealth are no less significant of our national disposition. take the school-house. it was planted in the wilderness for the training of boys and girls and for a future "godly and learned ministry." the record of american education is a long story of idealism which has touched literature at every turn. the "red school-house" on the hill-top or at the cross-roads, the "log-colleges" in forgotten hamlets, the universities founded by great states, are all a record of the american faith--which has sometimes been called a fetich--in education. in its origin, it was a part of the essential programme of calvinism to make a man able to judge for himself upon the most momentous questions; a programme, too, of that political democracy which lay embedded in the tenets of calvinism, a democracy which believes and must continue to believe that an educated electorate can safeguard its own interests and train up its own leaders. the poetry of the american school-house was written long ago by whittier, in describing joshua coffin's school under the big elm on the cross-road in east haverhill; its humor and pathos and drama have been portrayed by innumerable story-writers and essayists. mrs. martha baker dunn's charming sketches, entitled "cicero in maine" and "virgil in maine," indicate the idealism once taught in the old rural academies,--and it is taught there still. city men will stop wistfully on the street, in the first week of september, to watch the boys and girls go trudging off to their first day of school; men who believe in nothing else at least believe in that! and school and college and university remain, as in the beginning, the first garden-ground and the last refuge of literature. that "town-meeting" which john adams thought virginia might do well to adopt has likewise become a symbol of american idealism. together with the training-day, it represented the rights and duties and privileges of free men; the machinery of self-government. it was democracy, rather than "representative" government, under its purest aspect. sentiments of responsibility to the town, the political unit, and to the commonwealth, the group of units, were bred there. likewise, it was a training-school for sententious speech and weighty action; its roots, as historians love to demonstrate, run back very far; and though the modern drift to cities has made its machinery ineffective in the larger communities, it remains a perpetual spring or feeding stream to the broader currents of our national life. without an understanding of the town-meeting and its equivalents, our political literature loses much of its significance. like the school-house and meeting-house, it has become glorified by our men of letters. john fiske and other historians have celebrated it in some of the most brilliant pages of our political writing; and that citizen literature, so deeply characteristic of us, found in the plain, forthright, and public-spirited tone of town-meeting discussions its keynote. the spectacular debates of our national history, the dramatic contests in the great arena of the senate chamber, the discussions before huge popular audiences in the west, have maintained the civic point of view, have developed and dignified and enriched the prose style first employed by american freemen in deciding their local affairs in the presence of their neighbors. "i am a part of this people," said lincoln proudly in one of his famous debates of ; "i was raised just a little east of here"; and this nearness to the audience, this directness and simplicity and genuineness of our best political literature, its homely persuasiveness and force, is an inheritance of the town-meeting. bible and meeting-house, school-house and town-meeting, thus illustrate concretely the responsiveness of the american character to idealistic impulses. they are external symbols of a certain state of mind. it may indeed be urged that they are primarily signs of a moral and social or institutional trend, and are therefore non-literary evidence of american idealism. nevertheless, institutional as they may be deemed, they lie close to that poetry of daily duty in which our literature has not been poor. they are fundamentally related to that attitude of mind, that habitual temper of the spirit, which has produced, in all countries of settled use and wont, the literature of idealism. brunetière said of flaubert's most famous woman character that poor emma bovary, the prey and the victim of romantic desires, was after all much like the rest of us except that she lacked the intelligence to perceive the charm and poetry of the daily task. we have already touched upon the purely romantic side of american energy and of american imagination, and we must shortly look more closely still at those impulses of daring, those moods of heightened feeling, that intensified individualism, the quest of strangeness and terror and wild beauty, which characterize our romantic writing. but this romanticism is, as it were, a segment of the larger circle of idealism. it is idealism accentuated by certain factors, driven to self-expression by the passions of scorn or of desire; it exceeds, in one way or another, the normal range of experience and emotion. our romantic american literature is doubtless our greatest. and yet some of the most characteristic tendencies of american writing are to be found in the poetry of daily experience, in the quiet accustomed light that falls upon one's own doorway and garden, in the immemorial charm of going forth to one's labor and returning in the evening,--poetry old as the world. * * * * * let us see how this glow of idealism touches some of the more intimate aspects of human experience. "out of the three reverences," says wilhelm meister, "springs the highest reverence, reverence for oneself." open the pages of hawthorne. moving wholly within the framework of established institutions, with no desire to shatter the existing scheme of social order, choosing as its heroes men of the meeting-house, town-meeting, and training-day, how intensely nevertheless does the imagination of this fiction-writer illuminate the body and the soul! take first the body. the inheritance of english puritanism may be traced throughout our american writing, in its reverence for physical purity. the result is something unique in literary history. continental critics, while recognizing the intellectual and artistic powers revealed in _the scarlet letter_, have seldom realized the awfulness, to the puritan mind, of the very thought of an adulterous minister. that a priest in southern europe should break his vows is indeed scandalous; but the sin is regarded as a failure of the natural man to keep a vow requiring supernatural grace for its fulfilment; it may be that the priest had no vocation for his sacred office; he is unfrocked, punished, forgotten, yet a certain mantle of human charity still covers his offence. but in the puritan scheme (and _the scarlet letter_, save for that one treacherous, warm human moment in the woodland where "all was spoken," lies wholly within the set framework of puritanism) there is no forgiveness for a sin of the flesh. there is only law, law stretching on into infinitude until the mind shudders at it. hawthorne knew his protestant new england through and through. _the scarlet letter_ is the most striking example in our national literature of that idealization of physical purity, but hundreds of other romances and poems, less morbid if less great, assert in unmistakable terms the same moral conviction, the same ideal. yet, in spite of its theme, there was never a less adulterous novel than this book which plays so artistically with the letter a. the body is branded, is consumed, is at last, perhaps, transfigured by the intense rays of light emitted from the suffering soul. "the soul is form and doth the body make." in this intense preoccupation with the soul, hawthorne's romance is in unison with the more mystical and spiritual utterances of catholicism as well as of protestantism. it was in part a resultant of that early american isolation which contributed so effectively to the artistic setting of _the scarlet letter_. but in his doctrine of spiritual integrity, in the agonized utterance, "be true--be true!" as well as in his reverence for purity of the body, our greatest romancer was typical of the imaginative literature of his countrymen. the restless artistic experiments of poe presented the human body in many a ghastly and terrifying aspect of illness and decay, and distorted by all passions save one. his imagination was singularly sexless. pathological students have pointed out the relation between this characteristic of poe's writing, and his known tendencies toward opium-eating, alcoholism, and tuberculosis. but no such explanation is at hand to elucidate the absence of sexual passion from the novels of the masculine-minded fenimore cooper. one may say, indeed, that cooper's novels, like scott's, lack intensity of spiritual vision; that their tone is consonant with the views of a sound church of england parson in the eighteenth century; and that the absence of physical passion, like the absence of purely spiritual insight, betrays a certain defect in cooper's imaginative grasp and depth. but it is better criticism, after all, to remember that these three pioneers in american fiction-writing were composing for an audience in which puritan traditions or tastes were predominant. not one of the three men but would have instantly sacrificed an artistic effect, legitimate in the eyes of fielding or goethe or balzac, rather than--in the phrase so often satirized--"bring a blush to the cheek of innocence." in other words, the presence of a specific audience, accustomed to certain anglo-saxon and puritanic restraint of topic and of speech, has from the beginning of our imaginative literature coöperated with the instinct of our writers. that victorian reticence which is so plainly seen even in such full-bodied writers as dickens or thackeray--a reticence which men like mr. bernard shaw and mr. galsworthy and mr. wells think so hypocritical and dangerous to society and which they have certainly done their utmost to abolish--has hitherto dominated our american writing. the contemporary influence of great continental writers to whom reticence is unknown, combined with the influence of a contemporary opera and drama to which reticence would be unprofitable, are now assaulting this dominant convention. very possibly it is doomed. but it is only within recent years that its rule has been questioned. one result of it may, i think, be fairly admitted. while very few writers of eminence, after all, in any country, wish to bring a "blush to the cheek of innocence," they naturally wish, as thackeray put it in one of the best-known of his utterances, to be permitted to depict a man to the utmost of their power. american literary conventions, like english conventions, have now and again laid a restraining and compelling hand upon the legitimate exercise of this artistic instinct; and this fact has coöperated with many social, ethical, and perhaps physiological causes to produce a thinness or bloodlessness in our books. they are graceful, pleasing, but pale, like one of those cool whitish uncertain skies of an american spring. they lack "body," like certain wines. it is not often that we can produce a real burgundy. we have had many distinguished fiction-writers, but none with the physical gusto of a fielding, a smollett, or even a dickens, who, idealist and romanticist as he was, and victorian as were his artistic preferences, has this animal life which tingles upon every page. we must confess that there is a certain quality of american idealism which is covertly suspicious or openly hostile to the glories of bodily sensation. emerson's thin high shoulders peep up reproachfully above the desk; lanier is playing his reproachful flute; longfellow reads frémont's rocky mountain experiences while lying abed, and sighs "but, ah, the discomforts!"; irving's _astoria_, superb as were the possibilities of its physical background, tastes like parlor exploration. even dana's _before the mast_ and parkman's _oregon trail_, transcripts of robust actual experience, and admirable books, reveal a sort of physical paleness compared with turgenieff's _notes of a sportsman_ and tolstoï's _sketches_ of sebastopol and the crimea. they are harvard undergraduate writing, after all! these facts illustrate anew that standing temptation of the critic of american literature to palliate literary shortcomings by the plea that we possess certain admirable non-literary qualities. the dominant idealism of the nation has levied, or seemed to levy, a certain tax upon our writing. some instincts, natural to the full-blooded utterance of continental literature, have been starved or eliminated here. very well. the characteristic american retort to this assertion would be: better our long record and habit of idealism than a few masterpieces more or less. as a people, we have cheerfully accepted the puritan restraint of speech, we have respected the shamefaced conventions of decent and social utterance. like the men and women described in locker-lampson's verses, americans "eat, and drink, and scheme, and plod,-- they go to church on sunday; and many are afraid of god-- and more of mrs. grundy." now mrs. grundy is assuredly not the most desirable of literary divinities, but the student of classical literature can easily think of other divinities, celebrated in exquisite greek and roman verse, who are distinctly less desirable still. "not passion, but sentiment," said hawthorne, in a familiar passage of criticism of his own _twice-told tales_. how often must the student of american literature echo that half-melancholy but just verdict, as he surveys the transition from the spiritual intensity of a few of our earlier writers to the sentimental qualities which have brought popular recognition to the many. take the word "soul" itself. calvinism shadowed and darkened the meaning, perhaps, and yet its spiritual passion made the word "soul" sublime. the reaction against calvinism has made religion more human, natural, and possibly more christlike, but "soul" has lost the thrilling solemnity with which edwards pronounced the word. emerson and hawthorne, far as they had escaped from the bonds of their ancestral religion, still utter the word "soul" with awe. but in the popular sermon and hymn and story of our day,--with their search after the sympathetic and the sentimental, after what is called in magazine slang "heart-interest,"--the word has lost both its intellectual distinction and its literary magic. it will regain neither until it is pronounced once more with spiritual passion. but in literature, as in other things, we must take what we can get. the great mass of our american writing is sentimental, because it has been produced by, and for, an excessively sentimental people. the poems in stedman's carefully chosen _anthology_, the prose and verse in the two volume stedman-hutchinson collection of american literature, the library of southern literature, and similar sectional anthologies, the school readers and speakers,--particularly in the half-century between and ,--our newspapers and magazines,--particularly the so-called "yellow" newspapers and the illustrated magazines typified by _harper's monthly_,--are all fairly dripping with sentiment. american oratory is notoriously the most sentimental oratory of the civilized world. the _congressional record_ still presents such specimens of sentiment--delivered or given leave to be printed, it is true, for "home consumption" rather than to affect the course of legislation--as are inexplicable to an englishman or a frenchman or an italian. immigrants as we all are, and migratory as we have ever been,--so much so that one rarely meets an american who was born in the house built by his grandfather,--we cling with peculiar fondness to the sentiment of "home." the best-known american poem, for decades, was samuel woodworth's "old oaken bucket," the favorite popular song was stephen foster's "my old kentucky home," the favorite play was denman thompson's "old homestead." without that appealing word "mother" the american melodrama would be robbed of its fifth act. without pictures of "the child" the illustrated magazines would go into bankruptcy. no country has witnessed such a production of periodicals and books for boys and girls: france and germany imitate in vain _the youth's companion_ and _st. nicholas_, as they did the stories of "oliver optic" and _little women_ and _little lord fauntleroy_. the sentimental attitude towards women and children, which is one of the most typical aspects of american idealism, is constantly illustrated in our short stories. bret harte, disciple of dickens as he was, and romantic as was his fashion of dressing up his miners and gamblers, was accurately faithful to the american feeling towards the "kid" and the "woman." "tennessee's partner," "the luck of roaring camp," "christmas at sandy bar," are obvious examples. owen wister's stories are equally faithful and admirable in this matter. the american girl still does astonishing things in international novels, as she has continued to do since the eighteen-sixties, but they are astonishing mainly to the european eye and against the conventionalized european background. she does the same things at home, and neither she nor her mother sees why she should not, so universal among us is the chivalrous interpretation of actions and situations which amaze the european observer. the popular american literature which recognizes and encourages this position of the "young girl" in our social structure is a literature primarily of sentiment. the note of passion--in the european sense of that word--jars and shatters it. the imported "problem-play," written for an adult public in paris or london, introduces social facts and intellectual elements almost wholly alien to the experience of american matinée audiences. disillusioned historians of our literature have instanced this unsophistication as a proof of our national inexperience; yet it is often a sort of radiant and triumphant unsophistication which does not lose its innocence in parting with its ignorance. that sentimental idealization of classes, whether peasant, bourgeois, or aristocratic, which has long been a feature of continental and english poetry and fiction, is practically absent from american literature. whatever the future may bring, there have hitherto been no fixed classes in american society. webster was guilty of no exaggeration when he declared that the whole north was made up of laborers, and lincoln spoke in the same terms in his well-known sentences about "hired laborers": "twenty-five years ago i was a hired laborer." the relative uniformity of economic and social conditions, which prevailed until toward the close of the nineteenth century, made, no doubt, for the happiness of the greatest number, but it failed, naturally, to afford that picturesqueness of class contrast and to stimulate that sentiment of class distinction, in which european literature is so rich. very interesting, in the light of contemporary economic conditions, is the effort made by american poets in the middle of the last century to glorify labor. they were not so much idealizing a particular laboring class, as endeavoring, in whitman's words, "to teach the average man the glory of his walk and trade." whitman himself sketched the american workman in almost every attitude which appealed to his own sense of the picturesque and heroic. but years before _leaves of grass_ was published, whittier had celebrated in his _songs of labor_ the glorified images of lumberman and drover, shoemaker and fisherman. lucy larcom and the authors of _the lowell offering_ portrayed the fine idealism of the young women--of the best american stock--who went enthusiastically to work in the cotton-mills of lowell and lawrence, or who bound shoes by their own firesides on the essex county farms. that glow of enthusiasm for labor was chiefly moral, but it was poetical as well. the changes which have come over the economic and social life of america are nowhere more sharply indicated than in that very valley of the merrimac where, sixty and seventy years ago, one could "hear america singing." there are few who are singing to-day in the cotton-mills; the operators, instead of girls from the hill-farms, are greeks, lithuanians, armenians, italians. whittier's drovers have gone forever; the lumbermen and deep-sea fishermen have grown fewer, and the men who still swing the axes and haul the frozen cod-lines are mostly aliens. the pride that once broke into singing has turned harsh and silent. "labor" looms vast upon the future political and social horizon, but the songs of labor have lost the lyric note. they have turned into the dramas and tragedies of labor, as portrayed with the swift and fierce insistence of the short story, illustrated by the kodak. in the great agricultural sections of the west and south the old bucolic sentiment still survives,--that simple joy of seeing the "frost upon the pumpkin" and "the fodder in the stock" which mr. james whitcomb riley has sung with such charming fidelity to the type. but even on the western farms toil has grown less manual. it is more a matter of expert handling of machinery. reaping and binding may still have their poet, but he needs to be a kipling rather than a burns. our literature, then, reveals few traces of idealization of a class, and but little idealization of trades or callings. neither class nor calling presents anything permanent to the american imagination, or stands for anything ultimate in american experience. on the other hand, our writing is rich in local sentiment and sectional loyalty. the short story, which has seized so greedily the more dramatic aspects of american energy, has been equally true to the quiet background of rural scenery and familiar ways. american idealism, as shown in the transformation of the lesser loyalties of home and countryside into the larger loyalties of state and section, and the absorption of these, in turn, into the emotions of nationalism, is particularly illustrated in our political verse. a striking example of the imaginative visualization of the political units of a state is the spirited roll-call of the counties in whittier's "massachusetts to virginia." but the burden of that fine poem, after all, is the essential unity of massachusetts as a sovereign state, girding herself to repel the attack of another sovereign state, virginia. now the evolution of our political history, both local and national, has tended steadily, for half a century, to the obliteration, for purposes of the imagination, of county lines within state lines. at the last republican state convention held in massachusetts, there were no county banners displayed, for the first time in half a century. many a city-dweller to-day cannot tell in what county he is living unless he has happened to make a transfer of real estate. state lines themselves are fading away. the federal idea has triumphed. doubtless the majority of the fellow citizens of john randolph of roanoke were all the more proud of him because the poet could say of him, in writing an admiring and mournful epitaph:-- "beyond virginia's border line his patriotism perished." the great collections of civil war verse, which are lying almost unread in the libraries, are store-houses of this ancient state pride and jealousy, which was absorbed so fatally into the larger sectional antagonism. "maryland, my maryland" gave place to "dixie," just as whittier's "massachusetts to virginia" was forgotten when marching men began to sing "john brown's body" and "the battle hymn of the republic." the literature of sectionalism still lingers in its more lovable aspect in the verse and fiction which still celebrates the fairer side of the civilization of the old south: its ideals of chivalry and local loyalty, its gracious women and gallant men. our literature needs to cultivate this provincial affection for the past, as an offset to the barren uniformity which the federal scheme allows. but the ultimate imaginative victory, like the actual political victory of the civil war, is with the thought and feeling of nationalism. it is foreshadowed in that passionate lyric cry of lowell, which sums up so much and, like all true passion, anticipates so much:-- "o beautiful! my country!" the literary record of american idealism thus illustrates how deeply the conception of nationalism has affected the imagination of our countrymen. the literary record of the american conception of liberty runs further back. some historians have allowed themselves to think that the american notion of liberty is essentially declamatory, a sort of futile echo of patrick henry's "give me liberty or give me death"; and not only declamatory, but hopelessly theoretical and abstract. they grant that it was a trumpet-note, no doubt, for agitators against the stamp act, and for pamphleteers like thomas paine; that it may have been a torch for lighting dark and weary ways in the revolutionary war; but they believe it likewise to be a torch which gleams with the fire caught from france and which was passed back to france in turn when her own great bonfire was ready for lighting. the facts, however, are inconsistent with this picturesque theory of contemporary reactionists. it is true that the word "liberty" has been full of temptation for generations of american orators, that it has become an idol of the forum, and often a source of heat rather than of light. but to treat american liberty as if she habitually wore the red cap is to nourish a francophobia as absurd as edmund burke's. the sober truth is that the american working theory of liberty is singularly like st. paul's. "ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh." a few sentences from john winthrop, written in , are significant: "there is a twofold liberty, natural ... and civil or federal. the first is common to man with beasts and other creatures. by this, man, as he stands in relation to man simply, hath liberty to do what he lists; it is a liberty to evil as well as to good. this liberty is incompatible and inconsistent with authority.... the other kind of liberty i call civil or federal, it may also be termed moral.... this liberty is the proper end and object of authority, and cannot subsist without it; and it is a liberty to that only which is good, just, and honest. this liberty you are to stand for, with the hazard (not only of your goods, but) of your lives, if need be.... this liberty is maintained and exercised in a way of subjection to authority; it is of the same kind of liberty wherewith christ hath made us free." there speaks the governor, the man of affairs, the typical citizen of the future republic. the liberty to do as one pleases is a dream of the renaissance; but out of dreamland it does not work. nobody, even in revolutionary france, imagines that it will work. jefferson, who is popularly supposed to derive his notion of liberty from french theorists, is to all practical purposes nearer to john winthrop than he is to rousseau. the splendid phrases of his "declaration" are sometimes characterized as abstractions. they are really generalizations from past political experience. an arbitrary king, assuming a liberty to do as he liked, had encroached upon the long-standing customs and authority of the colonists. jefferson, at the bidding of the continental congress, served notice of the royal trespass, and incidentally produced (as lincoln said) a "standard maxim for free society." it is true, no doubt, that the word "liberty" became in jefferson's day, and later, a mere partisan or national shibboleth, standing for no reality, degraded to a catchword, a symbol of antagonism to great britain. in the political debates and the impressive prose and verse of the anti-slavery struggle, the word became once more charged with vital meaning; it glowed under the heat and pressure of an idea. towards the end of the nineteenth century it went temporarily out of fashion. the late colonel higginson, an ideal type of what europeans call an " " man, attended at the close of the century some sessions of the american historical association. in his own address, at the closing dinner, he remarked that there was one word for which he had listened in vain during the reading of the papers by the younger men. it was the word "liberty." one of the younger school retorted promptly that since we had the thing liberty, we had no need to glorify the word. but colonel higginson, stanch adherent as he was of the "good old cause," was not convinced. like many another lover of american letters, he thought that william vaughn moody's "ode in time of hesitation" deserved a place by the side of lowell's "commemoration ode," and that when the ultimate day of reckoning comes for the whole muddled imperialistic business, the standard of reckoning must be "liberty" as winthrop and jefferson and lincoln and lowell and vaughn moody understood the word. in the mean time we must confess that the history of our literature, with a few noble exceptions, shows a surprising defect in the passion for freedom. tennyson's famous lines about "freedom broadening slowly down from precedent to precedent" are perfectly american in their conservative tone; while it is englishmen like byron and landor and shelley and swinburne who have written the most magnificent republican poetry. the "land of the free" turns to the monarchic mother country, after all, for the glow and thunder and splendor of the poetry of freedom. it is one of the most curious phenomena in the history of literature. shall we enter the preoccupation plea once more? enjoying the thing liberty, have we been therefore less concerned with the idea? or is it simply another illustration of the defective passion of american literature? yet there is one phase of political loyalty which has been cherished by the imagination of americans, and which has inspired noteworthy oratory and noble political prose. it is the sentiment of union. in one sense, of course, this dates back to the period of franklin's _bon mot_ about our all hanging together, or hanging separately. it is found in hamilton's pamphlets, in paine's _crisis_, in the _federalist_, in washington's "farewell address." it is peculiarly associated with the name and fame of daniel webster, and, to a less degree, with the career of henry clay. in the stress of the debate over slavery, many a northerner with abolitionist convictions, like the majority of southerners with slave-holding convictions, forgot the splendid peroration of webster's "reply to hayne" and were willing to "let the union go." but in the four tragic and heroic years that followed the firing upon the american flag at fort sumter the sentiment of union was made sacred by such sacrifices as the patriotic imagination of a clay or a webster had never dreamed. a new literature resulted. a lofty ideal of indissoluble union was preached in pulpits, pleaded for in editorials, sung in lyrics, and woven into the web of fiction. edward everett hale's _man without a country_ became one of the most poignantly moving of american stories. in walt whitman's _drum-taps_ and his later poems, the "union of these states" became transfigured with mystical significance: no longer a mere political compact, dissoluble at will, but a spiritual entity, a new incarnation of the soul of man. we must deal later with that american instinct of fellowship which whitman believed to have been finally cemented by the civil war, and which has such import for the future of our democracy. there are likewise communal loyalties, glowing with the new idealism which has come with the twentieth century: ethical, municipal, industrial, and artistic movements which are full of promise for the higher life of the country, but which have not yet had time to express themselves adequately in literature. there are stirrings of racial loyalty among this and that element of our composite population,--as for instance among the gifted younger generation of american jews,--a racial loyalty not antagonistic to the american current of ideas, but rather in full unison with it. internationalism itself furnishes motives for the activity of the noblest imaginations, and the true literature of internationalism has hardly yet begun. it is in the play and counterplay of these new forces that the american literature of the twentieth century must measure itself. communal feelings novel to americans bred under the accepted individualism will doubtless assert themselves in our prose and verse. but it is to be remembered that the best writing thus far produced on american soil has been a result of the old conditions: of the old "reverences"; of the pioneer training of mind and body; of the slow tempering of the american spirit into an obstinate idealism. we do not know what course the ship may take in the future, but "we know what master laid thy keel, what workman wrought thy ribs of steel, who made each mast and sail and rope, what anvil rang, what hammers beat, in what a forge and what a heat were shaped the anchors of thy hope!" iv romance and reaction the characteristic attitude of the american mind, as we have seen, is one of idealism. we may now venture to draw a smaller circle within that larger circle of idealistic impulses, and to label the smaller circle "romance." here, too, as with the word "idealism," although we are to make abundant use of literary illustrations of national tendencies, we have no need of a severely technical definition of terms. when we say, "tom is an idealist" and "lorenzo is a romantic fellow," we convey at least one tolerably clear distinction between tom and lorenzo. the idealist has a certain characteristic habit of mind or inclination of spirit. when confronted by experience, he reacts in a certain way. in his individual and social impulses, in the travail of his soul, or in his commerce with his neighbors and the world, he behaves in a more or less well-defined fashion. the romanticist, when confronted by the same objects and experiences, exhibits another type of behavior. lorenzo, though he be tom's brother, is a different fellow; he is--in the opinion of his friends, at least--a rather more peculiar person, a creature of more varying moods, of heightened feelings, of stranger ways. like tom, he is a person of sentiment, but his sentiment attaches itself, not so much to everyday aspects of experience, as to that which is unusual or terrifying, lovely or far away; he possesses, or would like to possess, bodily or spiritual daring. he has the adventurous heart. he is of those who love to go down to the sea in ships and do business in great waters. lorenzo the romanticist is made of no finer clay than tom the idealist, but his nerves are differently tuned. your deep-sea fisherman, after all, is only a fisherman at bottom. that is to say, he too is an idealist, but he wants to catch different species of fish from those which drop into the basket of the landsman. precisely what he covets, perhaps he does not know. i was once foolish enough to ask an old alsatian soldier who was patiently holding his rod over a most unpromising canal near strassburg, what kind of fish he was fishing for. "all kinds," was his rebuking answer, and i took off my hat to the veteran romanticist. the words "romance" and "romanticism" have been repeated to the ears of our generation with wearisome iteration. not the least of the good luck of wordsworth and coleridge lay in the fact that they scarcely knew that they were "romanticists." middle-aged readers of the present day may congratulate themselves that in their youth they read wordsworth and coleridge simply because it was wordsworth and coleridge and not documents illustrating the history of the romantic movement. but the rising generation is sophisticated. for better or worse it has been taught to distinguish between the word "romance" on the one side, and the word "romanticism" on the other. "romantic" is a useful but overworked adjective which attaches itself indiscriminately to both "romance" and "romanticism." professor vaughan, for example, and a hundred other writers, have pointed out that in the narrower and more usual sense, the words "romance" and "romanticism" point to a love of vivid coloring and strongly marked contrasts; to a craving for the unfamiliar, the marvellous, and the supernatural. in the wider and less definite sense, they signify a revolt from the purely intellectual view of man's nature; a recognition of the instincts and the passions, a vague intimation of sympathy between man and the world around him,--in one word, the sense of mystery. the narrower and the broader meanings pass into one another by imperceptible shades. they are affected by the well-known historic conditions for romantic feeling in the different european countries. the common factor, of course, is the man with the romantic world set in his heart. it is gautier with his love of color, victor hugo enraptured with the sound of words, heine with his self-destroying romantic irony, novalis with his blue flower, and maeterlinck with his _blue bird_. but these romantic men of letters, writing in epochs of romanticism, are by no means the only children of romance. sir humphrey gilbert and sir walter raleigh were as truly followers of "the gleam" as were spenser or marlowe. the spirit of romance is found wherever and whenever men say to themselves, as don quixote's niece said of her uncle, that "they wish better bread than is made of wheat," or when they look within their own hearts, and assert, as the poet young said in , long before the english romantic movement had begun, "there is more in the spirit of man than mere prose-reason can fathom." we are familiar, perhaps too remorsefully familiar, with the fact that romance is likely to run a certain course in the individual and then to disappear. looking back upon it afterward, it resembles the upward and downward zigzag of a fever chart. it has in fact often been described as a measles, a disease of which no one can be particularly proud, although he may have no reason to blush for it. southey said that he was no more ashamed of having been a republican than of having been a boy. well, people catch byronism, and get over it, much as southey got over his republicanism. in fact byron himself lived long enough--though he died at thirty-six--to outgrow his purely "byronic" phase, and to smile at it as knowingly as we do. coleridge's blossoming period as a romantic poet was tragically brief. keats and shelley had the good fortune to die in the fulness of their romantic glory. they did not outlive their own poetic sense of the wonder and mystery of the world. yet many an old poet like tennyson and browning has preserved his romance to the end. tennyson dies at eighty-three with the full moonlight streaming through the oriel window upon his bed, and with his fingers clasping shakespeare's _cymbeline_. with most of us commonplace persons, however, a reaction from the romantic is almost inevitable. the romantic temperament cannot long keep the pitch. poe could indeed do it, although he hovered at times near the border of insanity. hawthorne went for relief to his profane sea-captains and the carnal-minded superannuated employees of the salem custom house. "the weary weight of all this unintelligible world" presses too hard on most of those who stop to think about it. the simplest way of relief is to shrug one's shoulders and let the weight go. that is to say, we cease being poets, we are no longer the children of romance, although we may remain idealists. perhaps it is external events that change, rather than we ourselves. the restoration of the bourbons, the revolutions of and , make and unmake romantics. often society catches up with the romanticist; he is no longer a soldier of revolt; he has become a "respectable." or, while remaining a poet, he shifts his attention to some more familiar segment of the idealistic circle. he sings about his wife instead of the wife of somebody else. like wordsworth, he takes for his theme a mary hutchinson instead of the unknown and hauntingly alluring figure of lucy. to put it differently, the high light, the mysterious color of dawn or sunset disappears from his picture of human life. or, the high light may be diffused in a more tranquil radiance over the whole surface of experience. such an artist may remain a true painter or poet, but he is not a romantic poet or painter any longer. he has, like the aging emerson, taken in sail; the god terminus has said to him, "no more." one must of course admit that the typical romanticist has often been characterized by certain intellectual and moral weaknesses. but the great romance men, like edmund spenser, for example, may not possess these weaknesses at all. robert louis stevenson was passionately in love with the romantic in life and with romanticism in literature; but it did not make him eccentric, weak, or empty. his instinct for enduring romance was so admirably fine that it brought strength to the sinews of his mind, light and air and fire to his soul. among the writers of our own day, it is mr. kipling who has written some of the keenest satire upon romantic foibles, while never ceasing to salute his real mistress, the true romance. "who wast, or yet the lights were set, a whisper in the void, who shalt be sung through planets young when this is clean destroyed." what are the causes of american romance, the circumstances and qualities that have produced the romantic element in american life and character? precisely as with the individual artist or man of letters, we touch first of all upon certain temperamental inclinations. it is a question again of the national mind, of the differentiation of the race under new climatic and physical conditions. we have to reckon with the headiness and excitability of youth. it was young men who emigrated hither, just as in the eighteen-sixties it was young men who filled the northern and the southern armies. the first generations of american immigration were made up chiefly of vigorous, imaginative, and daring youth. the incapables came later. it is, i think, safe to assert that the colonists of english stock, even as late as ,--when more than ninety per cent of the population of america had in their veins the blood of the british isles,--were more responsive to romantic impulses than their english cousins. for that matter, an irishman or a welshman is more romantic than an englishman to-day. from the very beginning of the american settlements, likewise, there were evidences of the weaker, the over-excitable side of the romantic temper. there were volatile men like morton of merrymount; there were queer women like anne hutchinson, admirable woman as she was; among the wives of the colonists there were plenty of emily dickinsons in the germ. among the men, there were schemes that came to nothing. there were prototypes of colonel sellers; a temperamental tendency toward that recklessness and extravagance which later historical conditions stimulated and confirmed. the more completely one studies the history of our forefathers on american soil, the more deeply does one become conscious of the prevailing atmosphere of emotionalism. furthermore, as one examines the historic conditions under which the spirit of american romance has been preserved and heightened from time to time, one becomes aware that although ours is rather a romance of wonder than of beauty, the spirit of beauty is also to be found. the first fervors of the romance of discovery were childlike in their eagerness. hakluyt's _voyages_, john smith's _true relation of virginia_, thomas morton's _new england's canaan_, all appeal to the sense of the marvellous. listen to morton's description of cape ann. i can never read it without thinking of botticelli's picture of spring, so naïvely does this picturesque rascal suffuse his landscape with the feeling for beauty:-- "in the moneth of june, anno salutis , it was my chaunce to arrive in the parts of new england with . servants, and provision of all sorts fit for a plantation: and whiles our howses were building, i did indeavour to take a survey of the country: the more i looked, the more i liked it. and when i had more seriously considered of the bewty of the place, with all her faire indowments, i did not thinke that in all the knowne world it could be paralel'd, for so many goodly groves of trees, dainty fine round rising hillucks, delicate faire large plaines, sweete cristall fountaines, and cleare running streames that twine in fine meanders through the meads, making so sweete a murmering noise to heare as would even lull the sences with delight a sleepe, so pleasantly doe they glide upon the pebble stones, jetting most jocundly where they doe meete and hand in hand runne downe to neptunes court, to pay the yearely tribute which they owe to him as soveraigne lord of all the springs. contained within the volume of the land, fowles in abundance, fish in multitude; and discovered, besides, millions of turtledoves on the greene boughes, which sate pecking of the full ripe pleasant grapes that were supported by the lusty trees, whose fruitful loade did cause the armes to bend: while here and there dispersed, you might see lillies and the daphnean-tree: which made the land to mee seeme paradice: for in mine eie t'was natures masterpeece; her cheifest magazine of all where lives her store: if this land be not rich, then is the whole world poore." this is the morton who, a few years later, settled at merrymount. let me condense the story of his settlement, from the narrative of the stout-hearted governor william bradford's _history of plymouth plantation_:-- "and morton became lord of misrule, and maintained (as it were) a schoole of athisme. and after they had gott some good into their hands, and gott much by trading with the indeans, they spent it as vainly, in quaffing & drinking both wine & strong waters in great exsess, and, as some reported £. worth in a morning. they allso set up a may-pole, drinking and dancing aboute it many days togeather, inviting the indean women, for their consorts, dancing and frisking togither, (like so many fairies, or furies rather,) and worse practises. as if they had anew revived & celebrated the feasts of the roman goddes flora, or the beasly practieses of the madd bacchinalians. morton likewise (to shew his poetrie) composed sundry rimes & verses, some tending to lasciviousnes, and others to the detraction & scandall of some persons, which he affixed to this idle or idoll may-polle. they chainged allso the name of their place, and in stead of calling it mounte wollaston, they call it merie-mounte, as if this joylity would have lasted ever." but it did not last long. bradford and other leaders of the plantations "agreed by mutual consent" to "suppress morton and his consorts." "in a friendly and neighborly way" they admonished him. "insolently he persisted." "upon which they saw there was no way but to take him by force." "so they mutually resolved to proceed," and sent captain standish to summon him to yield. but, says bradford, morton and some of his crew came out, not to yield, but to shoot; all of them rather drunk; morton himself, with a carbine almost half filled with powder and shot, had thought to have shot captain standish, "_but he stepped to him and put by his piece and took him_." it is not too fanciful to say that with those stern words of governor bradford the english renaissance came to an end. the dream of a lawless liberty which has been dreamed and dreamed out so many times in the history of the world was over, for many a day. it was only a hundred years earlier that rabelais had written over the doors of his ideal abbey, the motto "do what thou wilt." it is true that rabelais proposed to admit to his abbey of thélème only such men and women as were virtuously inclined. we do not know how many persons would have been able and willing to go into residence there. at any rate, two hundred years went by in new england after the fall of morton before any notable spirit dared to cherish once more the old renaissance ideal. at last, in emerson's doctrine that all things are lawful because nature is good and human nature is divine, we have a curious parallel to the doctrine of rabelais. it was the old romance of human will under a new form and voiced in new accents. yet in due time the hard facts of human nature reasserted themselves and put this romantic transcendentalism by, even as the implacable myles standish put by that heavily loaded fowling-piece of the drunken morton. but men believed in miracles in the first century of colonization, and they will continue at intervals to believe in them until human nature is no more. the marvellous happenings recorded in cotton mather's _magnalia_ no longer excite us to any "suspension of disbelief." we doubt the story of pocahontas. the fresh romantic enthusiasm of a settler like crèvecoeur seems curiously juvenile to-day, as does the romantic curiosity of chateaubriand concerning the mississippi and the choctaws, or the zeal of wordsworth and coleridge over their dream of a "panti-socratic" community in the unknown valley of the musically-sounding susquehanna. inexperience is a perpetual feeder of the springs of romance. john wesley, it will be remembered, went out to the colony of georgia full of enthusiasm for converting the indians; but as he naïvely remarks in his _journal_, he "neither found or heard of any indians on the continent of america, who had the least desire of being instructed." the sense of fact, in other words, supervenes, and the glory disappears from the face of romance. the humor of mark twain's _innocents abroad_ turns largely upon this sense of remorseless fact confronting romantic inexperience. american history, however, has been marked by certain great romantic passions that seem endowed with indestructible vitality. the romance of discovery, the fascination of the forest and sea, the sense of danger and mystery once aroused by the very word "redskin," have all moulded and will continue to mould the national imagination. how completely the romance of discovery may be fused with the glow of humanitarian and religious enthusiasm has been shown once for all in the brilliant pages of parkman's story of the jesuit missions in canada. pictorial romance can scarcely go further than this. in the crisis of chateaubriand's picturesque and passionate tale of the american wilderness, no one can escape the thrilling, haunting sound of the bell from the jesuit chapel, as it tolls in the night and storm that were fatal to the happiness of atala. one scarcely need say that the romance of missions has never faded from the american mind. i have known a sober new england deacon aged eighty-five, who disliked to die because he thought he should miss the monthly excitement of reading the _missionary herald_. the deacon's eyes, like the eyes of many an old sea-captain in salem or newburyport, were literally upon the ends of the earth. no one can reckon how many starved souls, deprived of normal outlet for human feeling, have found in this passionate curiosity and concern for the souls of black and yellow men and women in the antipodes, a constant source of beneficent excitement. nor is there any diminution of interest in the mere romance of adventure, in the stories of hunter and trapper, the journals of lewis and clarke, the narratives of boone and crockett. in writing his superb romances of the northern lakes, the prairie and the sea, fenimore cooper had merely to bring to an artistic focus sentiments that lay deep in the souls of the great mass of his american readers. students of our social life have pointed out again and again how deeply our national temperament has been affected by the existence, during nearly three hundred years, of an alien aboriginal race forever lurking upon the borders of our civilization. "playing indian" has been immensely significant, not merely in stimulating the outdoor activity of generations of american boys, but in teaching them the perennial importance of certain pioneer qualities of observation, resourcefulness, courage, and endurance which date from the time when the indians were a daily and nightly menace. even when the indian has been succeeded by the cowboy, the spirit of romance still lingers,--as any collection of cowboy ballads will abundantly prove. and when the cowboys pass, and the real-estate dealers take possession of the field, one is tempted to say that romance flourishes more than ever. in short, things are what we make them at the moment, what we believe them to be. in my grandfather's youth the west was in the neighborhood of port byron, new york, and when he journeyed thither from massachusetts in the eighteen-twenties, the glory of adventure enfolded him as completely as the boys of the preceding generation had been glorified in the war of the revolution, or the boys of the next generation when they went gold-seeking in california in . the west, in short, means simply the retreating horizon, the beckoning finger of opportunity. like boston, it has been not a place, but a "state of mind." "we must go, go, go away from here, on the other side the world we're overdue." that is the song which sings itself forever in the heart of youth. champlain and cartier heard it in the sixteenth century, bradford no less than morton in the seventeenth. some eldorado has always been calling to the more adventurous spirits upon american soil. the passion of the forty-niner neither began nor ended with the discovery of gold in california. it is within us. it transmutes the harsh or drab-colored everyday routine into tissue of fairyland. it makes our "winning of the west" a magnificent national epic. it changes to-day the black belt of texas, or the wheat-fields of dakota, into pots of gold that lie at the end of rainbows, only that the pot of gold is actually there. the human hunger of it all, the gorgeous dream-like quality of it all, the boundlessness of the vast american spaces, the sense of forest and prairie and sky, are all inexplicably blended with our notion of the ideal america. henry james once tried to explain the difference between turgenieff and a typical french novelist by saying that the back door of the russian's imagination was always open upon the endless russian steppe. no one can understand the spirit of american romance if he is not conscious of this ever-present hinterland in which our spirits have, from the beginning, taken refuge and found solace. we have already noticed, in the chapter on idealism, how swiftly the american imagination modifies the prosaic facts of everyday experience. the idealistic glamour which falls upon the day's work changes easily, in the more emotional temperaments, and at times, indeed, in all of us, into the fervor of true romance. then, the prosaic buying and selling becomes the "game." a combination of buyers and sellers becomes the "system." the place where these buyers and sellers most do congregate and concentrate becomes "wall street"--a sort of anthropomorphic monster which seems to buy and sell the bodies and souls of men. seen half a continent away, through the mists of ignorance and prejudice and partisan passion, "wall street" has loomed like some vast gibraltar. to the broker's clerk who earns his weekly salary in that street, the nebraska notion of "wall street" is too grotesque for discussion. how easily every phase of american business life may take on the hues of romance is illustrated by the history of our railroads. no wonder that bret harte wrote a poem about the meeting of the eastward and westward facing engines when the two sections of the union pacific railroad at last drew near each other on the interminable plains and the two engines could talk. of course what they said was poetry. there was a time when even the erie canal was poetic. the panama canal to-day, in the eyes of most americans, is something other than a mere feat of engineering. we are doing more than making "the dirt fly." the canal represents victory over hostile forces, conquest of unwilling nature, achievement of what had long been deemed impossible, the making not of a ditch, but of history. so with all that american zest for camping, fishing, sailing, racing, which lies deep in the anglo-saxon, and which succeeds to the more primitive era of actual struggle against savage beasts or treacherous men or mysterious forests. it is at once an outlet and a nursery for romantic emotion. the out-of-doors movement which began with thoreau's hut on walden pond, and which has gone on broadening and deepening to this hour, implies far more than mere variation from routine. it furnishes, indeed, a healthful escape from the terrific pressure of modern social and commercial exigencies. yet its more important function is to provide for grown-ups a chance to "play indian" too. but outdoors and indoors, after all, lie in the heart and mind, rather than in the realm of actual experience. the romantic imagination insists upon taking its holiday, whether the man who possesses it gets his holiday or not. i have never known a more truly romantic figure than a certain tin-pedler in connecticut who, in response to the question, "do you do a good business?" made this perfectly stevensonian reply: "well, i make a living selling crockery and tinware, but my _business_ is the propagation of truth." this wandering idealist may serve to remind us again of the difference between romance and romanticism. the true romance is of the spirit. romanticism shifts and changes with external fortunes, with altering emotions, with the alternate play of light and shade over the vast landscape of human experience. the typical romanticist, as we have seen, is a man of moods. it is only a poe who can keep the pitch through the whole concert of experience. but the deeper romance of the spirit is oblivious of these changes of external fortune, this rising or falling of the emotional temperature. the moral life of america furnishes striking illustrations of the steadfastness with which certain moral causes have been kept, as it were, in the focus of intense feeling. poetry, undefeated and unwavering poetry, has transfigured such practical propaganda as the abolition of slavery, the emancipation of woman, the fight against the liquor traffic, the emancipation of the individual from the clutches of economic and commercial despotism. men like colonel thomas wentworth higginson, women like julia ward howe, fought for these causes throughout their lives. colonel higginson's attitude towards women was not merely chivalric (for one may be chivalrous without any marked predisposition to romance), but nobly romantic also. james russell lowell, poet as he was, outlived that particular phase of romantic moral reform which he had been taught by maria white. but in other men and women bred in that old new england of the eighteen-forties, the moral fervor knew no restraint. garrison, although in many respects a most unromantic personality, was engaged in a task which gave him all the inspiration of romance. a romantic "atmosphere," fully as highly colored as any of the romantic atmospheres that we are accustomed to mark in literature, surrounded as with a luminous mist the figures of the new england transcendentalists. they, too, as heine said of himself, were soldiers. they felt themselves enlisted for a long but ultimately victorious campaign. they were willing to pardon, in their comrades and in themselves, those imaginative excesses which resemble the physical excesses of a soldier's camp. transcendentalism was thus a militant philosophy and religion, with both a destructively critical and a positively constructive creed. channing, parker, alcott, margaret fuller, were warrior-priests, poets and prophets of a gallant campaign against inherited darkness and bigotry, and for the light. the atmosphere of that score of years in new england was now superheated, now rarefied, thin, and cold; but it was never quite the normal atmosphere of every day. on the purely literary side, it is needless to say, these men and women sought inspiration in coleridge and carlyle and other english and german romanticists. in fact, the most enduring literature of new england between and was distinctly a romantic literature. it was rooted, however, not so much in those swift changes of historic condition, those startling liberations of the human spirit which gave inspiration to the romanticism of the continent, as it was in the deep and vital fervor with which these new englanders envisaged the problems of the moral life. other illustrations of the american capacity for romance lie equally close at hand. take, for instance, the stout volume in which mr. burton stevenson has collected the _poems of american history_. here are nearly seven hundred pages of closely printed patriotic verse. while stedman's _anthology_ reveals no doubt national aspirations and national sentiment, as well as the emotional fervor of individuals, mr. stevenson's collection has the advantage of focussing this national feeling upon specific events. stedman's _anthology_ is an enduring document of american idealism, touching in the sincerity of its poetic moods, pathetic in its long lists of men and women who are known by one poem only, or who have never, for one reason or another, fulfilled their poetic promise. the thousand poems which it contains are more striking, in fact, for their promise than for their performance. they are intimations of what american men and women would have liked to do or to be. in this sense, it is a precious volume, but it is certainly not commensurate, either in passion or in artistic perfection, with the forces of that american life which it tries to interpret. indeed, mr. stedman, after finishing his task of compilation, remarked to more than one of his friends that what this country needed was some "adult male verse." the _poems of american history_ collected by mr. stevenson are at least vigorous and concrete. one aspect of our history which especially lends itself to mr. stevenson's purpose is the romance which attaches itself to war. it is scarcely necessary to say nowadays that all wars, even the noblest, have had their sordid, grimy, selfish, bestial aspect; and that the intelligence and conscience of our modern world are more and more engaged in the task of making future wars impossible. but the slightest acquaintance with american history reveals the immense reservoir of romantic emotion which has been drawn upon in our national struggles. war, of course, is an immemorial source of romantic feeling. william james's notable essay on "a moral substitute for war" endeavored to prove that our modern economic and social life, if properly organized, would give abundant outlet and satisfaction to those romantic impulses which formerly found their sole gratification in battle. many of us believe that he was right; but for the moment we must look backward and not forward. we must remember the stern if rude poetry inspired by our revolutionary struggle, the romantic halo that falls upon the youthful figure of nathan hale, the baleful light that touches the pale face of benedict arnold, the romance of the bennington fight to the followers of stark and ethan allen, the serene voice of the "little captain," john paul jones:--"we have not struck, we have just begun our part of the fighting." the colors of romance still drape the chesapeake and the shannon, tecumseh and tippecanoe. the hunters of kentucky, the explorers of the yellowstone and the columbia, the emigrants who left their bones along the old santa fé trail, are our homeric men. the mexican war affords pertinent illustration, not only of romance, but of reaction. the earlier phases of the texan struggle for independence have much of the daring, the splendid rashness, the glorious and tragic catastrophes of the great romantic adventures of the old world. it is not the texans only who still "remember the alamo," but when those brilliant and dramatic adventures of border warfare became drawn into the larger struggle for the extension of slavery, the poetic reaction began. the physical and moral pretence of warfare, the cheap splendors of epaulets and feathers, shrivelled at the single touch of the satire of the _biglow papers_. lowell, writing at that moment with the instinct and fervor of a prophet, brought the whole vainglorious business back to the simple issue of right and wrong: "'taint your eppyletts an' feathers make the thing a grain more right; 'taint afollerin' your bell-wethers will excuse ye in his sight; ef you take a sword an' dror it, an' go stick a feller thru, guv'ment aint to answer for it, god'll send the bill to you." but far more interesting is the revelation of the american capacity for romance which was made possible by the war between the states. stevenson's _poems of american history_ and stedman's _anthology_ give abundant illustration of almost every aspect of that epical struggle. the south was in a romantic mood from the very beginning. the north drifted into it after sumter. i have already said that no one can examine a collection of civil war verse without being profoundly moved by its evidence of american idealism. in specific phases of the struggle, in connection with certain battle-fields and certain leaders of both north and south, this idealism is heightened into pure romance, so that even our novelists feel that they can give no adequate picture of the war without using the colors of poetry. most critics, no doubt, agree in feeling that we are still too near to that epoch-making crisis of our national existence to do it any justice in the terms of literature. perhaps we must wait for the perfected romance of the years - , until the men and the events of that struggle are as remote as the heroes of greece and troy. certainly no one can pass a final judgment upon the verse occasioned by recent struggles in arms. any one who has studied the english poetry inspired by the south-african war will be painfully conscious of the emotional and moral complexity of all such issues, of the bitter injustice which poets, as well as other men, render to one another, of the impossibility of transmuting into the pure gold of romance the emotions originating in the stock market, in race-hatred, and in national vainglory. we have lingered too long, perhaps, over these various evidences of the romantic temper of america. we must now glance at the forces of reaction, the recoil to fact. what is it which contradicts, inhibits, or negatives the romantic tendency? among other forces, there is certainly humor. humor and romance often go hand in hand, but humor is commonly fatal to romanticism. there is satire, which rebukes both romanticism and romance, which exposes the fallacies of the one, and punctures the exuberance of the other. more effective, perhaps, than either humor or satire as an antiseptic against romance, is the overmastering sense of fact. this is what emerson called the instinct for the milk in the pan, an instinct which emerson himself possessed extraordinarily on his purely yankee side, and which a pioneer country is forced continually to develop and to recognize. camping, for instance, develops both the romantic sense and the fact sense. supper must be cooked, even at walden pond. there must be hewers of wood and drawers of water, and the dishes ought to be washed. on a higher plane, also, than this mere sense of physical necessity, there are forces limiting the influence of romance. schiller put it all into one famous line:-- "und was uns alle bändigt, das gemeine." or listen to keats:-- "'t is best to remain aloof from people, and like their good parts, without being eternally troubled with the dull process of their everyday lives.... all i can say is that standing at charing cross, and looking east, west, north and south, i can see nothing but dullness." and henry james, describing new york in his book, _the american scene_, speaks of "the overwhelming preponderance of the unmitigated 'business-man' face ... the consummate monotonous commonness of the pushing male crowd, moving in its dense mass--with the confusion carried to chaos for any intelligence, any perception; a welter of objects and sounds in which relief, detachment, dignity, meaning, perished utterly and lost all rights ... the universal _will to move_--to move, move, move, as an end in itself, an appetite at any price." one need not be a poet like keats or an inveterate psychologist like henry james, in order to become aware how the commonplaceness of the world rests like a fog upon the mind and heart. no one goes to his day's work and comes home again without a consciousness of contact with an unspiritual atmosphere, or incompletely spiritualized forces, not merely with indifference, to what emerson would term "the over-soul," but with a lack of any faith in the things which are unseen. take those very forces which have limited the influence of emerson throughout the united states; they illustrate the universal forces which clip the wings of romance. the obstacles in the path of emerson's influence are not merely the religious and denominational differences which dr. george a. gordon portrayed in a notable article at the time of the emerson centenary. the real obstacles are more serious. it is true that dr. park of andover, dr. bushnell of hartford, and dr. hodge of princeton, could say in emerson's lifetime: "we know a better, a more scriptural and certificated road toward the very things which emerson is seeking for. we do not grant that we are less idealistic than he. we think him a dangerous guide, following wandering fires. it is better to journey safely with us." but i have known at least two livery-stable keepers and many college professors who would unite in saying: "hodge and park and bushnell and emerson are all following after something that does not exist. one is not much more mistaken than the others. we can get along perfectly well in our business without any of those ideas at all. let us stick to the milk in the pan, the horse in the stall, the documents which you will find in the library." there exists, in other words, in all classes of american society to-day, just as there existed during the revolution, during the transcendental movement, or the civil war, an immense mass of unspiritualized, unvitalized american manhood and womanhood. no literature comes from it and no religion, though there is much human kindness, much material progress, and some indestructible residuum of that idealism which lifts man above the brute. yet the curious and the endlessly fascinating thing about these forces of reaction is that they themselves shift and change. we have seen that external romance depending upon strangeness of scene, novelty of adventure, rich atmospheric distance of space or time, disappears with the changes of civilization. the farm expands over the wolf's den, the indian becomes a blacksmith, but do the gross and material instincts ultimately triumph? he would be a hardy prophet who should venture to assert it. we must reckon always with the swing of the human pendulum, with the reaction against reaction. here, for example, during the last decade, has been book after book written about the reaction against democracy. all over the world, it is asserted, there are unmistakable signs that democracy will not practically work in the face of the modern tasks to which the world has set itself. one reads these books, one persuades himself that the hour for democracy is passing, and then one goes out on the street and buys a morning newspaper and discovers that democracy has scored again. so is it with the experience of the individual. you may fancy that the romance of the seas passes, for you, with the passing of the square-sailed ship. if mr. kipling's poetry cannot rouse you from that mood of reaction, walk down to the end of the pier to-morrow and watch the ocean liner come up the harbor. if there is no romance there, you do not know romance when you see it! take the case of the farmer; his prosaic life is the butt of the newspaper paragraphers from one end of the country to the other. but does romance disappear from the farm with machinery and scientific agriculture? there are farmers who follow luther burbank's experiments with plants, with all the fascination which used to attach to alchemy and astrology. the farmer has no longer indians to fight or a wilderness to subdue, but the soils of his farm are analyzed at his state university by men who live in the daily atmosphere of the romance of science, and who say, as a professor in the university of chicago said once, that "a flower is so wonderful that if you knew what was going on within its cell-structure, you would be afraid to stay alone with it in the dark." the reaction from romance, therefore, real as it is, and dead weight as it lies upon the soul of the nation, often breeds the very forces which destroy it. in other words, the reaction against one type of romance produces inevitably another type of romance, other aspects of wonder, terror, and beauty. following the romance of adventure comes, after never so deep a trough in the sea, the romance of science, like the crest of another wave; and then comes what we call, for lack of a better word, the psychological romance, the old mystery and strangeness of the human soul, Æschylus and job, as victor hugo says, in the poor crawfish gatherer on the rocks of brittany. we must remember that we are endeavoring to measure great spaces and to take account of the "amplitude of time." the individual "fact-man," as coleridge called him, remains perhaps a fact-man to the end, just as the dreamer may remain a dreamer. but no single generation is compounded all of fact or all of dream. longfellow felt, no doubt, that there was an ideal united states, which dickens did not discover during that first visit of ; he would have set the cambridge which he knew over against the cincinnati viewed by mrs. trollope; he would have asserted that the homes characterized by refinement, by cultivation, by pure and simple sentiment, made up the true america. but even among longfellow's own contemporaries there was whitman, who felt that the true america was something very different from that exquisitely tempered ideal of longfellow. there was thoreau, who, over in concord, had been pushing forward the frontier of the mind and senses, who had opened his back-yard gate, as it were, upon the boundless and mysterious territory of nature. there was emerson, who was preaching an intellectual independence of the old world which should correspond to the political and social independence of the western hemisphere. there was parkman, whose hatred of philanthropy, whose lack of spirituality, is a striking illustration of the rebound of new england idealism against itself, of the reaction into stoicism. what different worlds these men lived in, and yet they were all inhabitants, so to speak, of the same parish; most of them met often around the same table! the lesson of their variety of experience and differences of gifts as workmen in that great palace of literature which is so variously built, is that no action and reaction in the imaginative world is ever final. least of all do these actions and reactions affect the fortunes of true romance. the born dreamer may fall from one dream into another, but he still murmurs, in the famous line of william ellery channing,-- "if my bark sinks, 't is to another sea." no line in our literature is more truly american,--unless it be that other splendid metaphor, by david wasson, which says the same thing in other words:-- "life's gift outruns my fancies far, and drowns the dream in larger stream, as morning drinks the morning-star." v humor and satire a distinguished professor in the harvard divinity school once began a lecture on comedy by saying that the study of the comic had made him realize for the first time that a joke was one of the most solemn things in the world. the analysis of humor is no easy matter. it is hard to say which is the more dreary: an essay on humor illustrated by a series of jokes, or an exposition of humor in the technical terms of philosophy. no subject has been more constantly discussed. but it remains difficult to decide what humor is. it is easier to declare what seemed humorous to our ancestors, or what seems humorous to us to-day. for humor is a shifting thing. the well-known collections of the writings of american humorists surprise us by their revelation of the changes in public taste. humor--or the sense of humor--alters while we are watching. what seemed a good joke to us yesterday seems but a poor joke to-day. and yet it is the same joke! what is true of the individual is all the more true of the national sense of humor. this vast series of kaleidoscopic changes which we call america; has it produced a humor of its own? let us avoid for the moment the treacherous territory of definitions. let us, rather, take one concrete example: a pair of men, a knight and his squire, who for three hundred years have ridden together down the broad highway of the world's imagination. everybody sees that don quixote and sancho panza are humorous. define them as you will--idealist and realist, knight and commoner, dreamer and proverb-maker--these figures represent to all the world two poles of human experience. a frenchman once said that all of us are don quixotes on one day and sancho panzas on the next. humor springs from this contrast. it is the electric flash between the two poles of experience. most philosophers who have meditated upon the nature of the comic point out that it is closely allied with the tragic. flaubert once compared our human idealism to the flight of a swallow; at one moment it is soaring toward the sunset, at the next moment some one shoots it and it tumbles into the mud with blood upon its glistening wings. the sudden poignant contrast between light, space, freedom, and the wounded bleeding bird in the mud, is of the very essence of tragedy. but something like that is always happening in comedy. there is the same element of incongruity, without the tragic consequence. it is only the humorist who sees things truly because he sees both the greatness and the littleness of mortals; but even he may not know whether to laugh or to cry at what he sees. those collisions and contrasts out of which the stuff of tragedy is woven, such as the clash between the higher and lower nature of a man, between his past and his present, between one's duties to himself and to his family or the state, between, in a word, his character and his situation, are all illustrated in comedy as completely as in tragedy. the countryman in the city, the city man in the country, is in a comic situation. here is a coward named falstaff, and shakespeare puts him into battle. here is a vain person, and malvolio is imprisoned and twitted by a clown. here is an ignoramus, and dogberry is placed on the judge's bench. these contrasts might, indeed, be tragic enough, but they are actually comic. such characters are not ruled by fate but by a sportive chance. the gods connive at them. they are ruled, like tragic characters, by necessity and blindness; but the blindness, instead of leading to tragic ruin, leads only to being caught as in some harmless game of blind-man's-buff. there is retribution, but falstaff is only pinched by the fairies. comedy of intrigue and comedy of character lead to no real catastrophe. the end of it on the stage is not death but matrimony; and "home well pleased we go." a thousand definitions of humor lay stress upon this element of incongruity. hazlitt begins his illuminating lectures on the comic writers by declaring, "man is the only animal that laughs or weeps; for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are and what they ought to be." james russell lowell took the same ground. "humor," he said once, "lies in the contrast of two ideas. it is the universal disenchanter. it is the sense of comic contradiction which arises from the perpetual comment which the understanding makes upon the impressions received through the imagination." if that sentence seems too abstract, all we need do is to think of sancho panza, the man of understanding, talking about don quixote, the man of imagination. we must not multiply quotations, but it is impossible not to remember the distinction made by carlyle in writing about richter. "true humor," says carlyle, "springs not more from the head than from the heart. it is not contempt; its essence is love." in other words, not merely the great humorists of the world's literature--cervantes, rabelais, fielding, thackeray, dickens--but the writers of comic paragraphs for to-morrow's newspaper, all regard our human incongruities with a sort of affection. the comic spirit is essentially a social spirit. the great figures of tragedy are solitary. the immortal figures of comedy belong to a social group. no recent discussion of humor is more illuminating and more directly applicable to the conditions of american life than that of the contemporary french philosopher bergson. bergson insists throughout his brilliant little book on _laughter_ that laughter is a social function. life demands elasticity. hence whatever is stiff, automatic, machine-like, excites a smile. we laugh when a person gives us the impression of being a thing,--a sort of mechanical toy. every inadaptation of the individual to society is potentially comic. thus laughter becomes a social initiation. it is a kind of hazing which we visit upon one another. but we do not isolate the comic personage as we do the solitary, tragic figure. the comic personage is usually a type; he is one of an absurd group; he is a miser, a pedant, a pretentious person, a doctor or a lawyer in whom the professional traits have become automatic so that he thinks more of his professional behavior than he does of human health and human justice. of all these separatist tendencies, laughter is the great corrective. when the individual becomes set in his ways, obstinate, preoccupied, automatic, the rest of us laugh him out of it if we can. of course all that we are thinking about at the moment is his ridiculousness. but nevertheless, by laughing we become the saviors of society. no one, i think, can help observing that this conception of humor as incongruity is particularly applicable to a new country. on the new soil and under the new sky, in new social groupings, all the fundamental contrasts and absurdities of our human society assume a new value. we see them under a fresh light. they are differently focussed. the broad humors of the camp, its swift and picturesque play of light and shade, its farce and caricature no less than its atmosphere of comradeship, of sentiment, and of daring, are all transferred to the humor of the newly settled country. the very word "humor" once meant singularity of character, "some extravagant habit, passion, or affection," says dryden, "particular to some one person." every newly opened country encourages, for a while, this oddness and incongruity of individual character. it fosters it, and at the same moment it laughs at it. it decides that such characters are "humorous." as the social conditions of such a country change, the old pioneer instinct for humor, and the pioneer forms of humor, may endure, though the actual frontier may have moved far westward. there is another conception of humor scarcely less famous than the notion of incongruity. it is the conception associated with the name of the english philosopher hobbes, who thought that humor turned upon a sense of superiority. "the passion of laughter," said hobbes, "is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves by comparison with the inferiority of others, or with our own formerly." too cynical a view, declare many critics, but they usually end by admitting that there is a good deal in it after all. i am inclined to think that hobbes's famous definition is more applicable to wit than it is to humor. wit is more purely intellectual than humor. it rejoices in its little triumphs. it requires, as has been remarked, a good head, while humor takes a good heart, and fun good spirits. if you take carlyle literally when he says that humor is love, you cannot wholly share hobbes's conviction that laughter turns upon a sense of superiority, and yet surely we all experience a sense of kindly amusement which turns upon the fact that we, the initiated, are superior, for the moment, to the unlucky person who is just having his turn in being hazed. it may be the play of intellect or the coarser play of animal spirits. one might venture to make a distinction between the low comedy of the latin races and the low comedy of the germanic races by pointing out that the superiority in the latin comedy usually turns upon quicker wits, whereas the superiority in the germanic farce is likely to turn upon stouter muscles. but whether it be a play of wits or of actual cudgelling, the element of superiority and inferiority is almost always there. i remember that some german, i dare say in a forgotten lecture-room, once illustrated the humor of superiority in this way. a company of strolling players sets up its tent in a country village. on the front seat is a peasant, laughing at the antics of the clown. the peasant flatters himself that he sees through those practical jokes on the stage; the clown ought to have seen that he was about to be tripped up, but he was too stupid. but the peasant saw that it was coming all the time. he laughs accordingly. just behind the peasant sits the village shopkeeper. he has watched stage clowns many a time and he laughs, not at the humor of the farce, but at the naïve laughter of the peasant in front of him. he, the shopkeeper, is superior to such broad and obvious humor as that. behind the shopkeeper sits the schoolmaster. the schoolmaster is a pedant; he has probably lectured to his boys on the theory of humor, and he smiles in turn at the smile of superiority on the face of the shopkeeper. well, peeping in at the door of the tent is a man of the world, who glances at the clown, then at the peasant, then at the shopkeeper, then at the schoolmaster, each one of whom is laughing at the others, and the man of the world laughs at them all! let us take an even simpler illustration. we all know the comfortable sense of proprietorship which we experience after a few days' sojourn at a summer hotel. we know our place at the table; we call the head waiter by his first name; we are not even afraid of the clerk. now into this hotel, where we sit throned in conscious superiority, comes a new arrival. he has not yet learned the exits and entrances. he starts for the kitchen door inadvertently when he should be headed for the drawing-room. we smile at him. why? precisely because that was what we did on the morning of our own arrival. we have been initiated, and it is now his turn. if it is true that a newly settled country offers endless opportunities for the humor which turns upon incongruity, it is also true that the new country offers countless occasions for the humor which turns upon the sudden glory of superiority. the backwoodsman is amusing to the man of the settlements, and the backwoodsman, in turn, gets his full share of amusement out of watching the "tenderfoot" in the woods. it is simply the case of the old resident versus the newcomer. the superiority need be in no sense a cruel or taunting superiority, although it often happens to be so. the humor of the pioneers is not very delicately polished. the joke of the frontier tavern or grocery store is not always adapted to a drawing-room audience, but it turns in a surprisingly large number of instances upon exactly the same intellectual or social superiority which gives point to the _bon mots_ of the most cultivated and artificial society in the world. the humor arising from incongruity, then, and the humor arising from a sense of superiority, are both of them social in their nature. no less social, surely, is the function of satire. it is possible that satire may be decaying, that it is becoming, if it has not already become, a mere splendid or odious tradition. but let us call it a great tradition and, upon the whole, a splendid one. even when debased to purely party or personal uses, the verse satire of a dryden retains its magnificent resonance; "the ring," says saintsbury, "as of a great bronze coin thrown down on marble." the malignant couplets of an alexander pope still gleam like malevolent jewels through the dust of two hundred years. the cynicism, the misanthropy, the mere adolescent badness of byron are powerless to clip the wings of the wide-ranging, far-darting wit and humor and irony of _don juan_. the homely yankee dialect, the provinciality, the "gnarly" flavor of the _biglow papers_ do not prevent our finding in that pungent and resplendent satire the powers of lowell at full play; and, what is more than that, the epitome of the american spirit in a moral crisis. i take the names of those four satirists, dryden, pope, byron, and lowell, quite at random; but they serve to illustrate a significant principle; namely, that great satire becomes ennobled as it touches communal, not merely individual interests, as it voices social and not merely individual ideals. those four modern satirists were steeped in the nationalistic political poetry of the old testament. they were familiar with its war anthems, dirges, and prophecies, its concern for the prosperity and adversity, the sin and the punishment, of a people. here the writers of the golden age of english satire found their vocabulary and phrase-book, their grammar of politics and history, their models of good and evil kings; and in that biblical school of political poetry, which has affected our literature from the reformation down to mr. kipling, there has always been a class in satire! the satirical portraits, satirical lyrics, satirical parables of the old testament prophets are only less noteworthy than their audacity in striking high and hard. their foes were the all-powerful: babylon and assyria and egypt loom vast and terrible upon the canvases of isaiah and ezekiel; and poets of a later time have learned there the secrets of social and political idealism, and the signs of national doom. there are two familiar types of satire associated with the names of horace and juvenal. both types are abundantly illustrated in english and american literature. when you meet a bore or a hypocrite or a plain rascal, is it better to chastise him with laughter or to flay him with shining fury? i shall take both horns of the dilemma and assert that both methods are admirable and socially useful. the minor english and american poets of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were never weary of speaking of satire as a terrific weapon which they were forced to wield as saviors of society. but whether they belonged to the urbane school of horace, or to the severely moralistic school of juvenal, they soon found themselves falling into one or the other of two modes of writing. they addressed either the little audience or the big audience, and they modified their styles accordingly. the great satirists of the renaissance, for example, like more, erasmus, and rabelais, wrote simply for the persons who were qualified to understand them. more and erasmus wrote their immortal satires in latin. by so doing they addressed themselves to cultivated europe. they ran no risk of being misunderstood by persons for whom the joke was not intended. all readers of latin were like members of one club. of course membership was restricted to the learned, but had not horace talked about being content with a few readers, and was not voltaire coming by and by with the advice to try for the "little public"? the typical wit of the eighteenth century, whether in london, paris, or in franklin's printing-shop in philadelphia, had, of course, abandoned latin. but it still addressed itself to the "little public," to the persons who were qualified to understand. the circulation of the _spectator_, which represents so perfectly the wit, humor, and satire of the early eighteenth century in england, was only about ten thousand copies. this limited audience smiled at the urbane delicate touches of mr. steele and mr. addison. they understood the allusions. the fable concerned them and not the outsiders. it was something like oliver wendell holmes reading his witty and satirical couplets to an audience of harvard alumni. the jokes are in the vernacular, but in a vernacular as spoken in a certain social medium. it is all very delightful. but there is a very different kind of audience gathering all this while outside the harvard gates. these two publics for the humorist we may call the invited and the uninvited; the inner circle and the outer circle: first, those who have tickets for the garden party, and who stroll over the lawn, decorously gowned and properly coated, conversing with one another in the accepted social accents and employing the recognized social adjectives; and second, the crowd outside the gates,--curious, satirical, good-natured in the main, straightforward of speech and quick to applaud a ready wit or a humor-loving eye or a telling phrase spoken straight from the heart of the mob. will an author choose to address the selected guests or the casual crowd? either way lies fame, if one does it well. your uninvited men find themselves talking to the uninvited crowd. before they know it they are famous too. they are fashioning another manner of speech. defoe is there, with his saucy ballads selling triumphantly under his very pillory; with his _true-born englishman_ puncturing forever the fiction of the honorable ancestry of the english aristocracy; with his _crusoe_ and _moll flanders_, written, as lamb said long afterwards, for the servant-maid and the sailor. swift is there, with his terrific _drapier's letters_, anonymous, aimed at the uneducated, with cold fury bludgeoning a government into obedience; with his _gulliver's travels_, so transparent upon the surface that a child reads the book with delight and remains happily ignorant that it is a satire upon humanity. and then, into the london of defoe and swift, and into the very centre of the middle-class mob, steps, in , the bland benjamin franklin in search of a style "smooth, clear, and short," and for half a century, with consummate skill, shapes that style to his audience. his young friend thomas paine takes the style and touches it with passion, until he becomes the perfect pamphleteer, and his _crisis_ is worth as much to our revolution--men said--as the sword of washington. after another generation the gaunt lincoln, speaking that same plain prose of defoe, swift, franklin, and paine,--lincoln who began his first douglas debate, not like his cultivated opponent with the conventional "ladies and gentlemen," but with the ominously intimate, "my fellow citizens,"--lincoln is saying, "i am not master of language; i have not a fine education; i am not capable of entering into a disquisition upon dialectics, as i believe you call it; but i do not believe the language i employed bears any such construction as judge douglas puts upon it. but i don't care about a quibble in regard to words. i know what i meant, and _i will not leave this crowd in doubt_, if i can explain it to them, what i really meant in the use of that paragraph." "_i will not leave this crowd in doubt_"; that is the final accent of our spoken prose, the prose addressed to one's fellow citizens, to the great public. this is the prose spoken in the humor and satire of dickens. dressed in a queer dialect, and put into satirical verse, it is the language of the _biglow papers_. uttered with the accent of a chicago irishman, it is the prose admired by millions of the countrymen of "mr. dooley." satire written to the "little public" tends toward the social type; that written to the "great public" to the political type. it is obvious that just as a newly settled country offers constant opportunity for the humor of incongruity and the humor arising from a sense of superiority, it likewise affords a daily stimulus to the use of satire. that moralizing puritan strain of censure which lost none of its harshness in crossing the atlantic ocean found full play in the colonial satire of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. as the topics for satire grew wider and more political in their scope, the audiences increased. to-day the very oldest issues of the common life of that queer "political animal" named man are discussed by our popular newspaper satirists in the presence of a democratic audience that stretches from the atlantic to the pacific. is there, then, a distinctly american type of humor and satire? i think it would be difficult to prove that our composite american nationality has developed a mode of humor and satire which is racially different from the humor and satire of the old world. all racial lines in literature are extremely difficult to draw. if you attempt to analyze english humor, you find that it is mostly scotch or irish. if you put scotch and irish humor under the microscope, you discover that most of the best scotch and irish jokes are as old as the greeks and the egyptians. you pick up a copy of _fliegende blätter_ and you get keen amusement from its revelation of german humor. but how much of this humor, after all, is either essentially universal in its scope or else a matter of mere stage-setting and machinery? without the prussian lieutenant the _fliegende blätter_ would lose half its point; nor can one imagine a _punch_ without a picture of the english policeman. the lieutenant and the policeman, however, are a part of the accepted social furniture of the two countries. they belong to the decorative background of the social drama. they heighten the effectiveness of local humor, but it may be questioned whether they afford any evidence of genuine racial differentiation as to the sense of the comic. what one can abundantly prove, however, is that the united states afford a new national field for certain types of humor and satire. our english friends are never weary of writing magazine articles about yankee humor, in which they explain the peculiarities of the american joke with a dogmatism which has sometimes been thought to prove that there is such a thing as national lack of humor, whether there be such a thing as national humor or not. one such article, i remember, endeavored to prove that the exaggeration often found in american humor was due to the vastness of the american continent. our geography, that is to say, is too much for the yankee brain. mr. birrell, an expert judge of humor, surely, thinks that the characteristic of american humor lies in its habit of speaking of something hideous in a tone of levity. many englishmen, in fact, have been as much impressed with this minimizing trick of american humor as with the converse trick of magnifying. upon the continent the characteristic trait of american humor has often been thought to be its exuberance of phrase. many shrewd judges of our newspaper humor have pointed out that one of its most favorite methods is the suppression of one link in the chain of logical reasoning. such generalizations as these are always interesting, although they may not take us very far. yet it is clear that certain types of humor and satire have proved to be specially adapted to the american soil and climate. whether or not these types are truly indigenous one may hesitate to say, yet it remains true that the well-known conditions of american life have stimulated certain varieties of humor into such a richness of manifestation as the old world can scarcely show. curiously enough, one of the most perfected types of american humor is that urbane horatian variety which has often been held to be the exclusive possession of the cultivated and restricted societies of older civilization. yet it is precisely this kind of humor which has been the delight of some of the most typical american minds. benjamin franklin, for example, modelled his style and his sense of the humorous on the papers of the _spectator_. he produced humorous fables and apologues, choice little morsels of social and political persiflage, which were perfectly suited, not merely to the taste of london in the so-called golden age of english satire, but to the tone of the wittiest salons of paris in the age when the old régime went tottering, talking, quoting, jesting to its fall. read franklin's charming and wise letter to madame brillon about giving too much for the whistle. it is the perfection of well-bred humor: a humor very american, very franklinian, although its theme and tone and phrasing might well have been envied by horace or voltaire. the gentle humor of irving is marked by precisely those traits of urbanity and restraint which characterize the parables of franklin. does not the _autocrat of the breakfast table_ itself presuppose the existence of a truly cultivated society? its tone--"as i was saying when i was interrupted"--is the tone of the intimate circle. there was so much genuine humanity in the gay little doctor that persons born outside the circle of harvard college and the north shore and boston felt themselves at once initiated by the touch of his merry wand into a humanized, kindly theory of life. the humor of george william curtis had a similarly mellow and ripened quality. it is a curious comment upon that theory of americans which represents us primarily as a loud-voiced, assertive, headstrong people, to be thus made aware that many of the humorists whom we have loved best are precisely those whose writing has been marked by the most delicate restraint, whose theory of life has been the most highly urbane and civilized, whose work is indistinguishable in tone--though its materials are so different--from that of other humorous writers on the other side of the atlantic. on its social side all this is a fresh proof of the extraordinary adaptability of the american mind. on the literary side it is one more evidence of the national fondness for neatness and perfection of workmanship. but we are something other than a nation of mere lovers and would-be imitators of charles lamb. the moralistic type of humor, the crack of juvenal's whip, as well as the delicate horatian playing around the heart-strings, has characterized our humor and satire from the beginning. at bottom the american is serious. beneath the surface of his jokes there is moral earnestness, there is ethical passion. take, for example, some of the apothegms of "josh billings." he failed with the public until he took up the trick of misspelling his words. when he had once gained his public he sometimes delighted them with sheer whimsical incongruity, like this:-- "there iz things in this life for which we are never fully prepared, and that iz twins." but more often the tone is really grave. it is only the spelling that is queer. the moralizing might be by la bruyère or la rochefoucauld. take this:-- "life iz short, but it iz long enuff to ruin enny man who wants tew be ruined." or this:-- "when a feller gits a goin doun hill, it dus seem as tho evry thing had bin greased for the okashun." that is what writers of tragedy have been showing, ever since the greeks! or finally, this, which has the perfect tone of the great french moralists:-- "it iz a verry delicate job to forgive a man without lowering him in his own estimashun, and yures too." see how the moralistic note is struck in the field of political satire. it is , and "petroleum v. nasby," writing from "confedrit x roads," kentucky, gives deekin pogram's views on education. "he didn't bleeve in edjucashun, generally speekin. the common people was better off without it, ez edjucashun hed a tendency to unsettle their minds. he had seen the evil effex ov it in niggers and poor whites. so soon ez a nigger masters the spellin book and gits into noosepapers, he becomes dissatisfied with his condishin, and hankers after a better cabin and more wages. he towunst begins to insist onto ownin land hisself, and givin his children edjucashun, and, ez a nigger, for our purposes, aint worth a soo markee." the single phrase, "ez a nigger," spells a whole chapter of american history. that quotation from "petroleum v. nasby" serves also to illustrate a species of american humor which has been of immense historical importance and which has never been more active than it is to-day: the humor, namely, of local, provincial, and sectional types. much of this falls under bergson's conception of humor as social censure. it rebukes the extravagance, the rigidity, the unawareness of the individual who fails to adapt himself to his social environment. it takes the place, in our categories of humor, of those types of class humor and satire in which european literature is so rich. the mobility of our population, the constant shifting of professions and callings, has prevented our developing fixed class types of humor. we have not even the lieutenant or the policeman as permanent members of our humorous stock company. the policeman of to-day may be mayor or governor to-morrow. the lieutenant may go back to his grocery wagon or on to his department store. but whenever and wherever such an individual fails to adapt himself to his new companions, fails to take on, as it were, the colors of his new environment, to speak in the new social accents, to follow the recognized patterns of behavior, then the kindly whip of the humorist is already cracking round his ears. the humor and satire of college undergraduate journalism turns mainly upon the recognized ability or inability of different individuals to adapt themselves to their changing pigeon-holes in the college organism. a freshman must behave like a freshman, or he is laughed at. yet he must not behave as if he were nothing but the automaton of a freshman, or he will be laughed at more merrily still. one of the first discoveries of our earlier humorists was the down-east yankee. "i'm going to portland whether or no," says major jack downing, telling the story of his boyhood; "i'll see what this world is made of yet. so i tackled up the old horse and packed in a load of ax handles and a few notions, and mother fried me a few doughnuts ... for i told her i didn't know how long i should be gone,"--and off he goes to portland, to see what the world is made of. it is a little like defoe, and a good deal like the young ulysses, bent upon knowing cities and men and upon getting the best of bargains. each generation of americans has known something like that trip to portland. each generation has had to measure its wits, its resources, its manners, against new standards of comparison. at every stage of the journey there are mishaps and ridiculous adventures; but everywhere, likewise, there is zest, conquest, initiation; the heart of a boy who "wants to know"--as the yankees used to say; or, in more modern phrase,-- "to admire and for to see, for to behold this world so wide." there is the same romance of adventure in the humor concerning the irishman, the negro, the dutchman, the dago, the farmer. each in turn becomes humorous through failure to adapt himself to the prevalent type. a long-bearded jew is not ridiculous in russia, but he rapidly becomes ridiculous even on the east side of new york. underneath all this popular humor of the comic supplements one may catch glimpses of the great revolving wheels which are crushing the vast majority of our population into something like uniformity. it is a process of social attrition. the sharp edges of individual behavior get rounded off. the individual loses color and picturesqueness, precisely as he casts aside the national costume of the land from which he came. his speech, his gait, his demeanor, become as nearly as possible like the speech and carriage of all his neighbors. if he resists, he is laughed at; and if he does not personally heed the laughter, he may be sure that his children do. it is the children of our immigrants who catch the sly smiles of their school-fellows, who overhear jokes from the newspapers and on the street corners, who bring home to their foreign-born fathers and mothers the imperious childish demand to make themselves like unto everybody else. a similar social function is performed by that well-known mode of american humor which ridicules the inhabitants of certain states. why should new jersey, for example, be more ridiculous than delaware? in the eyes of the newspaper paragrapher it unquestionably is, just as missouri has more humorous connotations than kentucky. we may think we understand why we smile when a man says that he comes from kalamazoo or oshkosh, but the smile when he says "philadelphia" or "boston" or "brooklyn" is only a trifle more subtle. it is none the less real. why should the suburban dweller of every city be regarded with humorous condescension by the man who is compelled to sleep within the city limits? no one can say, and yet without that humor of the suburbs the comic supplements of american newspapers would be infinitely less entertaining,--to the people who enjoy comic supplements. so it is with the larger divisions of our national life. yankee, southerner, westerner, californian, texan, each type provokes certain connotations of humor when viewed by any of the other types. each type in turn has its note of provinciality when compared with the norm of the typical american. it is quite possible to maintain that our literature, like our social life, has suffered by this ever-present american sense of the ridiculous. our social consciousness might be far more various and richly colored, there might be more true provincial independence of speech and custom and imagination if we had not to reckon with this ever-present censure of laughter, this fear of finding ourselves, our city, our section, out of touch with the prevalent tone and temper of the country as a whole. it is one of the forfeits we are bound to pay when we play the great absorbing game of democracy. we are now ready to ask once more whether there is a truly national type of american humor. viewed exclusively from the standpoint of racial characteristics, we have seen that this question as to a national type of humor is difficult to answer. but we have seen with equal clearness that the united states has offered a singularly rich field for the development of the sense of humor; and furthermore that there are certain specialized forms of humor which have flourished luxuriantly upon our soil. our humorists have made the most of their native materials. every pioneer trait of versatility, curiosity, shrewdness, has been turned somehow to humorous account. the very institutions of democracy, moulding day by day and generation after generation the habits and the mental characteristics of millions of men, have produced a social atmosphere in which humor is one of the most indisputable elements. i recall a notable essay by mr. charles johnston on the essence of american humor in which he applies to the conditions of american life one familiar distinction between humor and wit. wit, he asserts, scores off the other man, humor does not. wit frequently turns upon tribal differences, upon tribal vanity. the mordant wit of the jew, for example, from the literature of the old testament down to the raillery of heine, has turned largely upon the sense of racial superiority, of intellectual and moral differences. but true humor, mr. johnston goes on to argue, has always a binding, a uniting quality. thus huckleberry finn and jim hawkins, white man and black man, are afloat together on the mississippi river raft and they are made brethren by the fraternal quality of mark twain's humor. thus the levelling quality of bret harte's humor bridges social and moral chasms. it creates an atmosphere of charity and sympathy. in fact, the typical american humor, according to the opinion of mr. johnston, emphasizes the broad and humane side of our common nature. it reveals the common soul. it possesses a surplusage of power, of buoyancy and of conquest over circumstances. it means at its best a humanizing of our hearts. some people will think that all this is too optimistic, but if you are not optimistic enough you cannot keep up with the facts. certain it is that the pioneers of american national humor, the creators of what we may call the "all-american" type of humor, have possessed precisely the qualities which mr. johnston has pointed out. they are apparent in the productions of artemus ward. the present generation vaguely remembers artemus ward as the man who was willing to send all his wife's relatives to the war and who, standing by the tomb of shakespeare, thought it "a success." but no one who turns to the almost forgotten pages of that kindly jester can fail to be impressed by his sunny quality, by the atmosphere of fraternal affection which glorifies his queer spelling and his somewhat threadbare witticisms. mark twain, who is universally recognized by europeans as a representative of typical american humor, had precisely those qualities of pioneer curiosity, swift versatility, absolute democracy, which are characteristic of the national temper. his lively accounts of frontier experiences in _roughing it_, his comments upon the old world in _innocents abroad_ and _a tramp abroad_, his hatred of pretence and injustice, his scorn at sentimentality coupled with his insistence upon the rights of sentiment, in a word his persistent idealism, make mark twain one of the most representative of american writers. largeness, freedom, human sympathy, are revealed upon every page. it is true that the dangers of american humor are no less in evidence there. there is the danger of extravagance, which in mark twain's earlier writings was carried to lengths of absurdity. there is the old danger of the professional humorist of fearing to fail to score his point, and so of underscoring it with painful reiteration. mark twain is frequently grotesque. sometimes there is evidence of imperfect taste, or of bad taste. sometimes there is actual vulgarity. in his earlier books particularly there is revealed that lack of discipline which has been such a constant accompaniment of american writing. yet a native of hannibal, missouri, trained on a river steamboat and in a country printing-office and in mining-camps, can scarcely be expected to exhibit the finely balanced critical sense of a matthew arnold. mark twain was often accused in the first years of his international reputation of a characteristically american lack of reverence. he is often irreverent. but here again the boundaries of his irreverence are precisely those which the national instinct itself has drawn. the joke stops short of certain topics which the american mind holds sacred. we all have our favorite pages in the writings of this versatile and richly endowed humorist, but i think no one can read his description of the coyote in _roughing it_, and huckleberry finn's account of his first visit to the circus, without realizing that in this fresh revelation of immemorial human curiosity, this vivid perception of incongruity and surprise, this series of lightning-like flashes from one pole of experience to the other, we have not only masterpieces of world humor, but a revelation of a distinctly american reaction to the facts presented by universal experience. the picturesque personality and the extraordinarily successful career of mark twain kept him, during the last twenty-five years of his life, in the focus of public attention. but no one can read the pages of the older american humorists,--or try to recall to mind the names of paragraphers who used to write comic matter for this or that newspaper,--without realizing how swiftly the dust of oblivion settles upon all the makers of mere jokes. it is enough, perhaps, that they caused a smile for the moment. even those humorists who mark epochs in the history of american provincial and political satire, like seba smith with his _major jack downing_, newell with his _papers of orpheus c. kerr_, "petroleum v. nasby's" _letters from the confedrit x roads_, shillaber's _mrs. partington_--all these have disappeared round the turn of the long road. "hans breitman gife a barty-- vhere ish dot barty now?" it seems as if the conscious humorists, the professional funny writers, had the shortest lease of literary life. they play their little comic parts before a well-disposed but restless audience which is already impatiently waiting for some other "turn." one of them makes a hit with a song or story, just as a draughtsman for a sunday colored supplement makes a hit with his "mutt and jeff." for a few months everybody smiles and then comes the long oblivion. the more permanent american humor has commonly been written by persons who were almost unconscious, not indeed of the fact that they were creating humorous characters, but unconscious of the effort to provoke a laugh. the smile lasts longer than the laugh. perhaps that is the secret. one smiles as one reads the delicate sketches of miss jewett. one smiles over the stories of owen wister and of thomas nelson page. the trouble, possibly, with the enduring qualities of the brilliant humorous stories of "o. henry" was that they tempt the reader to laugh too much and to smile too little. when one reads the _legend of sleepy hollow_ or _diedrich knickerbocker's history of new york_, it is always with this gentle parting of the lips, this kindly feeling toward the author, his characters and the world. a humorous page which produces that effect for generation after generation, has the stamp of literature. one may doubt whether even the extraordinary fantasies of mark twain are more successful, judged by the mere vulgar test of concrete results, than the delicate humor of charles lamb. our current newspaper and magazine humor is in no respect more fascinating than in its suggestion as to the permanent effectiveness of its comic qualities. who could say, when he first read mr. finley p. dunne's "mr. dooley" sketches, whether this was something that a whole nation of readers would instantly and instinctively rejoice over, would find a genial revelation of american characteristics, would recognize as almost the final word of kindly satire upon our overworked, over-excited, over-anxious, over-self-conscious generation? the range of this contemporary newspaper and magazine humor is well-nigh universal,--always saving, it is true, certain topics or states of mind which the american public cannot regard as topics for laughter. with these few exceptions nothing is too high or too low for it. the paragraphers joke about the wheel-barrow, the hen, the mule, the mother-in-law, the president of the united states. there is no ascending or descending scale of importance. any of the topics can raise a laugh. if one examines a collection of american parodies, one will find that the happy national talent for fun-making finds full scope in the parody and burlesque of the dearest national sentiments. but no one minds; everybody believes that the sentiments endure while the jokes will pass. the jokes, intended as they are for an immense audience, necessarily lack subtlety. they tend to partake of the methods of pictorial caricature. indeed, caricature itself, as bergson has pointed out, emphasizes those "automatic, mechanical-toy" traits of character and behavior which isolate the individual and make him ill adapted for his function in society. our verbal wit and humor, no less than the pencil of our caricaturists, have this constant note of exaggeration. "these violent delights have violent ends." but during their brief and laughing existence they serve to normalize society. they set up, as it were, a pulpit in the street upon which the comic spirit may mount and preach her useful sermon to all comers. despite the universality of the objects of contemporary american humor, despite, too, its prevalent method of caricature, it remains true that its character is, on the whole, clean, easy-going, and kindly. the old satire of hatred has lost its force. no one knows why. "satire has grown weak," says mr. chesterton, "precisely because belief has grown weak." that is one theory. the late henry d. lloyd, of chicago, declared in one of his last books: "the world has outgrown the dialect and temper of hatred. the style of the imprecatory psalms and the denunciating prophets is out of date. no one knows these times if he is not conscious of this change." that is another theory. again, party animosities are surely weaker than they were. caricatures are less personally offensive; if you doubt it, look at any of the collections of caricatures of napoleon, or of george the fourth. irony is less often used by pamphleteers and journalists. it is a delicate rhetorical weapon, and journalists who aim at the great public are increasingly afraid to use it, lest the readers miss the point. in the editorials in the hearst newspapers, for instance, there is plenty of invective and innuendo, but rarely irony: it might not be understood, and the crowd must not be left in doubt. possibly the old-fashioned satire has disappeared because the game is no longer considered worth the candle. to puncture the tire of pretence is amusing enough; but it is useless to stick tacks under the steam road-roller: the road-roller advances remorselessly and smooths down your mischievous little tacks and you too, indifferently. the huge interests of politics, trade, progress, override your passionate protest. "shall gravitation cease when you go by?" i do not compare colonel roosevelt with gravitation, but have all the satirical squibs against our famous contemporary, from the "alone in cubia" to the "teddy-see," ever cost him, in a dozen years, a dozen votes? very likely mr. lloyd and mr. chesterton are right. we are less censorious than our ancestors were. americans, on the whole, try to avoid giving pain through speech. the satirists of the golden age loved that cruel exercise of power. perhaps we take things less seriously than they did; undoubtedly our attention is more distracted and dissipated. at any rate, the american public finds it easier to forgive and forget, than to nurse its wrath to keep it warm. our characteristic humor of understatement, and our equally characteristic humor of overstatement, are both likely to be cheery at bottom, though the mere wording may be grim enough. no popular saying is more genuinely characteristic of american humor than the familiar "cheer up. the worst is yet to come." whatever else one may say or leave unsaid about american humor, every one realizes that it is a fundamentally necessary reaction from the pressure of our modern living. perhaps it is a handicap. perhaps we joke when we should be praying. perhaps we make fun when we ought to be setting our shoulders to the wheel. but the deeper fact is that most american shoulders are set to the wheel too often and too long, and if they do not stop for the joke they are done for. i have always suspected that mr. kipling was thinking of american humor when he wrote in his well-known lines on "the american spirit":-- "so imperturbable he rules unkempt, disreputable, vast-- and in the teeth of all the schools i--i shall save him at the last." that is the very secret of the american sense of humor: the conviction that something is going to save us at the last. otherwise there would be no joke! it is no accident, surely, that the man who is increasingly idolized as the most representative of all americans, the burden-bearer of his people, the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, should be our most inveterate humorist. let lincoln have his story and his joke, for he had faith in the saving of the nation; and while his cabinet are waiting impatiently to listen to his proclamation of emancipation, give him another five minutes to read aloud to them that new chapter by artemus ward. vi individualism and fellowship it would be difficult to find a clearer expression of the old doctrine of individualism than is uttered by carlyle in his london lecture on "the hero as man of letters." listen to the grim child of calvinism as he fires his "annandale grapeshot" into that sophisticated london audience: "men speak too much about the world.... the world's being saved will not save us; nor the world's being lost destroy us. we should look to ourselves.... for the saving of the world i will trust confidently to the maker of the world; and look a little to my own saving, which i am more competent to!" carlyle was never more soundly puritanic, never more perfectly within the lines of the moral traditions of his race than in these injunctions to let the world go and to care for the individual soul. we are familiar with the doctrine on this side of the atlantic. here is a single phrase from emerson's _journal_ of september, , written on his voyage home from that memorable visit to europe where he first made carlyle's acquaintance. "back again to myself," wrote emerson, as the five-hundred-ton sailing ship beat her way westward for a long month across the stormy north atlantic:--"back again to myself.--a man contains all that is needful to his government within himself. he is made a law unto himself. all real good or evil that can befall him must be from himself.... the purpose of life seems to be to acquaint a man with himself." in the following august he is writing:-- "societies, parties, are only incipient stages, tadpole states of men, as caterpillars are social, but the butterfly not. the true and finished man is ever alone." on march , :-- "alone is wisdom. alone is happiness. society nowadays makes us low-spirited, hopeless. alone is heaven." and once more:-- "if Æschylus is that man he is taken for, he has not yet done his office when he has educated the learned of europe for a thousand years. he is now to approve himself a master of delight to me. if he cannot do that, all his fame shall avail him nothing. i were a fool not to sacrifice a thousand Æschyluses to my intellectual integrity." these quotations have to do with the personal life. let me next illustrate the individualism of the eighteen-thirties by the attitude of two famous individualists toward the prosaic question of paying taxes to the state. carlyle told emerson that he should pay taxes to the house of hanover just as long as the house of hanover had the physical force to collect them,--and not a day longer. henry thoreau was even more recalcitrant. let me quote him:-- "i have paid no poll-tax for six years. i was put into a jail once on this account, for one night; and, as i stood considering the walls of solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and iron, a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light, i could not help being struck with the foolishness of that institution which treated me as if i were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be locked up. i wondered that it should have concluded at length that this was the best use it could put me to, and had never thought to avail itself of my services in some way. i saw that, if there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through before they could get to be as free as i was. i did not for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar. i felt as if i alone of all my townsmen had paid my tax. they plainly did not know how to treat me, but behaved like persons who are underbred. in every threat and in every compliment there was a blunder; for they thought that my chief desire was to stand on the other side of that stone wall. i could not but smile to see how industriously they locked the door on my meditations, which followed them out again without let or hindrance, and _they_ were really all that was dangerous. as they could not reach me, they had resolved to punish my body; just as boys, if they cannot come at some person against whom they have a spite, will abuse his dog. i saw that the state was half-witted, that it was timid as a lone woman with her silver spoons, and that it did not know its friends from its foes, and i lost all my remaining respect for it, and pitied it." here is thoreau's attitude toward the problems of the inner life. the three quotations are from his _walden_:-- "probably i should not consciously and deliberately forsake my particular calling to do the good which society demands of me, to save the universe from annihilation." "i went to the woods because i wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if i could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived. i did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did i wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. i wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion." "it is said that the british empire is very large and respectable, and that the united states are a first-rate power. we do not believe that a tide rises and falls behind every man which can float the british empire like a chip, if he should ever harbor it in his mind." all of these quotations from emerson and thoreau are but various modes of saying "let the world go." everybody knows that in later crises of american history, both thoreau and emerson forgot their old preaching of individualism, or at least merged it in the larger doctrine of identification of the individual with the acts and emotions of the community. and nevertheless as men of letters they habitually laid stress upon the rights and duties of the private person. upon a hundred brilliant pages they preached the gospel that society is in conspiracy against the individual manhood of every one of its members. they had a right to this doctrine. they came by it honestly through long lines of ancestral heritage. the republicanism of the seventeenth century in the american forests, as well as upon the floor of the english house of commons, had asserted that private persons had the right to make and unmake kings. the republican theorists of the eighteenth century had insisted that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were the birthright of each individual. this doctrine was related, of course, to the doctrine of equality. if republicanism teaches that "i am as good as others," democracy is forever hinting "others are as good as i." democracy has been steadily extending the notion of rights and duties. the first instinct, perhaps, is to ask what is right, just, lawful, for me? next, what is right, just, lawful for my crowd? that is to say, my family, my clan, my race, my country. the third instinct bids one ask what is right and just and lawful, not merely for me, and for men like me, but for everybody. and when we get that third question properly answered, we can afford to close school-house and church and court-room, for this world's work will have ended. we have already glanced at various phases of colonial individualism. we have had a glimpse of cotton mather prostrate upon the dusty floor of his study, agonizing now for himself and now for the countries of europe; we have watched jonathan edwards in his solitary ecstasies in the northampton and the stockbridge woods; we have seen franklin preaching his gospel of personal thrift and of getting on in the world. down to the very verge of the revolution the american pioneer spirit was forever urging the individual to fight for his own hand. each boy on the old farms had his own chores to do; each head of a family had to plan for himself. the most tragic failure of the individual in those days was the poverty or illness which compelled him to "go on the town." to be one of the town poor indicated that the individualistic battle had been fought and lost. no one ever dreamed, apparently, that a time for old-age pensions and honorable retiring funds was coming. the feeling against any form of community assistance was like the bitter hatred of the workhouse among english laborers of the eighteen-forties. the stress upon purely personal qualities gave picturesqueness, color, and vigor to the early life of the united states. take the persons whom parkman describes in his _oregon trail_. they have the perfect clearness of outline of the portraits by walter scott and the great romantic school of novelists who loved to paint pictures of interesting individual men. there is the same stress upon individualistic portraiture in irving's _astoria_; in the humorous journals of early travellers in the southern states. it is the secret of the curiosity with which we observe the gamblers and miners and stage-drivers described by bret harte. in the rural communities of to-day, in the older portions of the country, and in the remoter settlements of the west and southwest, the individual man has a sort of picturesque, and, as it were, artistic value, which the life of cities does not allow. the gospel of self-reliance and of solitude is not preached more effectively by the philosophers of concord than it is by the backwoodsmen, the spies, and the sailors of fenimore cooper. individualism as a doctrine of perfection for the private person and individualism as a literary creed have thus gone hand in hand. "produce great persons, the rest follows," cried walt whitman. he was thinking at the moment about american society and politics. but he believed that the same law held good in poetry. once get your great man and let him abandon himself to poetry and the great poetry will be the result. it was almost precisely the same teaching as in carlyle's lecture on "the hero as poet." well, it is clear enough nowadays that both whitman and carlyle underrated the value of discipline. the lack of discipline is the chief obstacle to effective individualism. the private person must be well trained, or he cannot do his work; and as civilization advances, it becomes exceedingly difficult to train the individual without social coöperation. a paul or a mahomet may discipline his own soul in the desert of arabia; he may there learn the lessons that may later make him a leader of men. but for the average man and indeed for most of the exceptional men, the path to effectiveness lies through social and professional discipline. here is where the frontier stage of our american life was necessarily weak. we have seen that our ancestors gained something, no doubt, from their spirit of unconventionally and freedom. but they also lost something through their dislike for discipline, their indifference to criticism, their ineradicable tendency, whether in business, in diplomacy, in art and letters and education, to go "across lots." a certain degree of physical orderliness was, indeed, imposed upon our ancestors by the conditions of pioneer life. the natural prodigality and recklessness of frontier existence was here and there sharply checked. order is essential in a camp, and the thin line of colonies was all camping. a certain instinct for order underlay that resourcefulness which impresses every reader of our history. did the colonist need a tool? he learned to make it himself. isolation from the mother country was a stimulus to the inventive imagination. before long they were maintaining public order in the same ingenious fashion in which they kept house. appeals to london took too much time. "we send a complaint this year," ran the saying, "the next year they send to inquire, the third year the ministry is changed." no wonder that resourcefulness bred independent action, stimulated the puritan taste for individualism, and led the way to self-government. yet who does not know that the inherent instinct for political order may be accompanied by mental disorderliness? even your modern englishman--as the saying goes--"muddles through." the minds of our american forefathers were not always lucid. the mysticism of the new england calvinists sometimes bred fanaticism. the practical and the theoretical were queerly blended. the essential unorderliness of the american mind is admirably illustrated by that "father of all the yankees," benjamin franklin. no student of franklin's life fails to be impressed by its happy casualness, its cheerful flavor of the rogue-romance. gil blas himself never drifted into and out of an adventure with a more offhand and imperturbable adroitness. franklin went through life with the joyous inventiveness of the amateur. he had the amateur's enthusiasm, coupled with a clairvoyant penetration into technical problems such as few amateurs have possessed. with all of his wonderful patience towards other men, franklin had in the realm of scientific experiment something of the typical impatience of the mere dabbler. he was inclined to lose interest in the special problem before it was worked out. his large, tolerant intelligence was often as unorderly as his papers and accounts. he was a wonderful colonial jack-of-all-trades; with a range of suggestion, a resourcefulness, a knack of assimilation, a cosmopolitan many-sidedness, which has left us perpetually his debtors. under different surroundings, and disciplined by a more severe and orderly training, franklin might easily have developed the very highest order of professional scientific achievement. his natural talent for organization of men and institutions, his "early projecting public spirit," his sense of the lack of formal educational advantages in the colonies, made him the founder of the philadelphia academy, the successful agitator for public libraries. academicism, even in the narrow sense, owes much to this ll.d. of st. andrews, d.c.l. of oxford, and intimate associate of french academicians. but one smiles a little, after all, to see the bland printer in this academic company: he deserves his place there, indeed, but he is something more and other than his associates. he is the type of youthful, inexhaustible colonial america; reckless of precedent, self-taught, splendidly alive; worth, to his day and generation, a dozen born academicians; and yet suggesting by his very imperfections, that the americans of a later day, working under different conditions, are bound to develop a sort of professional skill, of steady, concentrated, ordered intellectual activity, for which franklin possessed the potential capacity rather than the opportunity and the desire. yet there were latent lines of order, hints and prophecies of a coming fellowship, running deep and straight beneath the confused surface of the preoccupied colonial consciousness. in another generation we see the rude western democracy asserting itself in the valley of the mississippi. this breed of pioneers, like their fathers on the atlantic coast line, could turn their hands to anything, because they must. "the average man," says mr. herbert croly, "without any special bent or qualifications, was in the pioneer states the useful man. in that country it was sheer waste to spend much energy upon tasks which demanded skill, prolonged experience, high technical standards, or exclusive devotion.... no special equipment was required. the farmer was obliged to be all kinds of a rough mechanic. the business man was merchant, manufacturer, and storekeeper. almost everybody was something of a politician. the number of parts which a man of energy played in his time was astonishingly large. andrew jackson was successively a lawyer, judge, planter, merchant, general, politician, and statesman; and he played most of these parts with conspicuous success. in such a society a man who persisted in one job, and who applied the most rigorous and exacting standards to his work, was out of place and really inefficient. his finished product did not serve its temporary purpose much better than did the current careless and hasty product, and his higher standards and peculiar ways constituted an implied criticism on the easy methods of his neighbors. he interfered with the rough good-fellowship which naturally arises among a group of men who submit good naturedly and uncritically to current standards. it is no wonder, consequently, that the pioneer democracy viewed with distrust and aversion the man with a special vocation and high standards of achievement." the truth of this comment is apparent to everybody. it explains the still lingering popular suspicion of the "academic" type of man. but we are likely to forget that back of all that easy versatility and reckless variety of effort there was some sound and patient and constructive thinking. lincoln used to describe himself humorously, slightingly, as a "mast-fed" lawyer, one who had picked up in the woods the scattered acorns of legal lore. it was a true enough description, but after all, there were very few college-bred lawyers in the eighth illinois circuit or anywhere else who could hold their own, even in a purely professional struggle, with that long-armed logician from the backwoods. there was once a "mast-fed" novelist in this country, who scandalously slighted his academic opportunities, went to sea, went into the navy, went to farming, and then went into novel-writing to amuse himself. he cared nothing and knew nothing about conscious literary art; his style is diffuse, his syntax the despair of school-teachers, and many of his characters are bores. but once let him strike the trail of a story, and he follows it like his own hawkeye; put him on salt water or in the wilderness, and he knows rope and paddle, axe and rifle, sea and forest and sky; and he knows his road home to the right ending of a story by an instinct as sure as an indian's. professional novelists like balzac, professional critics like sainte-beuve, stand amazed at fenimore cooper's skill and power. the true engineering and architectural lines are there. they were not painfully plotted beforehand, like george eliot's. cooper took, like scott, "the easiest path across country," just as a bee-hunter seems to take the easiest path through the woods. but the bee-hunter, for all his apparent laziness, never loses sight of the air-drawn line, marked by the homing bee; and your _last of the mohicans_ will be instinctively, inevitably right, while your _daniel deronda_ will be industriously wrong. cooper literally builded better than he knew. obstinately unacademic in his temper and training, he has won the suffrages of the most fastidious and academic judges of excellence in his profession. the secret is, i suppose, that the lawlessness, the amateurishness, the indifference to standards were on the surface,--apparent to everybody,--the soundness and rightness of his practice were unconscious. franklin and lincoln and cooper, therefore, may be taken as striking examples of individuals trained in the old happy-go-lucky way, and yet with marked capacities for socialization, for fellowship. they succeeded, even by the vulgar tests of success, in spite of their lack of discipline. but for most men the chief obstacle to effective labor even as individuals is the lack of thoroughgoing training. it is scarcely necessary to add that there are vast obstacles in the way of individualism as a working theory of society. carlyle's theory of "hero worship" has fewer adherents than for half a century. it is picturesque,--that conception of a great, sincere man and of a world reverencing him and begging to be led by him. but the difficulty is that contemporary democracy does not say to the hero, as carlyle thought it must say, "govern me! i am mad and miserable, and cannot govern myself!" democracy says to the hero, "thank you very much, but this is our affair. join us, if you like. we shall be glad of your company. but we are not looking for governors. we propose to govern ourselves." even from the point of view of literature and art,--fields of activity where the individual performer has often been felt to be quite independent of his audience,--it is quite evident nowadays that the old theory of individualism breaks down. even your lyric poet, who more than any other artist stands or sings alone, falls easily into mere lyric eccentricity if he is not bound to his fellows by wholesome and normal ties. in fact, this lyric eccentricity, weakness, wistfulness, is one of the notable defects of american poetry. we have always been lacking in the more objective forms of literary art, like epic and drama. poe, and the imitators of poe, have been regarded too often by our people as the normal type of poet. one must not forget the silent solitary ecstasies that have gone into the making of enduring lyric verse, but our literature proves abundantly how soon sweetness may turn to an emily dickinson strain of morbidness; how fatally the lovely becomes transformed into the queer. the history of the american short story furnishes many similar examples. the artistic intensity of a hawthorne, his ethical and moral preoccupations, are all a part of the creed of individualistic art. but both hawthorne and poe would have written,--one dare not say better stories, but at least greater and broader and more human stories,--if they had not been forced to walk so constantly in solitary pathways. that fellowship in artistic creation which has characterized some of the greatest periods of art production was something wholly absent from the experience of these gifted and lonely men. even emerson and thoreau wrote "whim" over their portals more often than any artist has the privilege to write it. emerson never had any thorough training, either in philosophy, theology, or history. he admits it upon a dozen smiling pages. perhaps it adds to his purely personal charm, just as montaigne's confession of his intellectual and moral weaknesses heightens our fondness for the prince of essayists. but the deeper fact is that not only emerson and thoreau, poe and hawthorne, but practically every american writer and artist from the beginning has been forced to do his work without the sustaining and heartening touch of national fellowship and pride. emerson himself felt the chilling poverty in the intellectual and emotional life of the country. he betrays it in this striking passage from his _journal_, about the sculptor greenough:-- "what interest has greenough to make a good statue? who cares whether it is good? a few prosperous gentlemen and ladies; but the universal yankee nation roaring in the capitol to approve or condemn would make his eye and hand and heart go to a new tune." those words were written in , but we are still waiting for that new national anthem, sustaining the heart and the voice of the individual artist. yet there are signs that it is coming. it is obvious that the day for the old individualism has passed. whether one looks at art and literature or at the general activities of american society, it is clear that the isolated individual is incompetent to carry on his necessary tasks. this is not saying that we have outgrown the individual. we shall never outgrow the individual. we need for every page of literature and for every adequate performance of society more highly perfected individuals. some one said of edgar allan poe that he did not know enough to be a great poet. all around us and every day we find individuals who do not know enough for their specific job; men who do not love enough, men in whom the power of will is too feeble. such men, as individuals, must know and love and will more adequately; and this not merely to perfect their functioning as individuals, but to fulfill their obligations to contemporary society. a true spiritual democracy will never be reached until highly trained individuals are united in the bonds of fraternal feeling. every individual defect in training, defect in aspiration, defect in passion, becomes ultimately a defect in society. let us turn, then, to those conditions of american society which have prepared the way for, and foreshadowed, a more perfect fellowship. we shall instantly perceive the relation of these general social conditions to the specific performances of our men of letters. we have repeatedly noted that our most characteristic literature is what has been called a citizen literature. it is the sort of writing which springs from a sense of the general needs of the community and which has had for its object the safe-guarding or the betterment of the community. aside from a few masterpieces of lyric poetry, and aside from the short story as represented by such isolated artists as poe and hawthorne, our literature as a whole has this civic note. it may be detected in the first writings of the colonists. captain john smith's angry order at jamestown, "he that will not work neither let him eat," is one of the planks in the platform of democracy. under the trying and depressing conditions of that disastrous settlement at eden in _martin chuzzlewit_ it is the quick wits and the brave heart of mark tapley which prove him superior to his employer. the same sermon is preached in mr. barrie's play, _the admirable crichton_: cast away upon the desert island, the butler proves himself a better man than his master. this is the motive of a very modern play, but it may be illustrated a hundred times in the history of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in america. the practical experiences of the colonists confirmed them in their republican theories. it is true that they held to a doctrine of religious and political individualism. but the moment these theories were put to work in the wilderness a new order of things decreed that this individualism should be modified in the direction of fellowship. calvinism itself, for all of its insistence upon the value of the individual soul, taught also the principle of the equality of all souls before god. it was thus that the _institutes_ of calvin became one of the charters of democracy. the democratic drift in the writings of franklin and jefferson is too well known to need any further comment. the triumph of the rebellious colonists of was a triumph of democratic principles; and although a tory reaction came promptly, although hamiltonianism came to stay as a beneficent check to over-radical, populistic theories, the history of the last century and a quarter has abundantly shown the vitality and the endurance of democratic ideas. one may fairly say that the decade in which american democracy revealed its most ugly and quarrelsome aspect was the decade of the eighteen-thirties. that was the decade when washington irving and fenimore cooper came home from long sojourns in europe. they found themselves confronted at once by sensitive, suspicious neighbors who hated england and europe and had a lurking or open hostility towards anything that savored of old world culture. yet in that very epoch when english visitors were passing their most harsh and censorious verdict upon american culture, emerson was writing in his _journal_ (june , ) a singular prophecy to the effect that the evils of our democracy, so far as literature was concerned, were to be cured by the remedy of more democracy. is it not striking that he turns away from the universities and the traditional culture of new england and looks towards the jacksonism of the new west to create a new and native american literature? here is the passage:-- "we all lean on england; scarce a verse, a page, a newspaper, but is writ in imitation of english forms; our very manners and conversation are traditional, and sometimes the life seems dying out of all literature, and this enormous paper currency of words is accepted instead. i suppose the evil may be cured by this rank rabble party, the jacksonism of the country, heedless of english and of all literature--a stone cut out of the ground without hands;--they may root out the hollow dilettantism of our cultivation in the coarsest way, and the new-born may begin again to frame their own world with greater advantage." from that raw epoch of the eighteen-thirties on to the civil war, one may constantly detect in american writing the accents of democratic radicalism. partly, no doubt, it was a heritage of the sentiment of the french revolution. "my father," said john greenleaf whittier, "really believed in the preamble of the bill of rights, which re-affirmed the declaration of independence." so did the son! equally clear in the writings of those thirty years are echoes of the english radicalism which had so much in common with the democratic movement across the english channel. the part which english thinkers and english agitators played in securing for america the fruits of her own democratic principles has never been adequately acknowledged. that the outcome of the civil war meant a triumph of democratic ideas as against aristocratic privilege, no one can doubt. there were no stancher adherents of the democratic idea than our intellectual aristocrats. the best union editorials at the time of the civil war, says james ford rhodes, were written by scholars like charles eliot norton and james russell lowell. i think it was lowell who once said, in combatting the old aristocratic notion of white man supremacy, that no gentleman is willing to accept privileges that are inaccessible to other men. this is precisely like the famous sentence of walt whitman which first arrested the attention of "golden rule jones," the mayor of toledo, and which made him not only a whitmaniac for the rest of his life but one of the most useful of american citizens. the line was, "i will accept nothing which all may not have their counterpart of on the same terms." this instinct of fellowship cannot be separated, of course, from the older instincts of righteousness and justice. it involves, however, more than giving the other man his due. it means feeling towards him as towards another "fellow." it involves the sentiment of partnership. historians of early mining life in california have noted the new phase of social feeling in the mining-camps which followed upon the change from the pan--held and shaken by the solitary miner--to the cradle, which required the coöperation of at least two men. it was when the cradle came in that the miners first began to say "partner." as the cradle gave way to placer mining, larger and larger schemes of coöperation came into use. in fact, professor royce has pointed out in his _history of california_ that the whole lesson of california history is precisely the lesson most necessary to be learned by the country as a whole, namely, that the phase of individual gain-getting and individualistic power always leads to anarchy and reaction, and that it becomes necessary, even in the interests of effective individualism itself, to recognize the compelling and ultimate authority of society. what went on in california between and is precisely typical of what is going on everywhere to-day. american men and women are learning, as we say, "to get together." it is the distinctly twentieth-century programme. we must all learn the art of getting together, not merely to conserve the interests of literature and art and society, but to preserve the individual himself in his just rights. any one who misunderstands the depth and the scope of the present political restlessness which is manifested in every section of the country, misunderstands the american instinct for fellowship. it is a law of that fellowship that what is right and legitimate for me is right and legitimate for the other fellow also. the american mind and the american conscience are becoming socialized before our very eyes. american art and literature must keep pace with this socialization of the intelligence and the conscience, or they will be no longer representative of the true america. literary illustrations of this spirit of fraternalism lie close at hand. they are to be found here and there even in the rebellious, well-nigh anarchic, individualism of the concord men. they are to be found throughout the prose and verse of whittier. no one has preached a truer or more effective gospel of fellowship than longfellow, whose poetry has been one of the pervasive influences in american democracy, although longfellow had but little to say about politics and never posed in a slouch hat and with his trousers tucked into his boots. fellowship is taught in the _biglow papers_ of lowell and the stories of mrs. stowe. it is wholly absent from the prose and verse of poe, and it imparts but a feeble warmth to the delicately written pages of hawthorne. but in the books written for the great common audience of american men and women, like the novels of winston churchill; and in the plays which have scored the greatest popular successes, like those of denman thompson, bronson howard, gillette, augustus thomas, the doctrine of fellowship is everywhere to be traced. it is in the poems of james whitcomb riley and of sam walter foss; in the work of hundreds of lesser known writers of verse and prose who have echoed foss's sentiment about living in a "house by the side of the road" and being a "friend of man." to many readers the supreme literary example of the gospel of american fellowship is to be found in walt whitman. one will look long before one finds a more consistent or a nobler doctrine of fellowship than is chanted in _leaves of grass_. it is based upon individualism; the strong body and the possessed soul, sure of itself amid the whirling of the "quicksand years"; but it sets these strong persons upon the "open road" in comradeship; it is the sentiment of comradeship which creates the indissoluble union of "these states"; and the states, in turn, in spite of every "alarmist," "partialist," or "infidel," are to stretch out unsuspicious and friendly hands of fellowship to the whole world. anybody has the right to call _leaves of grass_ poor poetry, if he pleases; but nobody has the right to deny its magnificent americanism. it is not merely in literature that this message of fellowship is brought to our generation. let me quote a few sentences from the recent address of george gray barnard, the sculptor, in explaining the meaning of his marble groups now placed at the entrance to the capitol of pennsylvania. "i resolved," says barnard, "that i would build such groups as should stand at the entrance to the people's temple ... the home of those visions of the ever-widening and broadening brotherhood that gives to life its dignity and its meaning. life is told in terms of labor. it is fitting that labor, its triumphs, its message, should be told to those who gaze upon a temple of the people. the worker is the hope of all the future. the needs of the worker, his problems, his hopes, his untold longings, his sacrifices, his triumphs, all of these are the field of the art of the future. slowly we are groping our way towards the new brotherhood, and when that day dawns, men will enter a world made a paradise by labor. labor makes us kin. it is for this reason that there has been placed at the entrance of this great building the message of the adam and eve of the future, the message of labor and of fraternity." that there are defects in this gospel and programme of american fellowship, every one is aware. if the obstacle to effective individualism is lack of discipline, the obstacles to effective fellowship are vagueness, crankiness, inefficiency, and the relics of primal selfishness. nobody in our day has preached the tidings of universal fellowship more fervidly and powerfully than tolstoï. yet when one asks the great russian, "what am i to do as a member of this fellowship?" tolstoï gives but a confused and impractical answer. he applies to the complex and contradictory facts of our contemporary civilization the highest test and standard known to him: namely, the principles of the new testament. but if you ask him precisely how these principles are to be made the working programme of to-morrow, the russian mysticism and fanaticism settle over him like a fog. we pass tolstoïans on the streets of our american cities every day; they have the eyes of dreamers, of those who would build, if they could, a new heaven and a new earth. but they do not know exactly how to go about it. our practical western minds seize upon some actual plan for constructive labor. miss jane addams organizes her settlements in the slums; booker washington gives his race models of industrial education; president eliot has a theory of university reform and then struggles successfully for forty years to put that theory into practice. compared with the concrete performance of such social workers as these, the gospel according to whitman and tolstoï is bound to seem vague in its outlines, and ineffective in its concrete results. that such a gospel attracts cranks and eccentrics of all sorts is not to be wondered at. they come and go, but the deeper conceptions of fraternalism remain. a further obstacle to the progress of fellowship lies in selfishness. but let us see how even the coarser and rawer and cruder traits of the american character may be related to the spirit of common endeavor which is slowly transforming our society, and modifying, before our eyes, our contemporary art and literature. "the west," says james bryce, "is the most american part of america, that is to say the part where those features which distinguish america from europe come out in the strongest relief." we have already noted in our study of american romance how the call of the west represented for a while the escape from reality. the individual, following that retreating horizon which we name the west, found an escape from convention and from social law. beyond the mississippi or beyond the rockies meant to him that "somewheres east of suez" where the ten commandments are no longer to be found, where the individual has free rein. but by and by comes the inevitable reaction, the return to reality. the pioneer sobers down; he finds that "the ten commandments will not budge"; he sees the need of law and order; he organizes a vigilance committee; he impanels a jury, even though the old spanish law does not recognize a jury. the new land settles to its rest. the output of the gold mines shrinks into insignificance when compared with the cash value of crops of hay and potatoes. the old picturesque individualism yields to a new social order, to the conception of the rights of the state. the story of the west is thus an epitome of the individual human life as well as the history of the united states. we have been living through a period where the mind of the west has seemed to be the typical national mind. we have been indifferent to traditions. we have overlooked the defective training of the individual, provided he "made good." we have often, as in the free silver craze, turned our back upon universal experience. we have been recklessly deaf to the teachings of history; we have spoken of the laws of literature and art as if they were mere conventions designed to oppress the free activity of the artist. typical utterances of our writers are jack london's "i want to get away from the musty grip of the past," and frank norris's "i do not want to write literature, i want to write life." the soul of the west, and a good deal of the soul of america, has been betrayed in words like those. not to share this hopefulness of the west, its stress upon feeling rather than thinking, its superb confidence, is to be ignorant of the constructive forces of the nation. the humor of the west, its democracy, its rough kindness, its faith in the people, its generous notion of "the square deal for everybody," its elevation of the man above the dollar, are all typical of the american way of looking at the world. typical also, is its social solidarity, its swift emotionalism of the masses. it is the western interest in the ethical aspect of social movements that is creating some of the moving forces in american society to-day. experiment stations of all kinds flourish on that soil. chicago newspapers are more alive to new ideas than the newspapers of new york or boston. no one can understand the present-day america if he does not understand the men and women who live between the allegheny mountains and the rocky mountains. they have worked out, more successfully than the composite population of the east, a general theory of the relation of the individual to society; in other words, a combination of individualism with fellowship. to draw up an indictment against this typical section of our country is to draw up an indictment against our people as a whole. and yet one who studies the literature and art produced in the great mississippi valley will see, i believe, that the needs of the west are the real needs of america. take that commonness of mind and tone, which friendly foreign critics, from de tocqueville to bryce, have indicated as one of the dangers of our democracy. this commonness of mind and tone is often one of the penalties of fellowship. it may mean a levelling down instead of a levelling up. take the tyranny of the majority,--to which mr. bryce has devoted one of his most suggestive chapters. you begin by recognizing the rights of the majority. you end by believing that the majority must be right. you cease to struggle against it. in other words, you yield to what mr. bryce calls "the fatalism of the multitude." the individual has a sense of insignificance. it is vain to oppose the general current. it is easier to acquiesce and to submit. the sense of personal responsibility lessens. what is the use of battling for one's own opinions when one can already see that the multitude is on the other side? the greater your democratic faith in the ultimate rightness of the multitude, the less perhaps your individual power of will. the easier is it for you to believe that everything is coming out right, whether you put your shoulder to the wheel or not. the problem of overcoming these evils is nothing less than the problem of spiritualizing democracy. there are some of our hero-worshipping people who think that that vast result can still be accomplished by harking back to some such programme as the "great man" theory of carlyle. another theory of spiritualizing democracy, no less familiar to the student of nineteen-century literature, is what is called "the divine average" doctrine of walt whitman. the average man is to be taught the glory of his walk and trade. round every head there is to be an aureole. "a common wave of thought and joy, lifting mankind again," is to make us forget the old distinction between the individual and the social group. we are all to be the sons of the morning. we must not pause to analyze or to illustrate these two theories. carlyle's theory seems to me to be outworn, and whitman's theory is premature. but it is clear that they both admit that the mass of men are as yet incompletely spiritualized, not yet raised to their full stature. unquestionably, our american life is, in european eyes at least, monotonously uniform. it is touched with self-complacency. it is too intent upon material progress. it confuses bigness with greatness. it is unrestful. it is marked by intellectual impatience. our authors are eager to write life rather than literature. but they are so eager that they overlook the need of literary discipline. they do not learn to write literature and therefore most of them are incapable of interpreting life. they escape, perhaps, from "the musty grip of the past," but in so doing they refuse to learn the inexorable lessons of the past. hence the fact that our books lack power, that they are not commensurate with the living forces of the country. the unconscious, moral, and spiritual life of the nation is not back of them, making "eye and hand and heart go to a new tune." if we could have that, we should ask no more, for we believe in the nation. i heard a doctor say, the other day, that a man's chief lesson was to pull his brain down into his spinal cord; that is to say, to make his activities not so much the result of conscious thought and volition, as of unconscious, reflex action; to stop thinking and willing, and simply _do_ what one has to do. may there not be a hint here of the ultimate relation of the individual to the social organism; the relation of our literature to our national character? there is a period, no doubt, when the individual must painfully question himself, test his powers, and acquire the sense of his own place in the world. but there also comes a more mature period when he takes that place unconsciously, does his work almost without thinking about it, as if it were not his work at all. the brain has gone down into the spinal cord; the man is functioning as apart of the organism of society; he has ceased to question, to plan, to decide; it is instinct that does his work for him. literature and art, at their noblest, function in that instinctive way. they become the unconscious expression of a civilization. a nation passes out of its adolescent preoccupation with plans and with materials. it learns to do its work, precisely as goethe bade the artist do his task, without talking about it. we, too, shall outgrow in time our questioning, our self-analysis, our futile comparison of ourselves with other nations, our self-conscious study of our own national character. we shall not forget the distinction between "each" and "all," but "all" will increasingly be placed at the service of "each." with fellowship based upon individualism, and with individualism ever leading to fellowship, america will perform its vital tasks, and its literature will be the unconscious and beautiful utterance of its inner life. the end. the riverside press cambridge, massachusetts u. s. a. * * * * * transcriber's notes pages , : changed the oe ligature to oe in the name crèvecoeur: (settlers like crèvecoeur), (enthusiasm of a settler like crèvecoeur) page : changed compaign to campaign: (their compaign of "exposure," during the last decade,) page : retained the spaced 't is, to match original line of poetry: ("if my bark sinks, 't is to another sea.") page : changed conciousness to consciousness: (the preoccupied colonial conciousness.) page : changed explans to explains: (it explans the still lingering popular suspicion) page : changed sojurns to sojourns: (fenimore cooper came home from long sojurns in europe.) what i saw in america by g. k. chesterton hodder and stoughton limited london mcmxxii printed in great britain by t. and a. constable ltd. at the edinburgh university press _contents_ page what is america? a meditation in a new york hotel a meditation in broadway irish and other interviewers some american cities in the american country the american business man presidents and problems prohibition in fact and fancy fads and public opinion the extraordinary american the republican in the ruins is the atlantic narrowing? lincoln and lost causes wells and the world state a new martin chuzzlewit the spirit of america the spirit of england the future of democracy _what is america?_ i have never managed to lose my old conviction that travel narrows the mind. at least a man must make a double effort of moral humility and imaginative energy to prevent it from narrowing his mind. indeed there is something touching and even tragic about the thought of the thoughtless tourist, who might have stayed at home loving laplanders, embracing chinamen, and clasping patagonians to his heart in hampstead or surbiton, but for his blind and suicidal impulse to go and see what they looked like. this is not meant for nonsense; still less is it meant for the silliest sort of nonsense, which is cynicism. the human bond that he feels at home is not an illusion. on the contrary, it is rather an inner reality. man is inside all men. in a real sense any man may be inside any men. but to travel is to leave the inside and draw dangerously near the outside. so long as he thought of men in the abstract, like naked toiling figures in some classic frieze, merely as those who labour and love their children and die, he was thinking the fundamental truth about them. by going to look at their unfamiliar manners and customs he is inviting them to disguise themselves in fantastic masks and costumes. many modern internationalists talk as if men of different nationalities had only to meet and mix and understand each other. in reality that is the moment of supreme danger--the moment when they meet. we might shiver, as at the old euphemism by which a meeting meant a duel. travel ought to combine amusement with instruction; but most travellers are so much amused that they refuse to be instructed. i do not blame them for being amused; it is perfectly natural to be amused at a dutchman for being dutch or a chinaman for being chinese. where they are wrong is that they take their own amusement seriously. they base on it their serious ideas of international instruction. it was said that the englishman takes his pleasures sadly; and the pleasure of despising foreigners is one which he takes most sadly of all. he comes to scoff and does not remain to pray, but rather to excommunicate. hence in international relations there is far too little laughing, and far too much sneering. but i believe that there is a better way which largely consists of laughter; a form of friendship between nations which is actually founded on differences. to hint at some such better way is the only excuse of this book. let me begin my american impressions with two impressions i had before i went to america. one was an incident and the other an idea; and when taken together they illustrate the attitude i mean. the first principle is that nobody should be ashamed of thinking a thing funny because it is foreign; the second is that he should be ashamed of thinking it wrong because it is funny. the reaction of his senses and superficial habits of mind against something new, and to him abnormal, is a perfectly healthy reaction. but the mind which imagines that mere unfamiliarity can possibly prove anything about inferiority is a very inadequate mind. it is inadequate even in criticising things that may really be inferior to the things involved here. it is far better to laugh at a negro for having a black face than to sneer at him for having a sloping skull. it is proportionally even more preferable to laugh rather than judge in dealing with highly civilised peoples. therefore i put at the beginning two working examples of what i felt about america before i saw it; the sort of thing that a man has a right to enjoy as a joke, and the sort of thing he has a duty to understand and respect, because it is the explanation of the joke. when i went to the american consulate to regularise my passports, i was capable of expecting the american consulate to be american. embassies and consulates are by tradition like islands of the soil for which they stand; and i have often found the tradition corresponding to a truth. i have seen the unmistakable french official living on omelettes and a little wine and serving his sacred abstractions under the last palm-trees fringing a desert. in the heat and noise of quarrelling turks and egyptians, i have come suddenly, as with the cool shock of his own shower-bath, on the listless amiability of the english gentleman. the officials i interviewed were very american, especially in being very polite; for whatever may have been the mood or meaning of martin chuzzlewit, i have always found americans by far the politest people in the world. they put in my hands a form to be filled up, to all appearance like other forms i had filled up in other passport offices. but in reality it was very different from any form i had ever filled up in my life. at least it was a little like a freer form of the game called 'confessions' which my friends and i invented in our youth; an examination paper containing questions like, 'if you saw a rhinoceros in the front garden, what would you do?' one of my friends, i remember, wrote, 'take the pledge.' but that is another story, and might bring mr. pussyfoot johnson on the scene before his time. one of the questions on the paper was, 'are you an anarchist?' to which a detached philosopher would naturally feel inclined to answer, 'what the devil has that to do with you? are you an atheist?' along with some playful efforts to cross-examine the official about what constitutes an [greek: archê]. then there was the question, 'are you in favour of subverting the government of the united states by force?' against this i should write, 'i prefer to answer that question at the end of my tour and not the beginning.' the inquisitor, in his more than morbid curiosity, had then written down, 'are you a polygamist?' the answer to this is, 'no such luck' or 'not such a fool,' according to our experience of the other sex. but perhaps a better answer would be that given to w. t. stead when he circulated the rhetorical question, 'shall i slay my brother boer?'--the answer that ran, 'never interfere in family matters.' but among many things that amused me almost to the point of treating the form thus disrespectfully, the most amusing was the thought of the ruthless outlaw who should feel compelled to treat it respectfully. i like to think of the foreign desperado, seeking to slip into america with official papers under official protection, and sitting down to write with a beautiful gravity, 'i am an anarchist. i hate you all and wish to destroy you.' or, 'i intend to subvert by force the government of the united states as soon as possible, sticking the long sheath-knife in my left trouser-pocket into mr. harding at the earliest opportunity.' or again, 'yes, i am a polygamist all right, and my forty-seven wives are accompanying me on the voyage disguised as secretaries.' there seems to be a certain simplicity of mind about these answers; and it is reassuring to know that anarchists and polygamists are so pure and good that the police have only to ask them questions and they are certain to tell no lies. now that is a model of the sort of foreign practice, founded on foreign problems, at which a man's first impulse is naturally to laugh. nor have i any intention of apologising for my laughter. a man is perfectly entitled to laugh at a thing because he happens to find it incomprehensible. what he has no right to do is to laugh at it as incomprehensible, and then criticise it as if he comprehended it. the very fact of its unfamiliarity and mystery ought to set him thinking about the deeper causes that make people so different from himself, and that without merely assuming that they must be inferior to himself. superficially this is rather a queer business. it would be easy enough to suggest that in this america has introduced a quite abnormal spirit of inquisition; an interference with liberty unknown among all the ancient despotisms and aristocracies. about that there will be something to be said later; but superficially it is true that this degree of officialism is comparatively unique. in a journey which i took only the year before i had occasion to have my papers passed by governments which many worthy people in the west would vaguely identify with corsairs and assassins; i have stood on the other side of jordan, in the land ruled by a rude arab chief, where the police looked so like brigands that one wondered what the brigands looked like. but they did not ask me whether i had come to subvert the power of the shereef; and they did not exhibit the faintest curiosity about my personal views on the ethical basis of civil authority. these ministers of ancient moslem despotism did not care about whether i was an anarchist; and naturally would not have minded if i had been a polygamist. the arab chief was probably a polygamist himself. these slaves of asiatic autocracy were content, in the old liberal fashion, to judge me by my actions; they did not inquire into my thoughts. they held their power as limited to the limitation of practice; they did not forbid me to hold a theory. it would be easy to argue here that western democracy persecutes where even eastern despotism tolerates or emancipates. it would be easy to develop the fancy that, as compared with the sultans of turkey or egypt, the american constitution is a thing like the spanish inquisition. only the traveller who stops at that point is totally wrong; and the traveller only too often does stop at that point. he has found something to make him laugh, and he will not suffer it to make him think. and the remedy is not to unsay what he has said, not even, so to speak, to unlaugh what he has laughed, not to deny that there is something unique and curious about this american inquisition into our abstract opinions, but rather to continue the train of thought, and follow the admirable advice of mr. h. g. wells, who said, 'it is not much good thinking of a thing unless you think it out.' it is not to deny that american officialism is rather peculiar on this point, but to inquire what it really is which makes america peculiar, or which is peculiar to america. in short, it is to get some ultimate idea of what america _is_; and the answer to that question will reveal something much deeper and grander and more worthy of our intelligent interest. it may have seemed something less than a compliment to compare the american constitution to the spanish inquisition. but oddly enough, it does involve a truth; and still more oddly perhaps, it does involve a compliment. the american constitution does resemble the spanish inquisition in this: that it is founded on a creed. america is the only nation in the world that is founded on a creed. that creed is set forth with dogmatic and even theological lucidity in the declaration of independence; perhaps the only piece of practical politics that is also theoretical politics and also great literature. it enunciates that all men are equal in their claim to justice, that governments exist to give them that justice, and that their authority is for that reason just. it certainly does condemn anarchism, and it does also by inference condemn atheism, since it clearly names the creator as the ultimate authority from whom these equal rights are derived. nobody expects a modern political system to proceed logically in the application of such dogmas, and in the matter of god and government it is naturally god whose claim is taken more lightly. the point is that there is a creed, if not about divine, at least about human things. now a creed is at once the broadest and the narrowest thing in the world. in its nature it is as broad as its scheme for a brotherhood of all men. in its nature it is limited by its definition of the nature of all men. this was true of the christian church, which was truly said to exclude neither jew nor greek, but which did definitely substitute something else for jewish religion or greek philosophy. it was truly said to be a net drawing in of all kinds; but a net of a certain pattern, the pattern of peter the fisherman. and this is true even of the most disastrous distortions or degradations of that creed; and true among others of the spanish inquisition. it may have been narrow touching theology, it could not confess to being narrow about nationality or ethnology. the spanish inquisition might be admittedly inquisitorial; but the spanish inquisition could not be merely spanish. such a spaniard, even when he was narrower than his own creed, had to be broader than his own empire. he might burn a philosopher because he was heterodox; but he must accept a barbarian because he was orthodox. and we see, even in modern times, that the same church which is blamed for making sages heretics is also blamed for making savages priests. now in a much vaguer and more evolutionary fashion, there is something of the same idea at the back of the great american experiment; the experiment of a democracy of diverse races which has been compared to a melting-pot. but even that metaphor implies that the pot itself is of a certain shape and a certain substance; a pretty solid substance. the melting-pot must not melt. the original shape was traced on the lines of jeffersonian democracy; and it will remain in that shape until it becomes shapeless. america invites all men to become citizens; but it implies the dogma that there is such a thing as citizenship. only, so far as its primary ideal is concerned, its exclusiveness is religious because it is not racial. the missionary can condemn a cannibal, precisely because he cannot condemn a sandwich islander. and in something of the same spirit the american may exclude a polygamist, precisely because he cannot exclude a turk. now for america this is no idle theory. it may have been theoretical, though it was thoroughly sincere, when that great virginian gentleman declared it in surroundings that still had something of the character of an english countryside. it is not merely theoretical now. there is nothing to prevent america being literally invaded by turks, as she is invaded by jews or bulgars. in the most exquisitely inconsequent of the _bab ballads_, we are told concerning pasha bailey ben:-- one morning knocked at half-past eight a tall red indian at his gate. in turkey, as you 'r' p'raps aware, red indians are extremely rare. but the converse need by no means be true. there is nothing in the nature of things to prevent an emigration of turks increasing and multiplying on the plains where the red indians wandered; there is nothing to necessitate the turks being extremely rare. the red indians, alas, are likely to be rarer. and as i much prefer red indians to turks, not to mention jews, i speak without prejudice; but the point here is that america, partly by original theory and partly by historical accident, does lie open to racial admixtures which most countries would think incongruous or comic. that is why it is only fair to read any american definitions or rules in a certain light, and relatively to a rather unique position. it is not fair to compare the position of those who may meet turks in the back street with that of those who have never met turks except in the _bab ballads_. it is not fair simply to compare america with england in its regulations about the turk. in short, it is not fair to do what almost every englishman probably does; to look at the american international examination paper, and laugh and be satisfied with saying, 'we don't have any of that nonsense in england.' we do not have any of that nonsense in england because we have never attempted to have any of that philosophy in england. and, above all, because we have the enormous advantage of feeling it natural to be national, because there is nothing else to be. england in these days is not well governed; england is not well educated; england suffers from wealth and poverty that are not well distributed. but england is english; _esto perpetua_. england is english as france is french or ireland irish; the great mass of men taking certain national traditions for granted. now this gives us a totally different and a very much easier task. we have not got an inquisition, because we have not got a creed; but it is arguable that we do not need a creed, because we have got a character. in any of the old nations the national unity is preserved by the national type. because we have a type we do not need to have a test. take that innocent question, 'are you an anarchist?' which is intrinsically quite as impudent as 'are you an optimist?' or 'are you a philanthropist?' i am not discussing here whether these things are right, but whether most of us are in a position to know them rightly. now it is quite true that most englishmen do not find it necessary to go about all day asking each other whether they are anarchists. it is quite true that the phrase occurs on no british forms that i have seen. but this is not only because most of the englishmen are not anarchists. it is even more because even the anarchists are englishmen. for instance, it would be easy to make fun of the american formula by noting that the cap would fit all sorts of bald academic heads. it might well be maintained that herbert spencer was an anarchist. it is practically certain that auberon herbert was an anarchist. but herbert spencer was an extraordinarily typical englishman of the nonconformist middle class. and auberon herbert was an extraordinarily typical english aristocrat of the old and genuine aristocracy. every one knew in his heart that the squire would not throw a bomb at the queen, and the nonconformist would not throw a bomb at anybody. every one knew that there was something subconscious in a man like auberon herbert, which would have come out only in throwing bombs at the enemies of england; as it did come out in his son and namesake, the generous and unforgotten, who fell flinging bombs from the sky far beyond the german line. every one knows that normally, in the last resort, the english gentleman is patriotic. every one knows that the english nonconformist is national even when he denies that he is patriotic. nothing is more notable indeed than the fact that nobody is more stamped with the mark of his own nation than the man who says that there ought to be no nations. somebody called cobden the international man; but no man could be more english than cobden. everybody recognises tolstoy as the iconoclast of all patriotism; but nobody could be more russian than tolstoy. in the old countries where there are these national types, the types may be allowed to hold any theories. even if they hold certain theories, they are unlikely to do certain things. so the conscientious objector, in the english sense, may be and is one of the peculiar by-products of england. but the conscientious objector will probably have a conscientious objection to throwing bombs. now i am very far from intending to imply that these american tests are good tests, or that there is no danger of tyranny becoming the temptation of america. i shall have something to say later on about that temptation or tendency. nor do i say that they apply consistently this conception of a nation with the soul of a church, protected by religious and not racial selection. if they did apply that principle consistently, they would have to exclude pessimists and rich cynics who deny the democratic ideal; an excellent thing but a rather improbable one. what i say is that when we realise that this principle exists at all, we see the whole position in a totally different perspective. we say that the americans are doing something heroic, or doing something insane, or doing it in an unworkable or unworthy fashion, instead of simply wondering what the devil they are doing. when we realise the democratic design of such a cosmopolitan commonwealth, and compare it with our insular reliance or instincts, we see at once why such a thing has to be not only democratic but dogmatic. we see why in some points it tends to be inquisitive or intolerant. any one can see the practical point by merely transferring into private life a problem like that of the two academic anarchists, who might by a coincidence be called the two herberts. suppose a man said, 'buffle, my old oxford tutor, wants to meet you; i wish you'd ask him down for a day or two. he has the oddest opinions, but he's very stimulating.' it would not occur to us that the oddity of the oxford don's opinions would lead him to blow up the house; because the oxford don is an english type. suppose somebody said, 'do let me bring old colonel robinson down for the week-end; he's a bit of a crank but quite interesting.' we should not anticipate the colonel running amuck with a carving-knife and offering up human sacrifice in the garden; for these are not among the daily habits of an old english colonel; and because we know his habits, we do not care about his opinions. but suppose somebody offered to bring a person from the interior of kamskatka to stay with us for a week or two, and added that his religion was a very extraordinary religion, we should feel a little more inquisitive about what kind of religion it was. if somebody wished to add a hairy ainu to the family party at christmas, explaining that his point of view was so individual and interesting, we should want to know a little more about it and him. we should be tempted to draw up as fantastic an examination paper as that presented to the emigrant going to america. we should ask what a hairy ainu was, and how hairy he was, and above all what sort of ainu he was. would etiquette require us to ask him to bring his wife? and if we did ask him to bring his wife, how many wives would he bring? in short, as in the american formula, is he a polygamist? merely as a point of housekeeping and accommodation the question is not irrelevant. is the hairy ainu content with hair, or does he wear any clothes? if the police insist on his wearing clothes, will he recognise the authority of the police? in short, as in the american formula, is he an anarchist? of course this generalisation about america, like other historical things, is subject to all sorts of cross divisions and exceptions, to be considered in their place. the negroes are a special problem, because of what white men in the past did to them. the japanese are a special problem, because of what men fear that they in the future may do to white men. the jews are a special problem, because of what they and the gentiles, in the past, present, and future, seem to have the habit of doing to each other. but the point is not that nothing exists in america except this idea; it is that nothing like this idea exists anywhere except in america. this idea is not internationalism; on the contrary it is decidedly nationalism. the americans are very patriotic, and wish to make their new citizens patriotic americans. but it is the idea of making a new nation literally out of any old nation that comes along. in a word, what is unique is not america but what is called americanisation. we understand nothing till we understand the amazing ambition to americanise the kamskatkan and the hairy ainu. we are not trying to anglicise thousands of french cooks or italian organ-grinders. france is not trying to gallicise thousands of english trippers or german prisoners of war. america is the one place in the world where this process, healthy or unhealthy, possible or impossible, is going on. and the process, as i have pointed out, is _not_ internationalisation. it would be truer to say it is the nationalisation of the internationalised. it is making a home out of vagabonds and a nation out of exiles. this is what at once illuminates and softens the moral regulations which we may really think faddist or fanatical. they are abnormal; but in one sense this experiment of a home for the homeless is abnormal. in short, it has long been recognised that america was an asylum. it is only since prohibition that it has looked a little like a lunatic asylum. it was before sailing for america, as i have said, that i stood with the official paper in my hand and these thoughts in my head. it was while i stood on english soil that i passed through the two stages of smiling and then sympathising; of realising that my momentary amusement, at being asked if i were not an anarchist, was partly due to the fact that i was not an american. and in truth i think there are some things a man ought to know about america before he sees it. what we know of a country beforehand may not affect what we see that it is; but it will vitally affect what we appreciate it for being, because it will vitally affect what we expect it to be. i can honestly say that i had never expected america to be what nine-tenths of the newspaper critics invariably assume it to be. i never thought it was a sort of anglo-saxon colony, knowing that it was more and more thronged with crowds of very different colonists. during the war i felt that the very worst propaganda for the allies was the propaganda for the anglo-saxons. i tried to point out that in one way america is nearer to europe than england is. if she is not nearer to bulgaria, she is nearer to bulgars; if she is not nearer to bohemia, she is nearer to bohemians. in my new york hotel the head waiter in the dining-room was a bohemian; the head waiter in the grill-room was a bulgar. americans have nationalities at the end of the street which for us are at the ends of the earth. i did my best to persuade my countrymen not to appeal to the american as if he were a rather dowdy englishman, who had been rusticating in the provinces and had not heard the latest news about the town. i shall record later some of those arresting realities which the traveller does not expect; and which, in some cases i fear, he actually does not see because he does not expect. i shall try to do justice to the psychology of what mr. belloc has called 'eye-openers in travel.' but there are some things about america that a man ought to see even with his eyes shut. one is that a state that came into existence solely through its repudiation and abhorrence of the british crown is not likely to be a respectful copy of the british constitution. another is that the chief mark of the declaration of independence is something that is not only absent from the british constitution, but something which all our constitutionalists have invariably thanked god, with the jolliest boasting and bragging, that they had kept out of the british constitution. it is the thing called abstraction or academic logic. it is the thing which such jolly people call theory; and which those who can practise it call thought. and the theory or thought is the very last to which english people are accustomed, either by their social structure or their traditional teaching. it is the theory of equality. it is the pure classic conception that no man must aspire to be anything more than a citizen, and that no man should endure to be anything less. it is by no means especially intelligible to an englishman, who tends at his best to the virtues of the gentleman and at his worst to the vices of the snob. the idealism of england, or if you will the romance of england, has not been primarily the romance of the citizen. but the idealism of america, we may safely say, still revolves entirely round the citizen and his romance. the realities are quite another matter, and we shall consider in its place the question of whether the ideal will be able to shape the realities or will merely be beaten shapeless by them. the ideal is besieged by inequalities of the most towering and insane description in the industrial and economic field. it may be devoured by modern capitalism, perhaps the worst inequality that ever existed among men. of all that we shall speak later. but citizenship is still the american ideal; there is an army of actualities opposed to that ideal; but there is no ideal opposed to that ideal. american plutocracy has never got itself respected like english aristocracy. citizenship is the american ideal; and it has never been the english ideal. but it is surely an ideal that may stir some imaginative generosity and respect in an englishman, if he will condescend to be also a man. in this vision of moulding many peoples into the visible image of the citizen, he may see a spiritual adventure which he can admire from the outside, at least as much as he admires the valour of the moslems and much more than he admires the virtues of the middle ages. he need not set himself to develop equality, but he need not set himself to misunderstand it. he may at least understand what jefferson and lincoln meant, and he may possibly find some assistance in this task by reading what they said. he may realise that equality is not some crude fairy tale about all men being equally tall or equally tricky; which we not only cannot believe but cannot believe in anybody believing. it is an absolute of morals by which all men have a value invariable and indestructible and a dignity as intangible as death. he may at least be a philosopher and see that equality is an idea; and not merely one of these soft-headed sceptics who, having risen by low tricks to high places, drink bad champagne in tawdry hotel lounges, and tell each other twenty times over, with unwearied iteration, that equality is an illusion. in truth it is inequality that is the illusion. the extreme disproportion between men, that we seem to see in life, is a thing of changing lights and lengthening shadows, a twilight full of fancies and distortions. we find a man famous and cannot live long enough to find him forgotten; we see a race dominant and cannot linger to see it decay. it is the experience of men that always returns to the equality of men; it is the average that ultimately justifies the average man. it is when men have seen and suffered much and come at the end of more elaborate experiments, that they see men as men under an equal light of death and daily laughter; and none the less mysterious for being many. nor is it in vain that these western democrats have sought the blazonry of their flag in that great multitude of immortal lights that endure behind the fires we see, and gathered them into the corner of old glory whose ground is like the glittering night. for veritably, in the spirit as well as in the symbol, suns and moons and meteors pass and fill our skies with a fleeting and almost theatrical conflagration; and wherever the old shadow stoops upon the earth, the stars return. _a meditation in a new york hotel_ all this must begin with an apology and not an apologia. when i went wandering about the states disguised as a lecturer, i was well aware that i was not sufficiently well disguised to be a spy. i was even in the worst possible position to be a sight-seer. a lecturer to american audiences can hardly be in the holiday mood of a sight-seer. it is rather the audience that is sight-seeing; even if it is seeing a rather melancholy sight. some say that people come to see the lecturer and not to hear him; in which case it seems rather a pity that he should disturb and distress their minds with a lecture. he might merely display himself on a stand or platform for a stipulated sum; or be exhibited like a monster in a menagerie. the circus elephant is not expected to make a speech. but it is equally true that the circus elephant is not allowed to write a book. his impressions of travel would be somewhat sketchy and perhaps a little over-specialised. in merely travelling from circus to circus he would, so to speak, move in rather narrow circles. jumbo the great elephant (with whom i am hardly so ambitious as to compare myself), before he eventually went to the barnum show, passed a considerable and i trust happy part of his life in regent's park. but if he had written a book on england, founded on his impressions of the zoo, it might have been a little disproportionate and even misleading in its version of the flora and fauna of that country. he might imagine that lions and leopards were commoner than they are in our hedgerows and country lanes, or that the head and neck of a giraffe was as native to our landscapes as a village spire. and that is why i apologise in anticipation for a probable lack of proportion in this work. like the elephant, i may have seen too much of a special enclosure where a special sort of lions are gathered together. i may exaggerate the territorial, as distinct from the vertical space occupied by the spiritual giraffe; for the giraffe may surely be regarded as an example of uplift, and is even, in a manner of speaking, a high-brow. above all, i shall probably make generalisations that are much too general; and are insufficient through being exaggerative. to this sort of doubt all my impressions are subject; and among them the negative generalisation with which i shall begin this rambling meditation on american hotels. in all my american wanderings i never saw such a thing as an inn. they may exist; but they do not arrest the traveller upon every road as they do in england and in europe. the saloons no longer existed when i was there, owing to the recent reform which restricted intoxicants to the wealthier classes. but we feel that the saloons have been there; if one may so express it, their absence is still present. they remain in the structure of the street and the idiom of the language. but the saloons were not inns. if they had been inns, it would have been far harder even for the power of modern plutocracy to root them out. there will be a very different chase when the white hart is hunted to the forests or when the red lion turns to bay. but people could not feel about the american saloon as they will feel about the english inns. they could not feel that the prohibitionist, that vulgar chucker-out, was chucking chaucer out of the tabard and shakespeare out of the mermaid. in justice to the american prohibitionists it must be realised that they were not doing quite such desecration; and that many of them felt the saloon a specially poisonous sort of place. they did feel that drinking-places were used only as drug-shops. so they have effected the great reconstruction, by which it will be necessary to use only drug-shops as drinking-places. but i am not dealing here with the problem of prohibition except in so far as it is involved in the statement that the saloons were in no sense inns. secondly, of course, there are the hotels. there are indeed. there are hotels toppling to the stars, hotels covering the acreage of villages, hotels in multitudinous number like a mob of babylonian or assyrian monuments; but the hotels also are not inns. broadly speaking, there is only one hotel in america. the pattern of it, which is a very rational pattern, is repeated in cities as remote from each other as the capitals of european empires. you may find that hotel rising among the red blooms of the warm spring woods of nebraska, or whitened with canadian snows near the eternal noise of niagara. and before touching on this solid and simple pattern itself, i may remark that the same system of symmetry runs through all the details of the interior. as one hotel is like another hotel, so one hotel floor is like another hotel floor. if the passage outside your bedroom door, or hallway as it is called, contains, let us say, a small table with a green vase and a stuffed flamingo, or some trifle of the sort, you may be perfectly certain that there is exactly the same table, vase, and flamingo on every one of the thirty-two landings of that towering habitation. this is where it differs most perhaps from the crooked landings and unexpected levels of the old english inns, even when they call themselves hotels. to me there was something weird, like a magic multiplication, in the exquisite sameness of these suites. it seemed to suggest the still atmosphere of some eerie psychological story. i once myself entertained the notion of a story, in which a man was to be prevented from entering his house (the scene of some crime or calamity) by people who painted and furnished the next house to look exactly like it; the assimilation going to the most fantastic lengths, such as altering the numbering of houses in the street. i came to america and found an hotel fitted and upholstered throughout for the enactment of my phantasmal fraud. i offer the skeleton of my story with all humility to some of the admirable lady writers of detective stories in america, to miss carolyn wells, or miss mary roberts rhinehart, or mrs. a. k. green of the unforgotten leavenworth case. surely it might be possible for the unsophisticated nimrod k. moose, of yellow dog flat, to come to new york and be entangled somehow in this net of repetitions or recurrences. surely something tells me that his beautiful daughter, the rose of red murder gulch, might seek for him in vain amid the apparently unmistakable surroundings of the thirty-second floor, while he was being quietly butchered by the floor-clerk on the thirty-third floor, an agent of the green claw (that formidable organisation); and all because the two floors looked exactly alike to the virginal western eye. the original point of my own story was that the man to be entrapped walked into his own house after all, in spite of it being differently painted and numbered, simply because he was absent-minded and used to taking a certain number of mechanical steps. this would not work in the hotel; because a lift has no habits. it is typical of the real tameness of machinery, that even when we talk of a man turning mechanically we only talk metaphorically; for it is something that a mechanism cannot do. but i think there is only one real objection to my story of mr. moose in the new york hotel. and that is unfortunately a rather fatal one. it is that far away in the remote desolation of yellow dog, among those outlying and outlandish rocks that almost seem to rise beyond the sunset, there is undoubtedly an hotel of exactly the same sort, with all its floors exactly the same. anyhow the general plan of the american hotel is commonly the same, and, as i have said, it is a very sound one so far as it goes. when i first went into one of the big new york hotels, the first impression was certainly its bigness. it was called the biltmore; and i wondered how many national humorists had made the obvious comment of wishing they had built less. but it was not merely the babylonian size and scale of such things, it was the way in which they are used. they are used almost as public streets, or rather as public squares. my first impression was that i was in some sort of high street or market-place during a carnival or a revolution. true, the people looked rather rich for a revolution and rather grave for a carnival; but they were congested in great crowds that moved slowly like people passing through an overcrowded railway station. even in the dizzy heights of such a sky-scraper there could not possibly be room for all those people to sleep in the hotel, or even to dine in it. and, as a matter of fact, they did nothing whatever except drift into it and drift out again. most of them had no more to do with the hotel than i have with buckingham palace. i have never been in buckingham palace, and i have very seldom, thank god, been in the big hotels of this type that exist in london or paris. but i cannot believe that mobs are perpetually pouring through the hotel cecil or the savoy in this fashion, calmly coming in at one door and going out of the other. but this fact is part of the fundamental structure of the american hotel; it is built upon a compromise that makes it possible. the whole of the lower floor is thrown open to the public streets and treated as a public square. but above it and all round it runs another floor in the form of a sort of deep gallery, furnished more luxuriously and looking down on the moving mobs beneath. no one is allowed on this floor except the guests or clients of the hotel. as i have been one of them myself, i trust it is not unsympathetic to compare them to active anthropoids who can climb trees, and so look down in safety on the herds or packs of wilder animals wandering and prowling below. of course there are modifications of this architectural plan, but they are generally approximations to it; it is the plan that seems to suit the social life of the american cities. there is generally something like a ground floor that is more public, a half-floor or gallery above that is more private, and above that the bulk of the block of bedrooms, the huge hive with its innumerable and identical cells. the ladder of ascent in this tower is of course the lift, or, as it is called, the elevator. with all that we hear of american hustle and hurry it is rather strange that americans seem to like more than we do to linger upon long words. and indeed there is an element of delay in their diction and spirit, very little understood, which i may discuss elsewhere. anyhow they say elevator when we say lift, just as they say automobile when we say motor and stenographer when we say typist, or sometimes (by a slight confusion) typewriter. which reminds me of another story that never existed, about a man who was accused of having murdered and dismembered his secretary when he had only taken his typing machine to pieces; but we must not dwell on these digressions. the americans may have another reason for giving long and ceremonious titles to the lift. when first i came among them i had a suspicion that they possessed and practised a new and secret religion, which was the cult of the elevator. i fancied they worshipped the lift, or at any rate worshipped in the lift. the details or data of this suspicion it were now vain to collect, as i have regretfully abandoned it, except in so far as they illustrate the social principles underlying the structural plan of the building. now an american gentleman invariably takes off his hat in the lift. he does not take off his hat in the hotel, even if it is crowded with ladies. but he always so salutes a lady in the elevator; and this marks the difference of atmosphere. the lift is a room, but the hotel is a street. but during my first delusion, of course, i assumed that he uncovered in this tiny temple merely because he was in church. there is something about the very word elevator that expresses a great deal of his vague but idealistic religion. perhaps that flying chapel will eventually be ritualistically decorated like a chapel; possibly with a symbolic scheme of wings. perhaps a brief religious service will be held in the elevator as it ascends; in a few well-chosen words touching the utmost for the highest. possibly he would consent even to call the elevator a lift, if he could call it an uplift. there would be no difficulty, except what i cannot but regard as the chief moral problem of all optimistic modernism. i mean the difficulty of imagining a lift which is free to go up, if it is not also free to go down. i think i know my american friends and acquaintances too well to apologise for any levity in these illustrations. americans make fun of their own institutions; and their own journalism is full of such fanciful conjectures. the tall building is itself artistically akin to the tall story. the very word sky-scraper is an admirable example of an american lie. but i can testify quite as eagerly to the solid and sensible advantages of the symmetrical hotel. it is not only a pattern of vases and stuffed flamingoes; it is also an equally accurate pattern of cupboards and baths. it is a dignified and humane custom to have a bathroom attached to every bedroom; and my impulse to sing the praises of it brought me once at least into a rather quaint complication. i think it was in the city of dayton; anyhow i remember there was a laundry convention going on in the same hotel, in a room very patriotically and properly festooned with the stars and stripes, and doubtless full of promise for the future of laundering. i was interviewed on the roof, within earshot of this debate, and may have been the victim of some association or confusion; anyhow, after answering the usual questions about labour, the league of nations, the length of ladies' dresses, and other great matters, i took refuge in a rhapsody of warm and well-deserved praise of american bathrooms. the editor, i understand, running a gloomy eye down the column of his contributor's 'story,' and seeing nothing but metaphysical terms such as justice, freedom, the abstract disapproval of sweating, swindling, and the like, paused at last upon the ablutionary allusion, and his eye brightened. 'that's the only copy in the whole thing,' he said, 'a bath-tub in every home.' so these words appeared in enormous letters above my portrait in the paper. it will be noted that, like many things that practical men make a great point of, they miss the point. what i had commended as new and national was a bathroom in every bedroom. even feudal and moss-grown england is not entirely ignorant of an occasional bath-tub in the home. but what gave me great joy was what followed. i discovered with delight that many people, glancing rapidly at my portrait with its prodigious legend, imagined that it was a commercial advertisement, and that i was a very self-advertising commercial traveller. when i walked about the streets, i was supposed to be travelling in bath-tubs. consider the caption of the portrait, and you will see how similar it is to the true commercial slogan: 'we offer a bath-tub in every home.' and this charming error was doubtless clinched by the fact that i had been found haunting the outer courts of the temple of the ancient guild of lavenders. i never knew how many shared the impression; i regret to say that i only traced it with certainty in two individuals. but i understand that it included the idea that i had come to the town to attend the laundry convention, and had made an eloquent speech to that senate, no doubt exhibiting my tubs. such was the penalty of too passionate and unrestrained an admiration for american bathrooms; yet the connection of ideas, however inconsequent, does cover the part of social practice for which these american institutions can really be praised. about everything like laundry or hot and cold water there is not only organisation, but what does not always or perhaps often go with it, efficiency. americans are particular about these things of dress and decorum; and it is a virtue which i very seriously recognise, though i find it very hard to emulate. but with them it is a virtue; it is not a mere convention, still less a mere fashion. it is really related to human dignity rather than to social superiority. the really glorious thing about the american is that he does not dress like a gentleman; he dresses like a citizen or a civilised man. his puritanic particularity on certain points is really detachable from any definite social ambitions; these things are not a part of getting into society but merely of keeping out of savagery. those millions and millions of middling people, that huge middle class especially of the middle west, are not near enough to any aristocracy even to be sham aristocrats, or to be real snobs. but their standards are secure; and though i do not really travel in a bath-tub, or believe in the bath-tub philosophy and religion, i will not on this matter recoil misanthropically from them: i prefer the tub of dayton to the tub of diogenes. on these points there is really something a million times better than efficiency, and that is something like equality. in short, the american hotel is not america; but it is american. in some respects it is as american as the english inn is english. and it is symbolic of that society in this among other things: that it does tend too much to uniformity; but that that very uniformity disguises not a little natural dignity. the old romans boasted that their republic was a nation of kings. if we really walked abroad in such a kingdom, we might very well grow tired of the sight of a crowd of kings, of every man with a gold crown on his head or an ivory sceptre in his hand. but it is arguable that we ought not to grow tired of the repetition of crowns and sceptres, any more than of the repetition of flowers and stars. the whole imaginative effort of walt whitman was really an effort to absorb and animate these multitudinous modern repetitions; and walt whitman would be quite capable of including in his lyric litany of optimism a list of the nine hundred and ninety-nine identical bathrooms. i do not sneer at the generous effort of the giant; though i think, when all is said, that it is a criticism of modern machinery that the effort should be gigantic as well as generous. while there is so much repetition there is little repose. it is the pattern of a kaleidoscope rather than a wall-paper; a pattern of figures running and even leaping like the figures in a zoetrope. but even in the groups where there was no hustle there was often something of homelessness. i do not mean merely that they were not dining at home; but rather that they were not at home even when dining, and dining at their favourite hotel. they would frequently start up and dart from the room at a summons from the telephone. it may have been fanciful, but i could not help feeling a breath of home, as from a flap or flutter of st. george's cross, when i first sat down in a canadian hostelry, and read the announcement that no such telephonic or other summonses were allowed in the dining-room. it may have been a coincidence, and there may be american hotels with this merciful proviso and canadian hotels without it; but the thing was symbolic even if it was not evidential. i felt as if i stood indeed upon english soil, in a place where people liked to have their meals in peace. the process of the summons is called 'paging,' and consists of sending a little boy with a large voice through all the halls and corridors of the building, making them resound with a name. the custom is common, of course, in clubs and hotels even in england; but in england it is a mere whisper compared with the wail with which the american page repeats the formula of 'calling mr. so and so.' i remember a particularly crowded _parterre_ in the somewhat smoky and oppressive atmosphere of pittsburg, through which wandered a youth with a voice the like of which i have never heard in the land of the living, a voice like the cry of a lost spirit, saying again and again for ever, 'carling mr. anderson.' one felt that he never would find mr. anderson. perhaps there never had been any mr. anderson to be found. perhaps he and every one else wandered in an abyss of bottomless scepticism; and he was but the victim of one out of numberless nightmares of eternity, as he wandered a shadow with shadows and wailed by impassable streams. this is not exactly my philosophy, but i feel sure it was his. and it is a mood that may frequently visit the mind in the centres of highly active and successful industrial civilisation. such are the first idle impressions of the great american hotel, gained by sitting for the first time in its gallery and gazing on its drifting crowds with thoughts equally drifting. the first impression is of something enormous and rather unnatural, an impression that is gradually tempered by experience of the kindliness and even the tameness of so much of that social order. but i should not be recording the sensations with sincerity, if i did not touch in passing the note of something unearthly about that vast system to an insular traveller who sees it for the first time. it is as if he were wandering in another world among the fixed stars; or worse still, in an ideal utopia of the future. yet i am not certain; and perhaps the best of all news is that nothing is really new. i sometimes have a fancy that many of these new things in new countries are but the resurrections of old things which have been wickedly killed or stupidly stunted in old countries. i have looked over the sea of little tables in some light and airy open-air café; and my thoughts have gone back to the plain wooden bench and wooden table that stands solitary and weather-stained outside so many neglected english inns. we talk of experimenting in the french café, as of some fresh and almost impudent innovation. but our fathers had the french café, in the sense of the free-and-easy table in the sun and air. the only difference was that french democracy was allowed to develop its café, or multiply its tables, while english plutocracy prevented any such popular growth. perhaps there are other examples of old types and patterns, lost in the old oligarchy and saved in the new democracies. i am haunted with a hint that the new structures are not so very new; and that they remind me of something very old. as i look from the balcony floor the crowds seem to float away and the colours to soften and grow pale, and i know i am in one of the simplest and most ancestral of human habitations. i am looking down from the old wooden gallery upon the courtyard of an inn. this new architectural model, which i have described, is after all one of the oldest european models, now neglected in europe and especially in england. it was the theatre in which were enacted innumerable picaresque comedies and romantic plays, with figures ranging from sancho panza to sam weller. it served as the apparatus, like some gigantic toy set up in bricks and timber, for the ancient and perhaps eternal game of tennis. the very terms of the original game were taken from the inn courtyard, and the players scored accordingly as they hit the buttery-hatch or the roof. singular speculations hover in my mind as the scene darkens and the quadrangle below begins to empty in the last hours of night. some day perhaps this huge structure will be found standing in a solitude like a skeleton; and it will be the skeleton of the spotted dog or the blue boar. it will wither and decay until it is worthy at last to be a tavern. i do not know whether men will play tennis on its ground floor, with various scores and prizes for hitting the electric fan, or the lift, or the head waiter. perhaps the very words will only remain as part of some such rustic game. perhaps the electric fan will no longer be electric and the elevator will no longer elevate, and the waiter will only wait to be hit. but at least it is only by the decay of modern plutocracy, which seems already to have begun, that the secret of the structure even of this plutocratic palace can stand revealed. and after long years, when its lights are extinguished and only the long shadows inhabit its halls and vestibules, there may come a new noise like thunder; of d'artagnan knocking at the door. _a meditation in broadway_ when i had looked at the lights of broadway by night, i made to my american friends an innocent remark that seemed for some reason to amuse them. i had looked, not without joy, at that long kaleidoscope of coloured lights arranged in large letters and sprawling trade-marks, advertising everything, from pork to pianos, through the agency of the two most vivid and most mystical of the gifts of god; colour and fire. i said to them, in my simplicity, 'what a glorious garden of wonders this would be, to any one who was lucky enough to be unable to read.' here it is but a text for a further suggestion. but let us suppose that there does walk down this flaming avenue a peasant, of the sort called scornfully an illiterate peasant; by those who think that insisting on people reading and writing is the best way to keep out the spies who read in all languages and the forgers who write in all hands. on this principle indeed, a peasant merely acquainted with things of little practical use to mankind, such as ploughing, cutting wood, or growing vegetables, would very probably be excluded; and it is not for us to criticise from the outside the philosophy of those who would keep out the farmer and let in the forger. but let us suppose, if only for the sake of argument, that the peasant is walking under the artificial suns and stars of this tremendous thoroughfare; that he has escaped to the land of liberty upon some general rumour and romance of the story of its liberation, but without being yet able to understand the arbitrary signs of its alphabet. the soul of such a man would surely soar higher than the sky-scrapers, and embrace a brotherhood broader than broadway. realising that he had arrived on an evening of exceptional festivity, worthy to be blazoned with all this burning heraldry, he would please himself by guessing what great proclamation or principle of the republic hung in the sky like a constellation or rippled across the street like a comet. he would be shrewd enough to guess that the three festoons fringed with fiery words of somewhat similar pattern stood for 'government of the people, for the people, by the people'; for it must obviously be that, unless it were 'liberty, equality, fraternity.' his shrewdness would perhaps be a little shaken if he knew that the triad stood for 'tang tonic to-day; tang tonic to-morrow; tang tonic all the time.' he will soon identify a restless ribbon of red lettering, red hot and rebellious, as the saying, 'give me liberty or give me death.' he will fail to identify it as the equally famous saying, 'skyoline has gout beaten to a frazzle.' therefore it was that i desired the peasant to walk down that grove of fiery trees, under all that golden foliage, and fruits like monstrous jewels, as innocent as adam before the fall. he would see sights almost as fine as the flaming sword or the purple and peacock plumage of the seraphim; so long as he did not go near the tree of knowledge. in other words, if once he went to school it would be all up; and indeed i fear in any case he would soon discover his error. if he stood wildly waving his hat for liberty in the middle of the road as chunk chutney picked itself out in ruby stars upon the sky, he would impede the excellent but extremely rigid traffic system of new york. if he fell on his knees before a sapphire splendour, and began saying an ave maria under a mistaken association, he would be conducted kindly but firmly by an irish policeman to a more authentic shrine. but though the foreign simplicity might not long survive in new york, it is quite a mistake to suppose that such foreign simplicity cannot enter new york. he may be excluded for being illiterate, but he cannot be excluded for being ignorant, nor for being innocent. least of all can he be excluded for being wiser in his innocence than the world in its knowledge. there is here indeed more than one distinction to be made. new york is a cosmopolitan city; but it is not a city of cosmopolitans. most of the masses in new york have a nation, whether or no it be the nation to which new york belongs. those who are americanised are american, and very patriotically american. those who are not thus nationalised are not in the least internationalised. they simply continue to be themselves; the irish are irish; the jews are jewish; and all sorts of other tribes carry on the traditions of remote european valleys almost untouched. in short, there is a sort of slender bridge between their old country and their new, which they either cross or do not cross, but which they seldom simply occupy. they are exiles or they are citizens; there is no moment when they are cosmopolitans. but very often the exiles bring with them not only rooted traditions, but rooted truths. indeed it is to a great extent the thought of these strange souls in crude american garb that gives a meaning to the masquerade of new york. in the hotel where i stayed the head waiter in one room was a bohemian; and i am glad to say that he called himself a bohemian. i have already protested sufficiently, before american audiences, against the pedantry of perpetually talking about czecho-slovakia. i suggested to my american friends that the abandonment of the word bohemian in its historical sense might well extend to its literary and figurative sense. we might be expected to say, 'i'm afraid henry has got into very czecho-slovakian habits lately,' or 'don't bother to dress; it's quite a czecho-slovakian affair.' anyhow my bohemian would have nothing to do with such nonsense; he called himself a son of bohemia, and spoke as such in his criticisms of america, which were both favourable and unfavourable. he was a squat man, with a sturdy figure and a steady smile; and his eyes were like dark pools in the depth of a darker forest, but i do not think he had ever been deceived by the lights of broadway. but i found something like my real innocent abroad, my real peasant among the sky-signs, in another part of the same establishment. he was a much leaner man, equally dark, with a hook nose, hungry face, and fierce black moustaches. he also was a waiter, and was in the costume of a waiter, which is a smarter edition of the costume of a lecturer. as he was serving me with clam chowder or some such thing, i fell into speech with him and he told me he was a bulgar. i said something like, 'i'm afraid i don't know as much as i ought to about bulgaria. i suppose most of your people are agricultural, aren't they?' he did not stir an inch from his regular attitude, but he slightly lowered his low voice and said, 'yes. from the earth we come and to the earth we return; when people get away from that they are lost.' to hear such a thing said by the waiter was alone an epoch in the life of an unfortunate writer of fantastic novels. to see him clear away the clam chowder like an automaton, and bring me more iced water like an automaton or like nothing on earth except an american waiter (for piling up ice is the cold passion of their lives), and all this after having uttered something so dark and deep, so starkly incongruous and so startlingly true, was an indescribable thing, but very like the picture of the peasant admiring broadway. so he passed, with his artificial clothes and manners, lit up with all the ghastly artificial light of the hotel, and all the ghastly artificial life of the city; and his heart was like his own remote and rocky valley, where those unchanging words were carved as on a rock. i do not profess to discuss here at all adequately the question this raises about the americanisation of the bulgar. it has many aspects, of some of which most englishmen and even some americans are rather unconscious. for one thing, a man with so rugged a loyalty to land could not be americanised in new york; but it is not so certain that he could not be americanised in america. we might almost say that a peasantry is hidden in the heart of america. so far as our impressions go, it is a secret. it is rather an open secret; covering only some thousand square miles of open prairie. but for most of our countrymen it is something invisible, unimagined, and unvisited; the simple truth that where all those acres are there is agriculture, and where all that agriculture is there is considerable tendency towards distributive or decently equalised property, as in a peasantry. on the other hand, there are those who say that the bulgar will never be americanised, that he only comes to be a waiter in america that he may afford to return to be a peasant in bulgaria. i cannot decide this issue, and indeed i did not introduce it to this end. i was led to it by a certain line of reflection that runs along the great white way, and i will continue to follow it. the criticism, if we could put it rightly, not only covers more than new york but more than the whole new world. any argument against it is quite as valid against the largest and richest cities of the old world, against london or liverpool or frankfort or belfast. but it is in new york that we see the argument most clearly, because we see the thing thus towering into its own turrets and breaking into its own fireworks. i disagree with the aesthetic condemnation of the modern city with its sky-scrapers and sky-signs. i mean that which laments the loss of beauty and its sacrifice to utility. it seems to me the very reverse of the truth. years ago, when people used to say the salvation army doubtless had good intentions, but we must all deplore its methods, i pointed out that the very contrary is the case. its method, the method of drums and democratic appeal, is that of the franciscans or any other march of the church militant. it was precisely its aims that were dubious, with their dissenting morality and despotic finance. it is somewhat the same with things like the sky-signs in broadway. the aesthete must not ask me to mingle my tears with his, because these things are merely useful and ugly. for i am not specially inclined to think them ugly; but i am strongly inclined to think them useless. as a matter of art for art's sake, they seem to me rather artistic. as a form of practical social work they seem to me stark stupid waste. if mr. bilge is rich enough to build a tower four hundred feet high and give it a crown of golden crescents and crimson stars, in order to draw attention to his manufacture of the paradise tooth paste or the seventh heaven cigar, i do not feel the least disposition to thank him for any serious form of social service. i have never tried the seventh heaven cigar; indeed a premonition moves me towards the belief that i shall go down to the dust without trying it. i have every reason to doubt whether it does any particular good to those who smoke it, or any good to anybody except those who sell it. in short mr. bilge's usefulness consists in being useful to mr. bilge, and all the rest is illusion and sentimentalism. but because i know that bilge is only bilge, shall i stoop to the profanity of saying that fire is only fire? shall i blaspheme crimson stars any more than crimson sunsets, or deny that those moons are golden any more than that this grass is green? if a child saw these coloured lights, he would dance with as much delight as at any other coloured toys; and it is the duty of every poet, and even of every critic, to dance in respectful imitation of the child. indeed i am in a mood of so much sympathy with the fairy lights of this pantomime city, that i should be almost sorry to see social sanity and a sense of proportion return to extinguish them. i fear the day is breaking, and the broad daylight of tradition and ancient truth is coming to end all this delightful nightmare of new york at night. peasants and priests and all sorts of practical and sensible people are coming back into power, and their stern realism may wither all these beautiful, unsubstantial, useless things. they will not believe in the seventh heaven cigar, even when they see it shining as with stars in the seventh heaven. they will not be affected by advertisements, any more than the priests and peasants of the middle ages would have been affected by advertisements. only a very soft-headed, sentimental, and rather servile generation of men could possibly be affected by advertisements at all. people who are a little more hard-headed, humorous, and intellectually independent, see the rather simple joke; and are not impressed by this or any other form of self-praise. almost any other men in almost any other age would have seen the joke. if you had said to a man in the stone age, 'ugg says ugg makes the best stone hatchets,' he would have perceived a lack of detachment and disinterestedness about the testimonial. if you had said to a medieval peasant, 'robert the bowyer proclaims, with three blasts of a horn, that he makes good bows,' the peasant would have said, 'well, of course he does,' and thought about something more important. it is only among people whose minds have been weakened by a sort of mesmerism that so transparent a trick as that of advertisement could ever have been tried at all. and if ever we have again, as for other reasons i cannot but hope we shall, a more democratic distribution of property and a more agricultural basis of national life, it would seem at first sight only too likely that all this beautiful superstition will perish, and the fairyland of broadway with all its varied rainbows fade away. for such people the seventh heaven cigar, like the nineteenth-century city, will have ended in smoke. and even the smoke of it will have vanished. but the next stage of reflection brings us back to the peasant looking at the lights of broadway. it is not true to say in the strict sense that the peasant has never seen such things before. the truth is that he has seen them on a much smaller scale, but for a much larger purpose. peasants also have their ritual and ornament, but it is to adorn more real things. apart from our first fancy about the peasant who could not read, there is no doubt about what would be apparent to a peasant who could read, and who could understand. for him also fire is sacred, for him also colour is symbolic. but where he sets up a candle to light the little shrine of st. joseph, he finds it takes twelve hundred candles to light the seventh heaven cigar. he is used to the colours in church windows showing red for martyrs or blue for madonnas; but here he can only conclude that all the colours of the rainbow belong to mr. bilge. now upon the aesthetic side he might well be impressed; but it is exactly on the social and even scientific side that he has a right to criticise. if he were a chinese peasant, for instance, and came from a land of fireworks, he would naturally suppose that he had happened to arrive at a great firework display in celebration of something; perhaps the sacred emperor's birthday, or rather birthnight. it would gradually dawn on the chinese philosopher that the emperor could hardly be born every night. and when he learnt the truth the philosopher, if he was a philosopher, would be a little disappointed ... possibly a little disdainful. compare, for instance, these everlasting fireworks with the damp squibs and dying bonfires of guy fawkes day. that quaint and even queer national festival has been fading for some time out of english life. still, it was a national festival, in the double sense that it represented some sort of public spirit pursued by some sort of popular impulse. people spent money on the display of fireworks; they did not get money by it. and the people who spent money were often those who had very little money to spend. it had something of the glorious and fanatical character of making the poor poorer. it did not, like the advertisements, have only the mean and materialistic character of making the rich richer. in short, it came from the people and it appealed to the nation. the historical and religious cause in which it originated is not mine; and i think it has perished partly through being tied to a historical theory for which there is no future. i think this is illustrated in the very fact that the ceremonial is merely negative and destructive. negation and destruction are very noble things as far as they go, and when they go in the right direction; and the popular expression of them has always something hearty and human about it. i shall not therefore bring any fine or fastidious criticism, whether literary or musical, to bear upon the little boys who drag about a bolster and a paper mask, calling out guy fawkes guy hit him in the eye. but i admit it is a disadvantage that they have not a saint or hero to crown in effigy as well as a traitor to burn in effigy. i admit that popular protestantism has become too purely negative for people to wreathe in flowers the statue of mr. kensit or even of dr. clifford. i do not disguise my preference for popular catholicism; which still has statues that can be wreathed in flowers. i wish our national feast of fireworks revolved round something positive and popular. i wish the beauty of a catherine wheel were displayed to the glory of st. catherine. i should not especially complain if roman candles were really roman candles. but this negative character does not destroy the national character; which began at least in disinterested faith and has ended at least in disinterested fun. there is nothing disinterested at all about the new commercial fireworks. there is nothing so dignified as a dingy guy among the lights of broadway. in that thoroughfare, indeed, the very word guy has another and milder significance. an american friend congratulated me on the impression i produced on a lady interviewer, observing, 'she says you're a regular guy.' this puzzled me a little at the time. 'her description is no doubt correct,' i said, 'but i confess that it would never have struck me as specially complimentary.' but it appears that it is one of the most graceful of compliments, in the original american. a guy in america is a colourless term for a human being. all men are guys, being endowed by their creator with certain ... but i am misled by another association. and a regular guy means, i presume, a reliable or respectable guy. the point here, however, is that the guy in the grotesque english sense does represent the dilapidated remnant of a real human tradition of symbolising real historic ideals by the sacramental mystery of fire. it is a great fall from the lowest of these lowly bonfires to the highest of the modern sky-signs. the new illumination does not stand for any national ideal at all; and what is yet more to the point, it does not come from any popular enthusiasm at all. that is where it differs from the narrowest national protestantism of the english institution. mobs have risen in support of no popery; no mobs are likely to rise in defence of the new puffery. many a poor crazy orangeman has died saying, 'to hell with the pope'; it is doubtful whether any man will ever, with his last breath, frame the ecstatic words, 'try hugby's chewing gum.' these modern and mercantile legends are imposed upon us by a mercantile minority, and we are merely passive to the suggestion. the hypnotist of high finance or big business merely writes his commands in heaven with a finger of fire. all men really are guys, in the sense of dummies. we are only the victims of his pyrotechnic violence; and it is he who hits us in the eye. this is the real case against that modern society that is symbolised by such art and architecture. it is not that it is toppling, but that it is top-heavy. it is not that it is vulgar, but rather that it is not popular. in other words, the democratic ideal of countries like america, while it is still generally sincere and sometimes intense, is at issue with another tendency, an industrial progress which is of all things on earth the most undemocratic. america is not alone in possessing the industrialism, but she is alone in emphasising the ideal that strives with industrialism. industrial capitalism and ideal democracy are everywhere in controversy; but perhaps only here are they in conflict. france has a democratic ideal; but france is not industrial. england and germany are industrial; but england and germany are not really democratic. of course when i speak here of industrialism i speak of great industrial areas; there is, as will be noted later, another side to all these countries; there is in america itself not only a great deal of agricultural society, but a great deal of agricultural equality; just as there are still peasants in germany and may some day again be peasants in england. but the point is that the ideal and its enemy the reality are here crushed very close to each other in the high, narrow city; and that the sky-scraper is truly named because its top, towering in such insolence, is scraping the stars off the american sky, the very heaven of the american spirit. that seems to me the main outline of the whole problem. in the first chapter of this book, i have emphasised the fact that equality is still the ideal though no longer the reality of america. i should like to conclude this one by emphasising the fact that the reality of modern capitalism is menacing that ideal with terrors and even splendours that might well stagger the wavering and impressionable modern spirit. upon the issue of that struggle depends the question of whether this new great civilisation continues to exist, and even whether any one cares if it exists or not. i have already used the parable of the american flag, and the stars that stand for a multitudinous equality; i might here take the opposite symbol of these artificial and terrestrial stars flaming on the forehead of the commercial city; and note the peril of the last illusion, which is that the artificial stars may seem to fill the heavens, and the real stars to have faded from sight. but i am content for the moment to reaffirm the merely imaginative pleasure of those dizzy turrets and dancing fires. if those nightmare buildings were really all built for nothing, how noble they would be! the fact that they were really built for something need not unduly depress us for a moment, or drag down our soaring fancies. there is something about these vertical lines that suggests a sort of rush upwards, as of great cataracts topsy-turvy. i have spoken of fireworks, but here i should rather speak of rockets. there is only something underneath the mind murmuring that nothing remains at last of a flaming rocket except a falling stick. i have spoken of babylonian perspectives, and of words written with a fiery finger, like that huge unhuman finger that wrote on belshazzar's wall.... but what did it write on belshazzar's wall?... i am content once more to end on a note of doubt and a rather dark sympathy with those many-coloured solar systems turning so dizzily, far up in the divine vacuum of the night. 'from the earth we come and to the earth we return; when people get away from that they are lost.' _irish and other interviewers_ it is often asked what should be the first thing that a man sees when he lands in a foreign country; but i think it should be the vision of his own country. at least when i came into new york harbour, a sort of grey and green cloud came between me and the towers with multitudinous windows, white in the winter sunlight; and i saw an old brown house standing back among the beech-trees at home, the house of only one among many friends and neighbours, but one somehow so sunken in the very heart of england as to be unconscious of her imperial or international position, and out of the sound of her perilous seas. but what made most clear the vision that revisited me was something else. before we touched land the men of my own guild, the journalists and reporters, had already boarded the ship like pirates. and one of them spoke to me in an accent that i knew; and thanked me for all i had done for ireland. and it was at that moment that i knew most vividly that what i wanted was to do something for england. then, as it chanced, i looked across at the statue of liberty, and saw that the great bronze was gleaming green in the morning light. i had made all the obvious jokes about the statue of liberty. i found it had a soothing effect on earnest prohibitionists on the boat to urge, as a point of dignity and delicacy, that it ought to be given back to the french, a vicious race abandoned to the culture of the vine. i proposed that the last liquors on board should be poured out in a pagan libation before it. and then i suddenly remembered that this liberty was still in some sense enlightening the world, or one part of the world; was a lamp for one sort of wanderer, a star of one sort of seafarer. to one persecuted people at least this land had really been an asylum; even if recent legislation (as i have said) had made them think it a lunatic asylum. they had made it so much their home that the very colour of the country seemed to change with the infusion; as the bronze of the great statue took on a semblance of the wearing of the green. it is a commonplace that the englishman has been stupid in his relations with the irish; but he has been far more stupid in his relations with the americans on the subject of the irish. his propaganda has been worse than his practice; and his defence more ill-considered than the most indefensible things that it was intended to defend. there is in this matter a curious tangle of cross-purposes, which only a parallel example can make at all clear. and i will note the point here, because it is some testimony to its vivid importance that it was really the first i had to discuss on american soil with an american citizen. in a double sense i touched ireland before i came to america. i will take an imaginary instance from another controversy; in order to show how the apology can be worse than the action. the best we can say for ourselves is worse than the worst that we can do. there was a time when english poets and other publicists could always be inspired with instantaneous indignation about the persecuted jews in russia. we have heard less about them since we heard more about the persecuting jews in russia. i fear there are a great many middle-class englishmen already who wish that trotsky had been persecuted a little more. but even in those days englishmen divided their minds in a curious fashion; and unconsciously distinguished between the jews whom they had never seen, in warsaw, and the jews whom they had often seen in whitechapel. it seemed to be assumed that, by a curious coincidence, russia possessed not only the very worst anti-semites but the very best semites. a moneylender in london might be like judas iscariot; but a moneylender in moscow must be like judas maccabaeus. nevertheless there remained in our common sense an unconscious but fundamental comprehension of the unity of israel; a sense that some things could be said, and some could not be said, about the jews as a whole. suppose that even in those days, to say nothing of these, an english protest against russian anti-semitism had been answered by the russian anti-semites, and suppose the answer had been somewhat as follows:-- 'it is all very well for foreigners to complain of our denying civic rights to our jewish subjects; but we know the jews better than they do. they are a barbarous people, entirely primitive, and very like the simple savages who cannot count beyond five on their fingers. it is quite impossible to make them understand ordinary numbers, to say nothing of simple economics. they do not realise the meaning or the value of money. no jew anywhere in the world can get into his stupid head the notion of a bargain, or of exchanging one thing for another. their hopeless incapacity for commerce or finance would retard the progress of our people, would prevent the spread of any sort of economic education, would keep the whole country on a level lower than that of the most prehistoric methods of barter. what russia needs most is a mercantile middle class; and it is unjust to ask us to swamp its small beginnings in thousands of these rude tribesmen, who cannot do a sum of simple addition, or understand the symbolic character of a threepenny bit. we might as well be asked to give civic rights to cows and pigs as to this unhappy, half-witted race who can no more count than the beasts of the field. in every intellectual exercise they are hopelessly incompetent; no jew can play chess; no jew can learn languages; no jew has ever appeared in the smallest part in any theatrical performance; no jew can give or take any pleasure connected with any musical instrument. these people are our subjects; and we understand them. we accept full responsibility for treating such troglodytes on our own terms.' it would not be entirely convincing. it would sound a little far-fetched and unreal. but it would sound exactly like our utterances about the irish, as they sound to all americans, and rather especially to anti-irish americans. that is exactly the impression we produce on the people of the united states when we say, as we do say in substance, something like this: 'we mean no harm to the poor dear irish, so dreamy, so irresponsible, so incapable of order or organisation. if we were to withdraw from their country they would only fight among themselves; they have no notion of how to rule themselves. there is something charming about their unpracticability, about their very incapacity for the coarse business of politics. but for their own sakes it is impossible to leave these emotional visionaries to ruin themselves in the attempt to rule themselves. they are like children; but they are our own children, and we understand them. we accept full responsibility for acting as their parents and guardians.' now the point is not only that this view of the irish is false, but that it is the particular view that the americans know to be false. while we are saying that the irish could not organise, the americans are complaining, often very bitterly, of the power of irish organisation. while we say that the irishman could not rule himself, the americans are saying, more or less humorously, that the irishman rules them. a highly intelligent professor said to me in boston, 'we have solved the irish problem here; we have an entirely independent irish government.' while we are complaining, in an almost passionate manner, of the impotence of mere cliques of idealists and dreamers, they are complaining, often in a very indignant manner, of the power of great gangs of bosses and bullies. there are a great many americans who pity the irish, very naturally and very rightly, for the historic martyrdom which their patriotism has endured. but there are a great many americans who do not pity the irish in the least. they would be much more likely to pity the english; only this particular way of talking tends rather to make them despise the english. thus both the friends of ireland and the foes of ireland tend to be the foes of england. we make one set of enemies by our action, and another by our apology. it is a thing that can from time to time be found in history; a misunderstanding that really has a moral. the english excuse would carry much more weight if it had more sincerity and more humility. there are a considerable number of people in the united states who could sympathise with us, if we would say frankly that we fear the irish. those who thus despise our pity might possibly even respect our fear. the argument i have often used in other places comes back with prodigious and redoubled force, after hearing anything of american opinion; the argument that the only reasonable or reputable excuse for the english is the excuse of a patriotic sense of peril; and that the unionist, if he must be a unionist, should use that and no other. when the unionist has said that he dare not let loose against himself a captive he has so cruelly wronged, he has said all that he has to say; all that he has ever had to say; all that he will ever have to say. he is like a man who has sent a virile and rather vindictive rival unjustly to penal servitude; and who connives at the continuance of the sentence, not because he himself is particularly vindictive, but because he is afraid of what the convict will do when he comes out of prison. this is not exactly a moral strength, but it is a very human weakness; and that is the most that can be said for it. all other talk, about celtic frenzy or catholic superstition, is cant invented to deceive himself or to deceive the world. but the vital point to realise is that it is cant that cannot possibly deceive the american world. in the matter of the irishman the american is not to be deceived. it is not merely true to say that he knows better. it is equally true to say that he knows worse. he knows vices and evils in the irishman that are entirely hidden in the hazy vision of the englishman. he knows that our unreal slanders are inconsistent even with the real sins. to us ireland is a shadowy isle of sunset, like atlantis, about which we can make up legends. to him it is a positive ward or parish in the heart of his huge cities, like whitechapel; about which even we cannot make legends but only lies. and, as i have said, there are some lies we do not tell even about whitechapel. we do not say it is inhabited by jews too stupid to count or know the value of a coin. the first thing for any honest englishman to send across the sea is this; that the english have not the shadow of a notion of what they are up against in america. they have never even heard of the batteries of almost brutal energy, of which i had thus touched a live wire even before i landed. people talk about the hypocrisy of england in dealing with a small nationality. what strikes me is the stupidity of england in supposing that she is dealing with a small nationality; when she is really dealing with a very large nationality. she is dealing with a nationality that often threatens, even numerically, to dominate all the other nationalities of the united states. the irish are not decaying; they are not unpractical; they are scarcely even scattered; they are not even poor. they are the most powerful and practical world-combination with whom we can decide to be friends or foes; and that is why i thought first of that still and solid brown house in buckinghamshire, standing back in the shadow of the trees. among my impressions of america i have deliberately put first the figure of the irish-american interviewer, standing on the shore more symbolic than the statue of liberty. the irish interviewer's importance for the english lay in the fact of his being an irishman, but there was also considerable interest in the circumstance of his being an interviewer. and as certain wild birds sometimes wing their way far out to sea and are the first signal of the shore, so the first americans the traveller meets are often american interviewers; and they are generally birds of a feather, and they certainly flock together. in this respect, there is a slight difference in the etiquette of the craft in the two countries, which i was delighted to discuss with my fellow craftsmen. if i could at that moment have flown back to fleet street i am happy to reflect that nobody in the world would in the least wish to interview me. i should attract no more attention than the stone griffin opposite the law courts; both monsters being grotesque but also familiar. but supposing for the sake of argument that anybody did want to interview me, it is fairly certain that the fact of one paper publishing such an interview would rather prevent the other papers from doing so. the repetition of the same views of the same individual in two places would be considered rather bad journalism; it would have an air of stolen thunder, not to say stage thunder. but in america the fact of my landing and lecturing was evidently regarded in the same light as a murder or a great fire, or any other terrible but incurable catastrophe, a matter of interest to all pressmen concerned with practical events. one of the first questions i was asked was how i should be disposed to explain the wave of crime in new york. naturally i replied that it might possibly be due to the number of english lecturers who had recently landed. in the mood of the moment it seemed possible that, if they had all been interviewed, regrettable incidents might possibly have taken place. but this was only the mood of the moment, and even as a mood did not last more than a moment. and since it has reference to a rather common and a rather unjust conception of american journalism, i think it well to take it first as a fallacy to be refuted, though the refutation may require a rather longer approach. i have generally found that the traveller fails to understand a foreign country, through treating it as a tendency and not as a balance. but if a thing were always tending in one direction it would soon tend to destruction. everything that merely progresses finally perishes. every nation, like every family, exists upon a compromise, and commonly a rather eccentric compromise; using the word 'eccentric' in the sense of something that is somehow at once crazy and healthy. now the foreigner commonly sees some feature that he thinks fantastic without seeing the feature that balances it. the ordinary examples are obvious enough. an englishman dining inside a hotel on the boulevards thinks the french eccentric in refusing to open a window. but he does not think the english eccentric in refusing to carry their chairs and tables out on to the pavement in ludgate circus. an englishman will go poking about in little swiss or italian villages, in wild mountains or in remote islands, demanding tea; and never reflects that he is like a chinaman who should enter all the wayside public-houses in kent and sussex and demand opium. but the point is not merely that he demands what he cannot expect to enjoy; it is that he ignores even what he does enjoy. he does not realise the sublime and starry paradox of the phrase, _vin ordinaire_, which to him should be a glorious jest like the phrase 'common gold' or 'daily diamonds.' these are the simple and self-evident cases; but there are many more subtle cases of the same thing; of the tendency to see that the nation fills up its own gap with its own substitute; or corrects its own extravagance with its own precaution. the national antidote generally grows wild in the woods side by side with the national poison. if it did not, all the natives would be dead. for it is so, as i have said, that nations necessarily die of the undiluted poison called progress. it is so in this much-abused and over-abused example of the american journalist. the american interviewers really have exceedingly good manners for the purposes of their trade, granted that it is necessary to pursue their trade. and even what is called their hustling method can truly be said to cut both ways, or hustle both ways; for if they hustle in, they also hustle out. it may not at first sight seem the very warmest compliment to a gentleman to congratulate him on the fact that he soon goes away. but it really is a tribute to his perfection in a very delicate social art; and i am quite serious when i say that in this respect the interviewers are artists. it might be more difficult for an englishman to come to the point, particularly the sort of point which american journalists are supposed, with some exaggeration, to aim at. it might be more difficult for an englishman to ask a total stranger on the spur of the moment for the exact inscription on his mother's grave; but i really think that if an englishman once got so far as that he would go very much farther, and certainly go on very much longer. the englishman would approach the churchyard by a rather more wandering woodland path; but if once he had got to the grave i think he would have much more disposition, so to speak, to sit down on it. our own national temperament would find it decidedly more difficult to disconnect when connections had really been established. possibly that is the reason why our national temperament does not establish them. i suspect that the real reason that an englishman does not talk is that he cannot leave off talking. i suspect that my solitary countrymen, hiding in separate railway compartments, are not so much retiring as a race of trappists as escaping from a race of talkers. however this may be, there is obviously something of practical advantage in the ease with which the american butterfly flits from flower to flower. he may in a sense force his acquaintance on us, but he does not force himself on us. even when, to our prejudices, he seems to insist on knowing us, at least he does not insist on our knowing him. it may be, to some sensibilities, a bad thing that a total stranger should talk as if he were a friend, but it might possibly be worse if he insisted on being a friend before he would talk like one. to a great deal of the interviewing, indeed much the greater part of it, even this criticism does not apply; there is nothing which even an englishman of extreme sensibility could regard as particularly private; the questions involved are generally entirely public, and treated with not a little public spirit. but my only reason for saying here what can be said even for the worst exceptions is to point out this general and neglected principle; that the very thing that we complain of in a foreigner generally carries with it its own foreign cure. american interviewing is generally very reasonable, and it is always very rapid. and even those to whom talking to an intelligent fellow creature is as horrible as having a tooth out may still admit that american interviewing has many of the qualities of american dentistry. another effect that has given rise to this fallacy, this exaggeration of the vulgarity and curiosity of the press, is the distinction between the articles and the headlines; or rather the tendency to ignore that distinction. the few really untrue and unscrupulous things i have seen in american 'stories' have always been in the headlines. and the headlines are written by somebody else; some solitary and savage cynic locked up in the office, hating all mankind, and raging and revenging himself at random, while the neat, polite, and rational pressman can safely be let loose to wander about the town. for instance, i talked to two decidedly thoughtful fellow journalists immediately on my arrival at a town in which there had been some labour troubles. i told them my general view of labour in the very largest and perhaps the vaguest historical outline; pointing out that the one great truth to be taught to the middle classes was that capitalism was itself a crisis, and a passing crisis; that it was not so much that it was breaking down as that it had never really stood up. slaveries could last, and peasantries could last; but wage-earning communities could hardly even live, and were already dying. all this moral and even metaphysical generalisation was most fairly and most faithfully reproduced by the interviewer, who had actually heard it casually and idly spoken. but on the top of this column of political philosophy was the extraordinary announcement in enormous letters, 'chesterton takes sides in trolley strike.' this was inaccurate. when i spoke i not only did not know that there was any trolley strike, but i did not know what a trolley strike was. i should have had an indistinct idea that a large number of citizens earned their living by carrying things about in wheel-barrows, and that they had desisted from the beneficent activities. any one who did not happen to be a journalist, or know a little about journalism, american and english, would have supposed that the same man who wrote the article had suddenly gone mad and written the title. but i know that we have here to deal with two different types of journalists; and the man who writes the headlines i will not dare to describe; for i have not seen him except in dreams. another innocent complication is that the interviewer does sometimes translate things into his native language. it would not seem odd that a french interviewer should translate them into french; and it is certain that the american interviewer sometimes translates them into american. those who imagine the two languages to be the same are more innocent than any interviewer. to take one out of the twenty examples, some of which i have mentioned elsewhere, suppose an interviewer had said that i had the reputation of being a nut. i should be flattered but faintly surprised at such a tribute to my dress and dashing exterior. i should afterwards be sobered and enlightened by discovering that in america a nut does not mean a dandy but a defective or imbecile person. and as i have here to translate their american phrase into english, it may be very defensible that they should translate my english phrases into american. anyhow they often do translate them into american. in answer to the usual question about prohibition i had made the usual answer, obvious to the point of dullness to those who are in daily contact with it, that it is a law that the rich make knowing they can always break it. from the printed interview it appeared that i had said, 'prohibition! all matter of dollar sign.' this is almost avowed translation, like a french translation. nobody can suppose that it would come natural to an englishman to talk about a dollar, still less about a dollar sign--whatever that may be. it is exactly as if he had made me talk about the skelt and stevenson toy theatre as 'a cent plain, and two cents coloured' or condemned a parsimonious policy as dime-wise and dollar-foolish. another interviewer once asked me who was the greatest american writer. i have forgotten exactly what i said, but after mentioning several names, i said that the greatest natural genius and artistic force was probably walt whitman. the printed interview is more precise; and students of my literary and conversational style will be interested to know that i said, 'see here, walt whitman was your one real red-blooded man.' here again i hardly think the translation can have been quite unconscious; most of my intimates are indeed aware that i do not talk like that, but i fancy that the same fact would have dawned on the journalist to whom i had been talking. and even this trivial point carries with it the two truths which must be, i fear, the rather monotonous moral of these pages. the first is that america and england can be far better friends when sharply divided than when shapelessly amalgamated. these two journalists were false reporters, but they were true translators. they were not so much interviewers as interpreters. and the second is that in any such difference it is often wholesome to look beneath the surface for a superiority. for ability to translate does imply ability to understand; and many of these journalists really did understand. i think there are many english journalists who would be more puzzled by so simple an idea as the plutocratic foundation of prohibition. but the american knew at once that i meant it was a matter of dollar sign; probably because he knew very well that it is. then again there is a curious convention by which american interviewing makes itself out much worse than it is. the reports are far more rowdy and insolent than the conversations. this is probably a part of the fact that a certain vivacity, which to some seems vitality and to some vulgarity, is not only an ambition but an ideal. it must always be grasped that this vulgarity is an ideal even more than it is a reality. it is an ideal when it is not a reality. a very quiet and intelligent young man, in a soft black hat and tortoise-shell spectacles, will ask for an interview with unimpeachable politeness, wait for his living subject with unimpeachable patience, talk to him quite sensibly for twenty minutes, and go noiselessly away. then in the newspaper next morning you will read how he beat the bedroom door in, and pursued his victim on to the roof or dragged him from under the bed, and tore from him replies to all sorts of bald and ruthless questions printed in large black letters. i was often interviewed in the evening, and had no notion of how atrociously i had been insulted till i saw it in the paper next morning. i had no notion i had been on the rack of an inquisitor until i saw it in plain print; and then of course i believed it, with a faith and docility unknown in any previous epoch of history. an interesting essay might be written upon points upon which nations affect more vices than they possess; and it might deal more fully with the american pressman, who is a harmless clubman in private, and becomes a sort of highway-robber in print. i have turned this chapter into something like a defence of interviewers, because i really think they are made to bear too much of the burden of the bad developments of modern journalism. but i am very far from meaning to suggest that those bad developments are not very bad. so far from wishing to minimise the evil, i would in a real sense rather magnify it. i would suggest that the evil itself is a much larger and more fundamental thing; and that to deal with it by abusing poor journalists, doing their particular and perhaps peculiar duty, is like dealing with a pestilence by rubbing at one of the spots. what is wrong with the modern world will not be righted by attributing the whole disease to each of its symptoms in turn; first to the tavern and then to the cinema and then to the reporter's room. the evil of journalism is not in the journalists. it is not in the poor men on the lower level of the profession, but in the rich men at the top of the profession; or rather in the rich men who are too much on top of the profession even to belong to it. the trouble with newspapers is the newspaper trust, as the trouble might be with a wheat trust, without involving a vilification of all the people who grow wheat. it is the american plutocracy and not the american press. what is the matter with the modern world is not modern headlines or modern films or modern machinery. what is the matter with the modern world is the modern world; and the cure will come from another. _some american cities_ there is one point, almost to be called a paradox, to be noted about new york; and that is that in one sense it is really new. the term very seldom has any relevance to the reality. the new forest is nearly as old as the conquest, and the new theology is nearly as old as the creed. things have been offered to me as the new thought that might more properly be called the old thoughtlessness; and the thing we call the new poor law is already old enough to know better. but there is a sense in which new york is always new; in the sense that it is always being renewed. a stranger might well say that the chief industry of the citizens consists of destroying their city; but he soon realises that they always start it all over again with undiminished energy and hope. at first i had a fancy that they never quite finished putting up a big building without feeling that it was time to pull it down again; and that somebody began to dig up the first foundations while somebody else was putting on the last tiles. this fills the whole of this brilliant and bewildering place with a quite unique and unparalleled air of rapid ruin. ruins spring up so suddenly like mushrooms, which with us are the growth of age like mosses, that one half expects to see ivy climbing quickly up the broken walls as in the nightmare of the time machine, or in some incredibly accelerated cinema. there is no sight in any country that raises my own spirits so much as a scaffolding. it is a tragedy that they always take the scaffolding away, and leave us nothing but a mere building. if they would only take the building away and leave us a beautiful scaffolding, it would in most cases be a gain to the loveliness of earth. if i could analyse what it is that lifts the heart about the lightness and clarity of such a white and wooden skeleton, i could explain what it is that is really charming about new york; in spite of its suffering from the curse of cosmopolitanism and even the provincial superstition of progress. it is partly that all this destruction and reconstruction is an unexhausted artistic energy; but it is partly also that it is an artistic energy that does not take itself too seriously. it is first because man is here a carpenter; and secondly because he is a stage carpenter. indeed there is about the whole scene the spirit of scene-shifting. it therefore touches whatever nerve in us has since childhood thrilled at all theatrical things. but the picture will be imperfect unless we realise something which gives it unity and marks its chief difference from the climate and colours of western europe. we may say that the back-scene remains the same. the sky remained, and in the depths of winter it seemed to be blue with summer; and so clear that i almost flattered myself that clouds were english products like primroses. an american would probably retort on my charge of scene-shifting by saying that at least he only shifted the towers and domes of the earth; and that in england it is the heavens that are shifty. and indeed we have changes from day to day that would seem to him as distinct as different magic-lantern slides; one view showing the bay of naples and the next the north pole. i do not mean, of course, that there are no changes in american weather; but as a matter of proportion it is true that the most unstable part of our scenery is the most stable part of theirs. indeed we might almost be pardoned the boast that britain alone really possesses the noble thing called weather; most other countries having to be content with climate. it must be confessed, however, that they often are content with it. and the beauty of new york, which is considerable, is very largely due to the clarity that brings out the colours of varied buildings against the equal colour of the sky. strangely enough i found myself repeating about this vista of the west two vivid lines in which mr. w. b. yeats has called up a vision of the east:-- and coloured like the eastern birds at evening in their rainless skies. to invoke a somewhat less poetic parallel, even the untravelled englishman has probably seen american posters and trade advertisements of a patchy and gaudy kind, in which a white house or a yellow motor-car are cut out as in cardboard against a sky like blue marble. i used to think it was only new art, but i found that it is really new york. it is not for nothing that the very nature of local character has gained the nickname of local colour. colour runs through all our experience; and we all know that our childhood found talismanic gems in the very paints in the paint-box, or even in their very names. and just as the very name of 'crimson lake' really suggested to me some sanguine and mysterious mere, dark yet red as blood, so the very name of 'burnt sienna' became afterwards tangled up in my mind with the notion of something traditional and tragic; as if some such golden italian city had really been darkened by many conflagrations in the wars of mediaeval democracy. now if one had the caprice of conceiving some city exactly contrary to one thus seared and seasoned by fire, its colour might be called up to a childish fancy by the mere name of 'raw umber'; and such a city is new york. i used to be puzzled by the name of 'raw umber,' being unable to imagine the effect of fried umber or stewed umber. but the colours of new york are exactly in that key; and might be adumbrated by phrases like raw pink or raw yellow. it is really in a sense like something uncooked; or something which the satiric would call half-baked. and yet the effect is not only beautiful, it is even delicate. i had no name for this nuance; until i saw that somebody had written of 'the pastel-tinted towers of new york'; and i knew that the name had been found. there are no paints dry enough to describe all that dry light; and it is not a box of colours but of crayons. if the englishman returning to england is moved at the sight of a block of white chalk, the american sees rather a bundle of chalks. nor can i imagine anything more moving. fairy tales are told to children about a country where the trees are like sugar-sticks and the lakes like treacle, but most children would feel almost as greedy for a fairyland where the trees were like brushes of green paint and the hills were of coloured chalks. but here what accentuates this arid freshness is the fragmentary look of the continual reconstruction and change. the strong daylight finds everywhere the broken edges of things, and the sort of hues we see in newly-turned earth or the white sections of trees. and it is in this respect that the local colour can literally be taken as local character. for new york considered in itself is primarily a place of unrest, and those who sincerely love it, as many do, love it for the romance of its restlessness. a man almost looks at a building as he passes to wonder whether it will be there when he comes back from his walk; and the doubt is part of an indescribable notion, as of a white nightmare of daylight, which is increased by the very numbering of the streets, with its tangle of numerals which at first makes an english head reel. the detail is merely a symbol; and when he is used to it he can see that it is, like the most humdrum human customs, both worse and better than his own. ' west nd street' is the easiest of all addresses to find, but the hardest of all addresses to remember. he who is, like myself, so constituted as necessarily to lose any piece of paper he has particular reason to preserve, will find himself wishing the place were called 'pine crest' or 'heather crag' like any unobtrusive villa in streatham. but his sense of some sort of incalculable calculations, as of the vision of a mad mathematician, is rooted in a more real impression. his first feeling that his head is turning round is due to something really dizzy in the movement of a life that turns dizzily like a wheel. if there be in the modern mind something paradoxical that can find peace in change, it is here that it has indeed built its habitation or rather is still building and unbuilding it. one might fancy that it changes in everything and that nothing endures but its invisible name; and even its name, as i have said, seems to make a boast of novelty. that is something like a sincere first impression of the atmosphere of new york. those who think that is the atmosphere of america have never got any farther than new york. we might almost say that they have never entered america, any more than if they had been detained like undesirable aliens at ellis island. and indeed there are a good many undesirable aliens detained in manhattan island too. but of that i will not speak, being myself an alien with no particular pretensions to be desirable. anyhow, such is new york; but such is not the new world. the great american republic contains very considerable varieties, and of these varieties i necessarily saw far too little to allow me to generalise. but from the little i did see, i should venture on the generalisation that the great part of america is singularly and even strikingly unlike new york. it goes without saying that new york is very unlike the vast agricultural plains and small agricultural towns of the middle west, which i did see. it may be conjectured with some confidence that it is very unlike what is called the wild and sometimes the woolly west, which i did not see. but i am here comparing new york, not with the newer states of the prairie or the mountains, but with the other older cities of the atlantic coast. and new york, as it seems to me, is quite vitally different from the other historic cities of america. it is so different that it shows them all for the moment in a false light, as a long white searchlight will throw a light that is fantastic and theatrical upon ancient and quiet villages folded in the everlasting hills. philadelphia and boston and baltimore are more like those quiet villages than they are like new york. if i were to call this book 'the antiquities of america,' i should give rise to misunderstanding and possibly to annoyance. and yet the double sense in such words is an undeserved misfortune for them. we talk of plato or the parthenon or the greek passion for beauty as parts of the antique, but hardly of the antiquated. when we call them ancient it is not because they have perished, but rather because they have survived. in the same way i heard some new yorkers refer to philadelphia or baltimore as 'dead towns.' they mean by a dead town a town that has had the impudence not to die. such people are astonished to find an ancient thing alive, just as they are now astonished, and will be increasingly astonished, to find poland or the papacy or the french nation still alive. and what i mean by philadelphia and baltimore being alive is precisely what these people mean by their being dead; it is continuity; it is the presence of the life first breathed into them and of the purpose of their being; it is the benediction of the founders of the colonies and the fathers of the republic. this tradition is truly to be called life; for life alone can link the past and the future. it merely means that as what was done yesterday makes some difference to-day, so what is done to-day will make some difference to-morrow. in new york it is difficult to feel that any day will make any difference. these moderns only die daily without power to rise from the dead. but i can truly claim that in coming into some of these more stable cities of the states i felt something quite sincerely of that historic emotion which is satisfied in the eternal cities of the mediterranean. i felt in america what many americans suppose can only be felt in europe. i have seldom had that sentiment stirred more simply and directly than when i saw from afar off, above the vast grey labyrinth of philadelphia, great penn upon his pinnacle like the graven figure of a god who had fashioned a new world; and remembered that his body lay buried in a field at the turning of a lane, a league from my own door. for this aspect of america is rather neglected in the talk about electricity and headlines. needless to say, the modern vulgarity of avarice and advertisement sprawls all over philadelphia or boston; but so it does over winchester or canterbury. but most people know that there is something else to be found in canterbury or winchester; many people know that it is rather more interesting; and some people know that alfred can still walk in winchester and that st. thomas at canterbury was killed but did not die. it is at least as possible for a philadelphian to feel the presence of penn and franklin as for an englishman to see the ghosts of alfred and of becket. tradition does not mean a dead town; it does not mean that the living are dead but that the dead are alive. it means that it still matters what penn did two hundred years ago or what franklin did a hundred years ago; i never could feel in new york that it mattered what anybody did an hour ago. and these things did and do matter. quakerism is not my favourite creed; but on that day when william penn stood unarmed upon that spot and made his treaty with the red indians, his creed of humanity did have a triumph and a triumph that has not turned back. the praise given to him is not a priggish fiction of our conventional history, though such fictions have illogically curtailed it. the nonconformists have been rather unfair to penn even in picking their praises; and they generally forget that toleration cuts both ways and that an open mind is open on all sides. those who deify him for consenting to bargain with the savages cannot forgive him for consenting to bargain with the stuarts. and the same is true of the other city, yet more closely connected with the tolerant experiment of the stuarts. the state of maryland was the first experiment in religious freedom in human history. lord baltimore and his catholics were a long march ahead of william penn and his quakers on what is now called the path of progress. that the first religious toleration ever granted in the world was granted by roman catholics is one of those little informing details with which our victorian histories did not exactly teem. but when i went into my hotel at baltimore and found two priests waiting to see me, i was moved in a new fashion, for i felt that i touched the end of a living chain. nor was the impression accidental; it will always remain with me with a mixture of gratitude and grief, for they brought a message of welcome from a great american whose name i had known from childhood and whose career was drawing to its close; for it was but a few days after i left the city that i learned that cardinal gibbons was dead. on the top of a hill on one side of the town stood the first monument raised after the revolution to washington. beyond it was a new monument saluting in the name of lafayette the american soldiers who fell fighting in france in the great war. between them were steps and stone seats, and i sat down on one of them and talked to two children who were clambering about the bases of the monument. i felt a profound and radiant peace in the thought that they at any rate were not going to my lecture. it made me happy that in that talk neither they nor i had any names. i was full of that indescribable waking vision of the strangeness of life, and especially of the strangeness of locality; of how we find places and lose them; and see faces for a moment in a far-off land, and it is equally mysterious if we remember and mysterious if we forget. i had even stirring in my head the suggestion of some verses that i shall never finish-- if i ever go back to baltimore the city of maryland. but the poem would have to contain far too much; for i was thinking of a thousand things at once; and wondering what the children would be like twenty years after and whether they would travel in white goods or be interested in oil, and i was not untouched (it may be said) by the fact that a neighbouring shop had provided the only sample of the substance called 'tea' ever found on the american continent; and in front of me soared up into the sky on wings of stone the column of all those high hopes of humanity a hundred years ago; and beyond there were lighted candles in the chapels and prayers in the ante-chambers, where perhaps already a prince of the church was dying. only on a later page can i even attempt to comb out such a tangle of contrasts, which is indeed the tangle of america and this mortal life; but sitting there on that stone seat under that quiet sky, i had some experience of the thronging thousands of living thoughts and things, noisy and numberless as birds, that give its everlasting vivacity and vitality to a dead town. two other cities i visited which have this particular type of traditional character, the one being typical of the north and the other of the south. at least i may take as convenient anti-types the towns of boston and st. louis; and we might add nashville as being a shade more truly southern than st. louis. to the extreme south, in the sense of what is called the black belt, i never went at all. now english travellers expect the south to be somewhat traditional; but they are not prepared for the aspects of boston in the north which are even more so. if we wished only for an antic of antithesis, we might say that on one side the places are more prosaic than the names and on the other the names are more prosaic than the places. st. louis is a fine town, and we recognise a fine instinct of the imagination that set on the hill overlooking the river the statue of that holy horseman who has christened the city. but the city is not as beautiful as its name; it could not be. indeed these titles set up a standard to which the most splendid spires and turrets could not rise, and below which the commercial chimneys and sky-signs conspicuously sink. we should think it odd if belfast had borne the name of joan of arc. we should be slightly shocked if the town of johannesburg happened to be called jesus christ. but few have noted a blasphemy, or even a somewhat challenging benediction, to be found in the very name of san francisco. but on the other hand a place like boston is much more beautiful than its name. and, as i have suggested, an englishman's general information, or lack of information, leaves him in some ignorance of the type of beauty that turns up in that type of place. he has heard so much about the purely commercial north as against the agricultural and aristocratic south, and the traditions of boston and philadelphia are rather too tenuous and delicate to be seen from across the atlantic. but here also there are traditions and a great deal of traditionalism. the circle of old families, which still meets with a certain exclusiveness in philadelphia, is the sort of thing that we in england should expect to find rather in new orleans. the academic aristocracy of boston, which oliver wendell holmes called the brahmins, is still a reality though it was always a minority and is now a very small minority. an epigram, invented by yale at the expense of harvard, describes it as very small indeed:-- here is to jolly old boston, the home of the bean and the cod, where cabots speak only to lowells, and lowells speak only to god. but an aristocracy must be a minority, and it is arguable that the smaller it is the better. i am bound to say, however, that the distinguished dr. cabot, the present representative of the family, broke through any taboo that may tie his affections to his creator and to miss amy lowell, and broadened his sympathies so indiscriminately as to show kindness and hospitality to so lost a being as an english lecturer. but if the thing is hardly a limit it is very living as a memory; and boston on this side is very much a place of memories. it would be paying it a very poor compliment merely to say that parts of it reminded me of england; for indeed they reminded me of english things that have largely vanished from england. there are old brown houses in the corners of squares and streets that are like glimpses of a man's forgotten childhood; and when i saw the long path with posts where the autocrat may be supposed to have walked with the schoolmistress, i felt i had come to the land where old tales come true. i pause in this place upon this particular aspect of america because it is very much missed in a mere contrast with england. i need not say that if i felt it even about slight figures of fiction, i felt it even more about solid figures of history. such ghosts seemed particularly solid in the southern states, precisely because of the comparative quietude and leisure of the atmosphere of the south. it was never more vivid to me than when coming in, at a quiet hour of the night, into the comparatively quiet hotel at nashville in tennessee, and mounting to a dim and deserted upper floor where i found myself before a faded picture; and from the dark canvas looked forth the face of andrew jackson, watchful like a white eagle. at that moment, perhaps, i was in more than one sense alone. most englishmen know a good deal of american fiction, and nothing whatever of american history. they know more about the autocrat of the breakfast-table than about the autocrat of the army and the people, the one great democratic despot of modern times; the napoleon of the new world. the only notion the english public ever got about american politics they got from a novel, _uncle tom's cabin_; and to say the least of it, it was no exception to the prevalence of fiction over fact. hundreds of us have heard of tom sawyer for one who has heard of charles sumner; and it is probable that most of us could pass a more detailed examination about toddy and budge than about lincoln and lee. but in the case of andrew jackson it may be that i felt a special sense of individual isolation; for i believe that there are even fewer among englishmen than among americans who realise that the energy of that great man was largely directed towards saving us from the chief evil which destroys the nations to-day. he sought to cut down, as with a sword of simplicity, the new and nameless enormity of finance; and he must have known, as by a lightning flash, that the people were behind him, because all the politicians were against him. the end of that struggle is not yet; but if the bank is stronger than the sword or the sceptre of popular sovereignty, the end will be the end of democracy. it will have to choose between accepting an acknowledged dictator and accepting dictation which it dare not acknowledge. the process will have begun by giving power to people and refusing to give them their titles; and it will have ended by giving the power to people who refuse to give us their names. but i have a special reason for ending this chapter on the name of the great popular dictator who made war on the politicians and the financiers. this chapter does not profess to touch on one in twenty of the interesting cities of america, even in this particular aspect of their relation to the history of america, which is so much neglected in england. if that were so, there would be a great deal to say even about the newest of them; chicago, for instance, is certainly something more than the mere pork-packing yard that english tradition suggests; and it has been building a boulevard not unworthy of its splendid position on its splendid lake. but all these cities are defiled and even diseased with industrialism. it is due to the americans to remember that they have deliberately preserved one of their cities from such defilement and such disease. and that is the presidential city, which stands in the american mind for the same ideal as the president; the idea of the republic that rises above modern money-getting and endures. there has really been an effort to keep the white house white. no factories are allowed in that town; no more than the necessary shops are tolerated. it is a beautiful city; and really retains something of that classical serenity of the eighteenth century in which the fathers of the republic moved. with all respect to the colonial place of that name, i do not suppose that wellington is particularly like wellington. but washington really is like washington. in this, as in so many things, there is no harm in our criticising foreigners, if only we would also criticise ourselves. in other words, the world might need even less of its new charity, if it had a little more of the old humility. when we complain of american individualism, we forget that we have fostered it by ourselves having far less of this impersonal ideal of the republic or commonwealth as a whole. when we complain, very justly, for instance, of great pictures passing into the possession of american magnates, we ought to remember that we paved the way for it by allowing them all to accumulate in the possession of english magnates. it is bad that a public treasure should be in the possession of a private man in america, but we took the first step in lightly letting it disappear into the private collection of a man in england. i know all about the genuine national tradition which treated the aristocracy as constituting the state; but these very foreign purchases go to prove that we ought to have had a state independent of the aristocracy. it is true that rich americans do sometimes covet the monuments of our culture in a fashion that rightly revolts us as vulgar and irrational. they are said sometimes to want to take whole buildings away with them; and too many of such buildings are private and for sale. there were wilder stories of a millionaire wishing to transplant glastonbury abbey and similar buildings as if they were portable shrubs in pots. it is obvious that it is nonsense as well as vandalism to separate glastonbury abbey from glastonbury. i can understand a man venerating it as a ruin; and i can understand a man despising it as a rubbish-heap. but it is senseless to insult a thing in order to idolatrise it; it is meaningless to desecrate the shrine in order to worship the stones. that sort of thing is the bad side of american appetite and ambition; and we are perfectly right to see it not only as a deliberate blasphemy but as an unconscious buffoonery. but there is another side to the american tradition, which is really too much lacking in our own tradition. and it is illustrated in this idea of preserving washington as a sort of paradise of impersonal politics without personal commerce. nobody could buy the white house or the washington monument; it may be hinted (as by an inhabitant of glastonbury) that nobody wants to; but nobody could if he did want to. there is really a certain air of serenity and security about the place, lacking in every other american town. it is increased, of course, by the clear blue skies of that half-southern province, from which smoke has been banished. the effect is not so much in the mere buildings, though they are classical and often beautiful. but whatever else they have built, they have built a great blue dome, the largest dome in the world. and the place does express something in the inconsistent idealism of this strange people; and here at least they have lifted it higher than all the sky-scrapers, and set it in a stainless sky. _in the american country_ the sharpest pleasure of a traveller is in finding the things which he did not expect, but which he might have expected to expect. i mean the things that are at once so strange and so obvious that they must have been noticed, yet somehow they have not been noted. thus i had heard a thousand things about jerusalem before i ever saw it; i had heard rhapsodies and disparagements of every description. modern rationalistic critics, with characteristic consistency, had blamed it for its accumulated rubbish and its modern restoration, for its antiquated superstition and its up-to-date vulgarity. but somehow the one impression that had never pierced through their description was the simple and single impression of a city on a hill, with walls coming to the very edge of slopes that were almost as steep as walls; the turreted city which crowns a cone-shaped hill in so many mediaeval landscapes. one would suppose that this was at once the plainest and most picturesque of all the facts; yet somehow, in my reading, i had always lost it amid a mass of minor facts that were merely details. we know that a city that is set upon a hill cannot be hid; and yet it would seem that it is exactly the hill that is hid; though perhaps it is only hid from the wise and the understanding. i had a similar and simple impression when i discovered america. i cannot avoid the phrase; for it would really seem that each man discovers it for himself. thus i had heard a great deal, before i saw them, about the tall and dominant buildings of new york. i agree that they have an instant effect on the imagination; which i think is increased by the situation in which they stand, and out of which they arose. they are all the more impressive because the building, while it is vertically so vast, is horizontally almost narrow. new york is an island, and has all the intensive romance of an island. it is a thing of almost infinite height upon very finite foundations. it is almost like a lofty lighthouse upon a lonely rock. but this story of the sky-scrapers, which i had often heard, would by itself give a curiously false impression of the freshest and most curious characteristic of american architecture. told only in terms of these great towers of stone and brick in the big industrial cities, the story would tend too much to an impression of something cold and colossal like the monuments of asia. it would suggest a modern babylon altogether too babylonian. it would imply that a man of the new world was a sort of new pharaoh, who built not so much a pyramid as a pagoda of pyramids. it would suggest houses built by mammoths out of mountains; the cities reared by elephants in their own elephantine school of architecture. and new york does recall the most famous of all sky-scrapers--the tower of babel. she recalls it none the less because there is no doubt about the confusion of tongues. but in truth the very reverse is true of most of the buildings in america. i had no sooner passed out into the suburbs of new york on the way to boston than i began to see something else quite contrary and far more curious. i saw forests upon forests of small houses stretching away to the horizon as literal forests do; villages and towns and cities. and they were, in another sense, literally like forests. they were all made of wood. it was almost as fantastic to an english eye as if they had been all made of cardboard. i had long outlived the silly old joke that referred to americans as if they all lived in the backwoods. but, in a sense, if they do not live in the woods, they are not yet out of the wood. i do not say this in any sense as a criticism. as it happens, i am particularly fond of wood. of all the superstitions which our fathers took lightly enough to love, the most natural seems to me the notion it is lucky to touch wood. some of them affect me the less as superstitions, because i feel them as symbols. if humanity had really thought friday unlucky it would have talked about bad friday instead of good friday. and while i feel the thrill of thirteen at a table, i am not so sure that it is the most miserable of all human fates to fill the places of the twelve apostles. but the idea that there was something cleansing or wholesome about the touching of wood seems to me one of those ideas which are truly popular, because they are truly poetic. it is probable enough that the conception came originally from the healing of the wood of the cross; but that only clinches the divine coincidence. it is like that other divine coincidence that the victim was a carpenter, who might almost have made his own cross. whether we take the mystical or the mythical explanation, there is obviously a very deep connection between the human working in wood and such plain and pathetic mysticism. it gives something like a touch of the holy childishness to the tale, as if that terrible engine could be a toy. in the same fashion a child fancies that mysterious and sinister horse, which was the downfall of troy, as something plain and staring, and perhaps spotted, like his own rocking-horse in the nursery. it might be said symbolically that americans have a taste for rocking-horses, as they certainly have a taste for rocking-chairs. a flippant critic might suggest that they select rocking-chairs so that, even when they are sitting down, they need not be sitting still. something of this restlessness in the race may really be involved in the matter; but i think the deeper significance of the rocking-chair may still be found in the deeper symbolism of the rocking-horse. i think there is behind all this fresh and facile use of wood a certain spirit that is childish in the good sense of the word; something that is innocent, and easily pleased. it is not altogether untrue, still less is it unfriendly, to say that the landscape seems to be dotted with dolls' houses. it is the true tragedy of every fallen son of adam that he has grown too big to live in a doll's house. these things seem somehow to escape the irony of time by not even challenging it; they are too temporary even to be merely temporal. these people are not building tombs; they are not, as in the fine image of mrs. meynell's poem, merely building ruins. it is not easy to imagine the ruins of a doll's house; and that is why a doll's house is an everlasting habitation. how far it promises a political permanence is a matter for further discussion; i am only describing the mood of discovery; in which all these cottages built of lath, like the palaces of a pantomime, really seemed coloured like the clouds of morning; which are both fugitive and eternal. there is also in all this an atmosphere that comes in another sense from the nursery. we hear much of americans being educated on english literature; but i think few americans realise how much english children have been educated on american literature. it is true, and it is inevitable, that they can only be educated on rather old-fashioned american literature. mr. bernard shaw, in one of his plays, noted truly the limitations of the young american millionaire, and especially the staleness of his english culture; but there is necessarily another side to it. if the american talked more of macaulay than of nietzsche, we should probably talk more of emerson than of ezra pound. whether this staleness is necessarily a disadvantage is, of course, a different question. but, in any case, it is true that the old american books were often the books of our childhood, even in the literal sense of the books of our nursery. i know few men in england who have not left their boyhood to some extent lost and entangled in the forests of _huckleberry finn_. i know few women in england, from the most revolutionary suffragette to the most carefully preserved early victorian, who will not confess to having passed a happy childhood with the little women of miss alcott. _helen's babies_ was the first and by far the best book in the modern scriptures of baby-worship. and about all this old-fashioned american literature there was an undefinable savour that satisfied, and even fed, our growing minds. perhaps it was the smell of growing things; but i am far from certain that it was not simply the smell of wood. now that all the memory comes back to me, it seems to come back heavy in a hundred forms with the fragrance and the touch of timber. there was the perpetual reference to the wood-pile, the perpetual background of the woods. there was something crude and clean about everything; something fresh and strange about those far-off houses, to which i could not then have put a name. indeed, many things become clear in this wilderness of wood, which could only be expressed in symbol and even in fantasy. i will not go so far as to say that it shortened the transition from log cabin to white house; as if the white house were itself made of white wood (as oliver wendell holmes said), 'that cuts like cheese, but lasts like iron for things like these.' but i will say that the experience illuminates some other lines by holmes himself:-- little i ask, my wants are few, i only ask a hut of stone. i should not have known, in england, that he was already asking for a good deal even in asking for that. in the presence of this wooden world the very combination of words seems almost a contradiction, like a hut of marble, or a hovel of gold. it was therefore with an almost infantile pleasure that i looked at all this promising expansion of fresh-cut timber and thought of the housing shortage at home. i know not by what incongruous movement of the mind there swept across me, at the same moment, the thought of things ancestral and hoary with the light of ancient dawns. the last war brought back body-armour; the next war may bring back bows and arrows. and i suddenly had a memory of old wooden houses in london; and a model of shakespeare's town. it is possible indeed that such elizabethan memories may receive a check or a chill when the traveller comes, as he sometimes does, to the outskirts of one of these strange hamlets of new frame-houses, and is confronted with a placard inscribed in enormous letters, 'watch us grow.' he can always imagine that he sees the timbers swelling before his eyes like pumpkins in some super-tropical summer. but he may have formed the conviction that no such proclamation could be found outside shakespeare's town. and indeed there is a serious criticism here, to any one who knows history; since the things that grow are not always the things that remain; and pumpkins of that expansiveness have a tendency to burst. i was always told that americans were harsh, hustling, rather rude and perhaps vulgar; but they were very practical and the future belonged to them. i confess i felt a fine shade of difference; i liked the americans; i thought they were sympathetic, imaginative, and full of fine enthusiasms; the one thing i could not always feel clear about was their future. i believe they were happier in their frame-houses than most people in most houses; having democracy, good education, and a hobby of work; the one doubt that did float across me was something like, 'will all this be here at all in two hundred years?' that was the first impression produced by the wooden houses that seemed like the waggons of gipsies; it is a serious impression, but there is an answer to it. it is an answer that opens on the traveller more and more as he goes westward, and finds the little towns dotted about the vast central prairies. and the answer is agriculture. wooden houses may or may not last; but farms will last; and farming will always last. the houses may look like gipsy caravans on a heath or common; but they are not on a heath or common. they are on the most productive and prosperous land, perhaps, in the modern world. the houses might fall down like shanties, but the fields would remain; and whoever tills those fields will count for a great deal in the affairs of humanity. they are already counting for a great deal, and possibly for too much, in the affairs of america. the real criticism of the middle west is concerned with two facts, neither of which has been yet adequately appreciated by the educated class in england. the first is that the turn of the world has come, and the turn of the agricultural countries with it. that is the meaning of the resurrection of ireland; that is the meaning of the practical surrender of the bolshevist jews to the russian peasants. the other is that in most places these peasant societies carry on what may be called the catholic tradition. the middle west is perhaps the one considerable place where they still carry on the puritan tradition. but the puritan tradition was originally a tradition of the town; and the second truth about the middle west turns largely on its moral relation to the town. as i shall suggest presently, there is much in common between this agricultural society of america and the great agricultural societies of europe. it tends, as the agricultural society nearly always does, to some decent degree of democracy. the agricultural society tends to the agrarian law. but in puritan america there is an additional problem, which i can hardly explain without a periphrasis. there was a time when the progress of the cities seemed to mock the decay of the country. it is more and more true, i think, to-day that it is rather the decay of the cities that seems to poison the progress and promise of the countryside. the cinema boasts of being a substitute for the tavern, but i think it a very bad substitute. i think so quite apart from the question about fermented liquor. nobody enjoys cinemas more than i, but to enjoy them a man has only to look and not even to listen, and in a tavern he has to talk. occasionally, i admit, he has to fight; but he need never move at the movies. thus in the real village inn are the real village politics, while in the other are only the remote and unreal metropolitan politics. and those central city politics are not only cosmopolitan politics but corrupt politics. they corrupt everything that they reach, and this is the real point about many perplexing questions. for instance, so far as i am concerned, it is the whole point about feminism and the factory. it is very largely the point about feminism and many other callings, apparently more cultured than the factory, such as the law court and the political platform. when i see women so wildly anxious to tie themselves to all this machinery of the modern city my first feeling is not indignation, but that dark and ominous sort of pity with which we should see a crowd rushing to embark in a leaking ship under a lowering storm. when i see wives and mothers going in for business government i not only regard it as a bad business but as a bankrupt business. it seems to me very much as if the peasant women, just before the french revolution, had insisted on being made duchesses or (as is quite as logical and likely) on being made dukes. it is as if those ragged women, instead of crying out for bread, had cried out for powder and patches. by the time they were wearing them they would be the only people wearing them. for powder and patches soon went out of fashion, but bread does not go out of fashion. in the same way, if women desert the family for the factory, they may find they have only done it for a deserted factory. it would have been very unwise of the lower orders to claim all the privileges of the higher orders in the last days of the french monarchy. it would have been very laborious to learn the science of heraldry or the tables of precedence when all such things were at once most complicated and most moribund. it would be tiresome to be taught all those tricks just when the whole bag of tricks was coming to an end. a french satirist might have written a fine apologue about jacques bonhomme coming up to paris in his wooden shoes and demanding to be made gold stick in waiting in the name of liberty, equality, and fraternity; but i fear the stick in waiting would be waiting still. one of the first topics on which i heard conversation turning in america was that of a very interesting book called _main street_, which involves many of these questions of the modern industrial and the eternal feminine. it is simply the story, or perhaps rather the study than the story, of a young married woman in one of the multitudinous little towns on the great central plains of america; and of a sort of struggle between her own more restless culture and the provincial prosperity of her neighbours. there are a number of true and telling suggestions in the book, but the one touch which i found tingling in the memory of many readers was the last sentence, in which the master of the house, with unshaken simplicity, merely asks for the whereabouts of some domestic implement; i think it was a screw-driver. it seems to me a harmless request, but from the way people talked about it one might suppose he had asked for a screw-driver to screw down the wife in her coffin. and a great many advanced persons would tell us that wooden house in which she lived really was like a wooden coffin. but this appears to me to be taking a somewhat funereal view of the life of humanity. for, after all, on the face of it at any rate, this is merely the life of humanity, and even the life which all humanitarians have striven to give to humanity. revolutionists have treated it not only as the normal but even as the ideal. revolutionary wars have been waged to establish this; revolutionary heroes have fought, and revolutionary martyrs have died, only to build such a wooden house for such a worthy family. men have taken the sword and perished by the sword in order that the poor gentleman might have liberty to look for his screw-driver. for there is here a fact about america that is almost entirely unknown in england. the english have not in the least realised the real strength of america. we in england hear a great deal, we hear far too much, about the economic energy of industrial america, about the money of mr. morgan, or the machinery of mr. edison. we never realise that while we in england suffer from the same sort of successes in capitalism and clockwork, we have not got what the americans have got; something at least to balance it in the way of a free agriculture, a vast field of free farms dotted with small freeholders. for the reason i shall mention in a moment, they are not perhaps in the fullest and finest sense a peasantry. but they are in the practical and political sense a pure peasantry, in that their comparative equality is a true counterweight to the toppling injustice of the towns. and, even in places like that described as main street, that comparative equality can immediately be felt. the men may be provincials, but they are certainly citizens; they consult on a common basis. and i repeat that in this, after all, they do achieve what many prophets and righteous men have died to achieve. this plain village, fairly prosperous, fairly equal, untaxed by tyrants and untroubled by wars, is after all the place which reformers have regarded as their aim; whenever reformers have used their wits sufficiently to have any aim. the march to utopia, the march to the earthly paradise, the march to the new jerusalem, has been very largely the march to main street. and the latest modern sensation is a book written to show how wretched it is to live there. all this is true, and i think the lady might be more contented in her coffin, which is more comfortably furnished than most of the coffins where her fellow creatures live. nevertheless, there is an answer to this, or at least a modification of it. there is a case for the lady and a case against the gentleman and the screw-driver. and when we have noted what it really is, we have noted the real disadvantage in a situation like that of modern america, and especially the middle west. and with that we come back to the truth with which i started this speculation; the truth that few have yet realised, but of which i, for one, am more and more convinced--that industrialism is spreading because it is decaying; that only the dust and ashes of its dissolution are choking up the growth of natural things everywhere and turning the green world grey. in this relative agricultural equality the americans of the middle west are far in advance of the english of the twentieth century. it is not their fault if they are still some centuries behind the english of the twelfth century. but the defect by which they fall short of being a true peasantry is that they do not produce their own spiritual food, in the same sense as their own material food. they do not, like some peasantries, create other kinds of culture besides the kind called agriculture. their culture comes from the great cities; and that is where all the evil comes from. if a man had gone across england in the middle ages, or even across europe in more recent times, he would have found a culture which showed its vitality by its variety. we know the adventures of the three brothers in the old fairy tales who passed across the endless plain from city to city, and found one kingdom ruled by a wizard and another wasted by a dragon, one people living in castles of crystal and another sitting by fountains of wine. these are but legendary enlargements of the real adventures of a traveller passing from one patch of peasantry to another, and finding women wearing strange head-dresses and men singing new songs. a traveller in america would be somewhat surprised if he found the people in the city of st. louis all wearing crowns and crusading armour in honour of their patron saint. he might even feel some faint surprise if he found all the citizens of philadelphia clad in a composite costume, combining that of a quaker with that of a red indian, in honour of the noble treaty of william penn. yet these are the sort of local and traditional things that would really be found giving variety to the valleys of mediaeval europe. i myself felt a perfectly genuine and generous exhilaration of freedom and fresh enterprise in new places like oklahoma. but you would hardly find in oklahoma what was found in oberammergau. what goes to oklahoma is not the peasant play, but the cinema. and the objection to the cinema is not so much that it goes to oklahoma as that it does not come from oklahoma. in other words, these people have on the economic side a much closer approach than we have to economic freedom. it is not for us, who have allowed our land to be stolen by squires and then vulgarised by sham squires, to sneer at such colonists as merely crude and prosaic. they at least have really kept something of the simplicity and, therefore, the dignity of democracy; and that democracy may yet save their country even from the calamities of wealth and science. but, while these farmers do not need to become industrial in order to become industrious, they do tend to become industrial in so far as they become intellectual. their culture, and to some great extent their creed, do come along the railroads from the great modern urban centres, and bring with them a blast of death and a reek of rotting things. it is that influence that alone prevents the middle west from progressing towards the middle ages. for, after all, linked up in a hundred legends of the middle ages, may be found a symbolic pattern of hammers and nails and saws; and there is no reason why they should not have also sanctified screw-drivers. there is no reason why the screw-driver that seemed such a trifle to the author should not have been borne in triumph down main street like a sword of state, in some pageant of the guild of st. joseph of the carpenters or st. dunstan of the smiths. it was the catholic poetry and piety that filled common life with something that is lacking in the worthy and virile democracy of the west. nor are americans of intelligence so ignorant of this as some may suppose. there is an admirable society called the mediaevalists in chicago; whose name and address will strike many as suggesting a certain struggle of the soul against the environment. with the national heartiness they blazon their note-paper with heraldry and the hues of gothic windows; with the national high spirits they assume the fancy dress of friars; but any one who should essay to laugh at them instead of with them would find out his mistake. for many of them do really know a great deal about mediaevalism; much more than i do, or most other men brought up on an island that is crowded with its cathedrals. something of the same spirit may be seen in the beautiful new plans and buildings of yale, deliberately modelled not on classical harmony but on gothic irregularity and surprise. the grace and energy of the mediaeval architecture resurrected by a man like mr. r. a. cram of boston has behind it not merely artistic but historical and ethical enthusiasm; an enthusiasm for the catholic creed which made mediaeval civilisation. even on the huge puritan plains of the middle west the influence strays in the strangest fashion. and it is notable that among the pessimistic epitaphs of the spoon river anthology, in that churchyard compared with which most churchyards are cheery, among the suicides and secret drinkers and monomaniacs and hideous hypocrites of that happy village, almost the only record of respect and a recognition of wider hopes is dedicated to the catholic priest. but main street is main street in the main. main street is modern street in its multiplicity of mildly half-educated people; and all these historic things are a thousand miles from them. they have not heard the ancient noise either of arts or arms; the building of the cathedral or the marching of the crusade. but at least they have not deliberately slandered the crusade and defaced the cathedral. and if they have not produced the peasant arts, they can still produce the peasant crafts. they can sow and plough and reap and live by these everlasting things; nor shall the foundations of their state be moved. and the memory of those colossal fields, of those fruitful deserts, came back the more readily into my mind because i finished these reflections in the very heart of a modern industrial city, if it can be said to have a heart. it was in fact an english industrial city, but it struck me that it might very well be an american one. and it also struck me that we yield rather too easily to america the dusty palm of industrial enterprise, and feel far too little apprehension about greener and fresher vegetables. there is a story of an american who carefully studied all the sights of london or rome or paris, and came to the conclusion that 'it had nothing on minneapolis.' it seems to me that minneapolis has nothing on manchester. there were the same grey vistas of shops full of rubber tyres and metallic appliances; a man felt that he might walk a day without seeing a blade of grass; the whole horizon was so infinite with efficiency. the factory chimneys might have been pittsburg; the sky-signs might have been new york. one looked up in a sort of despair at the sky, not for a sky-sign but in a sense for a sign, for some sentence of significance and judgment; by the instinct that makes any man in such a scene seek for the only thing that has not been made by men. but even that was illogical, for it was night, and i could only expect to see the stars, which might have reminded me of old glory; but that was not the sign that oppressed me. all the ground was a wilderness of stone and all the buildings a forest of brick; i was far in the interior of a labyrinth of lifeless things. only, looking up, between two black chimneys and a telegraph pole, i saw vast and far and faint, as the first men saw it, the silver pattern of the plough. _the american business man_ it is a commonplace that men are all agreed in using symbols, and all differ about the meaning of the symbols. it is obvious that a russian republican might come to identify the eagle as a bird of empire and therefore a bird of prey. but when he ultimately escaped to the land of the free, he might find the same bird on the american coinage figuring as a bird of freedom. doubtless, he might find many other things to surprise him in the land of the free, and many calculated to make him think that the bird, if not imperial, was at least rather imperious. but i am not discussing those exceptional details here. it is equally obvious that a russian reactionary might cross the world with a vow of vengeance against the red flag. but that authoritarian might have some difficulties with the authorities, if he shot a man for using the red flag on the railway between willesden and clapham junction. but, of course, the difficulty about symbols is generally much more subtle than in these simple cases. i have remarked elsewhere that the first thing which a traveller should write about is the thing which he has not read about. it may be a small or secondary thing, but it is a thing that he has seen and not merely expected to see. i gave the example of the great multitude of wooden houses in america; we might say of wooden towns and wooden cities. but after he has seen such things, his next duty is to see the meaning of them; and here a great deal of complication and controversy is possible. the thing probably does not mean what he first supposes it to mean on the face of it; but even on the face of it, it might mean many different and even opposite things. for instance, a wooden house might suggest an almost savage solitude; a rude shanty put together by a pioneer in a forest; or it might mean a very recent and rapid solution of the housing problem, conducted cheaply and therefore on a very large scale. a wooden house might suggest the very newest thing in america or one of the very oldest things in england. it might mean a grey ruin at stratford or a white exhibition at earl's court. it is when we come to this interpretation of international symbols that we make most of the international mistakes. without the smallest error of detail, i will promise to prove that oriental women are independent because they wear trousers, or oriental men subject because they wear skirts. merely to apply it to this case, i will take the example of two very commonplace and trivial objects of modern life--a walking stick and a fur coat. as it happened, i travelled about america with two sticks, like a japanese nobleman with his two swords. i fear the simile is too stately. i bore more resemblance to a cripple with two crutches or a highly ineffectual version of the devil on two sticks. i carried them both because i valued them both, and did not wish to risk losing either of them in my erratic travels. one is a very plain grey stick from the woods of buckinghamshire, but as i took it with me to palestine it partakes of the character of a pilgrim's staff. when i can say that i have taken the same stick to jerusalem and to chicago, i think the stick and i may both have a rest. the other, which i value even more, was given me by the knights of columbus at yale, and i wish i could think that their chivalric title allowed me to regard it as a sword. now, i do not know whether the americans i met, struck by the fastidious foppery of my dress and appearance, concluded that it is the custom of elegant english dandies to carry two walking sticks. but i do know that it is much less common among americans than among englishmen to carry even one. the point, however, is not merely that more sticks are carried by englishmen than by americans; it is that the sticks which are carried by americans stand for something entirely different. in america a stick is commonly called a cane, and it has about it something of the atmosphere which the poet described as the nice conduct of the clouded cane. it would be an exaggeration to say that when the citizens of the united states see a man carrying a light stick, they deduce that if he does that he does nothing else. but there is about it a faint flavour of luxury and lounging, and most of the energetic citizens of this energetic society avoid it by instinct. now, in an englishman like myself, carrying a stick may imply lounging, but it does not imply luxury, and i can say with some firmness that it does not imply dandyism. in a great many englishmen it means the very opposite even of lounging. by one of those fantastic paradoxes which are the mystery of nationality, a walking stick often actually means walking. it frequently suggests the very reverse of the beau with his clouded cane; it does not suggest a town type, but rather specially a country type. it rather implies the kind of englishman who tramps about in lanes and meadows and knocks the tops off thistles. it suggests the sort of man who has carried the stick through his native woods, and perhaps even cut it in his native woods. there are plenty of these vigorous loungers, no doubt, in the rural parts of america, but the idea of a walking stick would not especially suggest them to americans; it would not call up such figures like a fairy wand. it would be easy to trace back the difference to many english origins, possibly to aristocratic origins, to the idea of the old squire, a man vigorous and even rustic, but trained to hold a useless staff rather than a useful tool. it might be suggested that american citizens do at least so far love freedom as to like to have their hands free. it might be suggested, on the other hand, that they keep their hands for the handles of many machines. and that the hand on a handle is less free than the hand on a stick or even a tool. but these again are controversial questions and i am only noting a fact. if an englishman wished to imagine more or less exactly what the impression is, and how misleading it is, he could find something like a parallel in what he himself feels about a fur coat. when i first found myself among the crowds on the main floor of a new york hotel, my rather exaggerated impression of the luxury of the place was largely produced by the number of men in fur coats, and what we should consider rather ostentatious fur coats, with all the fur outside. now an englishman has a number of atmospheric but largely accidental associations in connection with a fur coat. i will not say that he thinks a man in a fur coat must be a wealthy and wicked man; but i do say that in his own ideal and perfect vision a wealthy and wicked man would wear a fur coat. thus i had the sensation of standing in a surging mob of american millionaires, or even african millionaires; for the millionaires of chicago must be like the knights of the round table compared with the millionaires of johannesburg. but, as a matter of fact, the man in the fur coat was not even an american millionaire, but simply an american. it did not signify luxury, but rather necessity, and even a harsh and almost heroic necessity. orson probably wore a fur coat; and he was brought up by bears, but not the bears of wall street. eskimos are generally represented as a furry folk; but they are not necessarily engaged in delicate financial operations, even in the typical and appropriate occupation called freezing out. and if the american is not exactly an arctic traveller rushing from pole to pole, at least he is often literally fleeing from ice to ice. he has to make a very extreme distinction between outdoor and indoor clothing. he has to live in an icehouse outside and a hothouse inside; so hot that he may be said to construct an icehouse inside that. he turns himself into an icehouse and warms himself against the cold until he is warm enough to eat ices. but the point is that the same coat of fur which in england would indicate the sybarite life may here very well indicate the strenuous life; just as the same walking stick which would here suggest a lounger would in england suggest a plodder and almost a pilgrim. and these two trifles are types which i should like to put, by way of proviso and apology, at the very beginning of any attempt at a record of any impressions of a foreign society. they serve merely to illustrate the most important impression of all, the impression of how false all impressions may be. i suspect that most of the very false impressions have come from the careful record of very true facts. they have come from the fatal power of observing the facts without being able to observe the truth. they came from seeing the symbol with the most vivid clarity and being blind to all that it symbolises. it is as if a man who knew no greek should imagine that he could read a greek inscription because he took the greek r for an english p or the greek long e for an english h. i do not mention this merely as a criticism on other people's impressions of america, but as a criticism on my own. i wish it to be understood that i am well aware that all my views are subject to this sort of potential criticism, and that even when i am certain of the facts i do not profess to be certain of the deductions. in this chapter i hope to point out how a misunderstanding of this kind affects the common impression, not altogether unfounded, that the americans talk about dollars. but for the moment i am merely anxious to avoid a similar misunderstanding when i talk about americans. about the dogmas of democracy, about the right of a people to its own symbols, whether they be coins or customs, i am convinced, and no longer to be shaken. but about the meaning of those symbols, in silver or other substances, i am always open to correction. that error is the price we pay for the great glory of nationality. and in this sense i am quite ready, at the start, to warn my own readers against my own opinions. the fact without the truth is futile; indeed the fact without the truth is false. i have already noted that this is especially true touching our observations of a strange country; and it is certainly true touching one small fact which has swelled into a large fable. i mean the fable about america commonly summed up in the phrase about the almighty dollar. i do not think the dollar is almighty in america; i fancy many things are mightier, including many ideals and some rather insane ideals. but i think it might be maintained that the dollar has another of the attributes of deity. if it is not omnipotent it is in a sense omnipresent. whatever americans think about dollars, it is, i think, relatively true that they talk about dollars. if a mere mechanical record could be taken by the modern machinery of dictaphones and stenography, i do not think it probable that the mere word 'dollars' would occur more often in any given number of american conversations than the mere word 'pounds' or 'shillings' in a similar number of english conversations. and these statistics, like nearly all statistics, would be utterly useless and even fundamentally false. it is as if we should calculate that the word 'elephant' had been mentioned a certain number of times in a particular london street, or so many times more often than the word 'thunderbolt' had been used in stoke poges. doubtless there are statisticians capable of carefully collecting those statistics also; and doubtless there are scientific social reformers capable of legislating on the basis of them. they would probably argue from the elephantine imagery of the london street that such and such a percentage of the householders were megalomaniacs and required medical care and police coercion. and doubtless their calculations, like nearly all such calculations, would leave out the only important point; as that the street was in the immediate neighbourhood of the zoo, or was yet more happily situated under the benignant shadow of the elephant and castle. and in the same way the mechanical calculation about the mention of dollars is entirely useless unless we have some moral understanding of why they are mentioned. it certainly does not mean merely a love of money; and if it did, a love of money may mean a great many very different and even contrary things. the love of money is very different in a peasant or in a pirate, in a miser or in a gambler, in a great financier or in a man doing some practical and productive work. now this difference in the conversation of american and english business men arises, i think, from certain much deeper things in the american which are generally not understood by the englishman. it also arises from much deeper things in the englishman, of which the englishman is even more ignorant. to begin with, i fancy that the american, quite apart from any love of money, has a great love of measurement. he will mention the exact size or weight of things, in a way which appears to us as irrelevant. it is as if we were to say that a man came to see us carrying three feet of walking stick and four inches of cigar. it is so in cases that have no possible connection with any avarice or greed for gain. an american will praise the prodigal generosity of some other man in giving up his own estate for the good of the poor. but he will generally say that the philanthropist gave them a -acre park, where an englishman would think it quite sufficient to say that he gave them a park. there is something about this precision which seems suitable to the american atmosphere; to the hard sunlight, and the cloudless skies, and the glittering detail of the architecture and the landscape; just as the vaguer english version is consonant to our mistier and more impressionist scenery. it is also connected perhaps with something more boyish about the younger civilisation; and corresponds to the passionate particularity with which a boy will distinguish the uniforms of regiments, the rigs of ships, or even the colours of tram tickets. it is a certain godlike appetite for things, as distinct from thoughts. but there is also, of course, a much deeper cause of the difference; and it can easily be deduced by noting the real nature of the difference itself. when two business men in a train are talking about dollars i am not so foolish as to expect them to be talking about the philosophy of st. thomas aquinas. but if they were two english business men i should not expect them to be talking about business. probably it would be about some sport; and most probably some sport in which they themselves never dreamed of indulging. the approximate difference is that the american talks about his work and the englishman about his holidays. his ideal is not labour but leisure. like every other national characteristic, this is not primarily a point for praise or blame; in essence it involves neither and in effect it involves both. it is certainly connected with that snobbishness which is the great sin of english society. the englishman does love to conceive himself as a sort of country gentleman; and his castles in the air are all castles in scotland rather than in spain. for, as an ideal, a scotch castle is as english as a welsh rarebit or an irish stew. and if he talks less about money i fear it is sometimes because in one sense he thinks more of it. money is a mystery in the old and literal sense of something too sacred for speech. gold is a god; and like the god of some agnostics has no name and is worshipped only in his works. it is true in a sense that the english gentleman wishes to have enough money to be able to forget it. but it may be questioned whether he does entirely forget it. as against this weakness the american has succeeded, at the price of a great deal of crudity and clatter, in making general a very real respect for work. he has partly disenchanted the dangerous glamour of the gentleman, and in that sense has achieved some degree of democracy; which is the most difficult achievement in the world. on the other hand, there is a good side to the englishman's day-dream of leisure, and one which the american spirit tends to miss. it may be expressed in the word 'holiday' or still better in the word 'hobby.' the englishman, in his character of robin hood, really has got two strings to his bow. indeed the englishman really is well represented by robin hood; for there is always something about him that may literally be called outlawed, in the sense of being extra-legal or outside the rules. a frenchman said of browning that his centre was not in the middle; and it may be said of many an englishman that his heart is not where his treasure is. browning expressed a very english sentiment when he said:-- i like to know a butcher paints, a baker rhymes for his pursuit, candlestick-maker much acquaints his soul with song, or haply mute blows out his brains upon the flute. stevenson touched on the same insular sentiment when he said that many men he knew, who were meat-salesmen to the outward eye, might in the life of contemplation sit with the saints. now the extraordinary achievement of the american meat-salesman is that his poetic enthusiasm can really be for meat sales; not for money but for meat. an american commercial traveller asked me, with a religious fire in his eyes, whether i did not think that salesmanship could be an art. in england there are many salesmen who are sincerely fond of art; but seldom of the art of salesmanship. art is with them a hobby; a thing of leisure and liberty. that is why the english traveller talks, if not of art, then of sport. that is why the two city men in the london train, if they are not talking about golf, may be talking about gardening. if they are not talking about dollars, or the equivalent of dollars, the reason lies much deeper than any superficial praise or blame touching the desire for wealth. in the english case, at least, it lies very deep in the english spirit. many of the greatest english things have had this lighter and looser character of a hobby or a holiday experiment. even a masterpiece has often been a by-product. the works of shakespeare come out so casually that they can be attributed to the most improbable people; even to bacon. the sonnets of shakespeare are picked up afterwards as if out of a wastepaper basket. the immortality of dr. johnson does not rest on the written leaves he collected, but entirely on the words he wasted, the words he scattered to the winds. so great a thing as pickwick is almost a kind of accident; it began as something secondary and grew into something primary and pre-eminent. it began with mere words written to illustrate somebody else's pictures; and swelled like an epic expanded from an epigram. it might almost be said that in the case of pickwick the author began as the servant of the artist. but, as in the same story of pickwick, the servant became greater than the master. this incalculable and accidental quality, like all national qualities, has its strength and weakness; but it does represent a certain reserve fund of interests in the englishman's life; and distinguishes him from the other extreme type, of the millionaire who works till he drops, or who drops because he stops working. it is the great achievement of american civilisation that in that country it really is not cant to talk about the dignity of labour. there is something that might almost be called the sanctity of labour; but it is subject to the profound law that when anything less than the highest becomes a sanctity, it tends also to become a superstition. when the candlestick-maker does not blow out his brains upon the flute there is always a danger that he may blow them out somewhere else, owing to depressed conditions in the candlestick market. now certainly one of the first impressions of america, or at any rate of new york, which is by no means the same thing as america, is that of a sort of mob of business men, behaving in many ways in a fashion very different from that of the swarms of london city men who go up every day to the city. they sit about in groups with red-indian gravity, as if passing the pipe of peace; though, in fact, most of them are smoking cigars and some of them are eating cigars. the latter strikes me as one of the most peculiar of transatlantic tastes, more peculiar than that of chewing gum. a man will sit for hours consuming a cigar as if it were a sugar-stick; but i should imagine it to be a very disagreeable sugar-stick. why he attempts to enjoy a cigar without lighting it i do not know; whether it is a more economical way of carrying a mere symbol of commercial conversation; or whether something of the same queer outlandish morality that draws such a distinction between beer and ginger beer draws an equally ethical distinction between touching tobacco and lighting it. for the rest, it would be easy to make a merely external sketch full of things equally strange; for this can always be done in a strange country. i allow for the fact of all foreigners looking alike; but i fancy that all those hard-featured faces, with spectacles and shaven jaws, do look rather alike, because they all like to make their faces hard. and with the mention of their mental attitude we realise the futility of any such external sketch. unless we can see that these are something more than men smoking cigars and talking about dollars we had much better not see them at all. it is customary to condemn the american as a materialist because of his worship of success. but indeed this very worship, like any worship, even devil-worship, proves him rather a mystic than a materialist. the frenchman who retires from business when he has money enough to drink his wine and eat his omelette in peace might much more plausibly be called a materialist by those who do not prefer to call him a man of sense. but americans do worship success in the abstract, as a sort of ideal vision. they follow success rather than money; they follow money rather than meat and drink. if their national life in one sense is a perpetual game of poker, they are playing excitedly for chips or counters as well as for coins. and by the ultimate test of material enjoyment, like the enjoyment of an omelette, even a coin is itself a counter. the yankee cannot eat chips as the frenchman can eat chipped potatoes; but neither can he swallow red cents as the frenchman swallows red wine. thus when people say of a yankee that he worships the dollar, they pay a compliment to his fine spirituality more true and delicate than they imagine. the dollar is an idol because it is an image; but it is an image of success and not of enjoyment. that this romance is also a religion is shown in the fact that there is a queer sort of morality attached to it. the nearest parallel to it is something like the sense of honour in the old duelling days. there is not a material but a distinctly moral savour about the implied obligation to collect dollars or to collect chips. we hear too much in england of the phrase about 'making good'; for no sensible englishman favours the needless interlarding of english with scraps of foreign languages. but though it means nothing in english, it means something very particular in american. there is a fine shade of distinction between succeeding and making good, precisely because there must always be a sort of ethical echo in the word good. america does vaguely feel a man making good as something analogous to a man being good or a man doing good. it is connected with his serious self-respect and his sense of being worthy of those he loves. nor is this curious crude idealism wholly insincere even when it drives him to what some of us would call stealing; any more than the duellist's honour was insincere when it drove him to what some would call murder. a very clever american play which i once saw acted contained a complete working model of this morality. a girl was loyal to, but distressed by, her engagement to a young man on whom there was a sort of cloud of humiliation. the atmosphere was exactly what it would have been in england if he had been accused of cowardice or card-sharping. and there was nothing whatever the matter with the poor young man except that some rotten mine or other in arizona had not 'made good.' now in england we should either be below or above that ideal of good. if we were snobs, we should be content to know that he was a gentleman of good connections, perhaps too much accustomed to private means to be expected to be businesslike. if we were somewhat larger-minded people, we should know that he might be as wise as socrates and as splendid as bayard and yet be unfitted, perhaps one should say therefore be unfitted, for the dismal and dirty gambling of modern commerce. but whether we were snobbish enough to admire him for being an idler, or chivalrous enough to admire him for being an outlaw, in neither case should we ever really and in our hearts despise him for being a failure. for it is this inner verdict of instinctive idealism that is the point at issue. of course there is nothing new, or peculiar to the new world, about a man's engagement practically failing through his financial failure. an english girl might easily drop a man because he was poor, or she might stick to him faithfully and defiantly although he was poor. the point is that this girl was faithful but she was not defiant; that is, she was not proud. the whole psychology of the situation was that she shared the weird worldly idealism of her family, and it was wounded as her patriotism would have been wounded if he had betrayed his country. to do them justice, there was nothing to show that they would have had any real respect for a royal duke who had inherited millions; what the simple barbarians wanted was a man who could 'make good.' that the process of making good would probably drag him through the mire of everything bad, that he would make good by bluffing, lying, swindling, and grinding the faces of the poor, did not seem to trouble them in the least. against this fanaticism there is this shadow of truth even in the fiction of aristocracy; that a gentleman may at least be allowed to be good without being bothered to make it. another objection to the phrase about the almighty dollar is that it is an almighty phrase, and therefore an almighty nuisance. i mean that it is made to explain everything, and to explain everything much too well; that is, much too easily. it does not really help people to understand a foreign country; but it gives them the fatal illusion that they do understand it. dollars stood for america as frogs stood for france; because it was necessary to connect particular foreigners with something, or it would be so easy to confuse a moor with a montenegrin or a russian with a red indian. the only cure for this sort of satisfied familiarity is the shock of something really unfamiliar. when people can see nothing at all in american democracy except a yankee running after a dollar, then the only thing to do is to trip them up as they run after the yankee, or run away with their notion of the yankee, by the obstacle of certain odd and obstinate facts that have no relation to that notion. and, as a matter of fact, there are a number of such obstacles to any such generalisation; a number of notable facts that have to be reconciled somehow to our previous notions. it does not matter for this purpose whether the facts are favourable or unfavourable, or whether the qualities are merits or defects; especially as we do not even understand them sufficiently to say which they are. the point is that we are brought to a pause, and compelled to attempt to understand them rather better than we do. we have found the one thing that we did not expect; and therefore the one thing that we cannot explain. and we are moved to an effort, probably an unsuccessful effort, to explain it. for instance, americans are very unpunctual. that is the last thing that a critic expects who comes to condemn them for hustling and haggling and vulgar ambition. but it is almost the first fact that strikes the spectator on the spot. the chief difference between the humdrum english business man and the hustling american business man is that the hustling american business man is always late. of course there is a great deal of difference between coming late and coming too late. but i noticed the fashion first in connection with my own lectures; touching which i could heartily recommend the habit of coming too late. i could easily understand a crowd of commercial americans not coming to my lectures at all; but there was something odd about their coming in a crowd, and the crowd being expected to turn up some time after the appointed hour. the managers of these lectures (i continue to call them lectures out of courtesy to myself) often explained to me that it was quite useless to begin properly until about half an hour after time. often people were still coming in three-quarters of an hour or even an hour after time. not that i objected to that, as some lecturers are said to do; it seemed to me an agreeable break in the monotony; but as a characteristic of a people mostly engaged in practical business, it struck me as curious and interesting. i have grown accustomed to being the most unbusinesslike person in any given company; and it gave me a sort of dizzy exaltation to find i was not the most unpunctual person in that company. i was afterwards told by many americans that my impression was quite correct; that american unpunctuality was really very prevalent, and extended to much more important things. but at least i was not content to lump this along with all sorts of contrary things that i did not happen to like, and call it america. i am not sure of what it really means, but i rather fancy that though it may seem the very reverse of the hustling, it has the same origin as the hustling. the american is not punctual because he is not punctilious. he is impulsive, and has an impulse to stay as well as an impulse to go. for, after all, punctuality belongs to the same order of ideas as punctuation; and there is no punctuation in telegrams. the order of clocks and set hours which english business has always observed is a good thing in its own way; indeed i think that in a larger sense it is better than the other way. but it is better because it is a protection against hustling, not a promotion of it. in other words, it is better because it is more civilised; as a great venetian merchant prince clad in cloth of gold was more civilised; or an old english merchant drinking port in an oak-panelled room was more civilised; or a little french shopkeeper shutting up his shop to play dominoes is more civilised. and the reason is that the american has the romance of business and is monomaniac, while the frenchman has the romance of life and is sane. but the romance of business really is a romance, and the americans are really romantic about it. and that romance, though it revolves round pork or petrol, is really like a love-affair in this; that it involves not only rushing but also lingering. the american is too busy to have business habits. he is also too much in earnest to have business rules. if we wish to understand him, we must compare him not with the french shopkeeper when he plays dominoes, but with the same french shopkeeper when he works the guns or mans the trenches as a conscript soldier. everybody used to the punctilious prussian standard of uniform and parade has noticed the roughness and apparent laxity of the french soldier, the looseness of his clothes, the unsightliness of his heavy knapsack, in short his inferiority in every detail of the business of war except fighting. there he is much too swift to be smart. he is much too practical to be precise. by a strange illusion which can lift pork-packing almost to the level of patriotism, the american has the same free rhythm in his romance of business. he varies his conduct not to suit the clock but to suit the case. he gives more time to more important and less time to less important things; and he makes up his time-table as he goes along. suppose he has three appointments; the first, let us say, is some mere trifle of erecting a tower twenty storeys high and exhibiting a sky-sign on the top of it; the second is a business discussion about the possibility of printing advertisements of soft drinks on the table-napkins at a restaurant; the third is attending a conference to decide how the populace can be prevented from using chewing-gum and the manufacturers can still manage to sell it. he will be content merely to glance at the sky-sign as he goes by in a trolley-car or an automobile; he will then settle down to the discussion with his partner about the table-napkins, each speaker indulging in long monologues in turn; a peculiarity of much american conversation. now if in the middle of one of these monologues, he suddenly thinks that the vacant space of the waiter's shirt-front might also be utilised to advertise the gee whiz ginger champagne, he will instantly follow up the new idea in all its aspects and possibilities, in an even longer monologue; and will never think of looking at his watch while he is rapturously looking at his waiter. the consequence is that he will come late into the great social movement against chewing-gum, where an englishman would probably have arrived at the proper hour. but though the englishman's conduct is more proper, it need not be in all respects more practical. the englishman's rules are better for the business of life, but not necessarily for the life of business. and it is true that for many of these americans business is the business of life. it is really also, as i have said, the romance of life. we shall admire or deplore this spirit, accordingly as we are glad to see trade irradiated with so much poetry, or sorry to see so much poetry wasted on trade. but it does make many people happy, like any other hobby; and one is disposed to add that it does fill their imaginations like any other delusion. for the true criticism of all this commercial romance would involve a criticism of this historic phase of commerce. these people are building on the sand, though it shines like gold, and for them like fairy gold; but the world will remember the legend about fairy gold. half the financial operations they follow deal with things that do not even exist; for in that sense all finance is a fairy tale. many of them are buying and selling things that do nothing but harm; but it does them good to buy and sell them. the claim of the romantic salesman is better justified than he realises. business really is romance; for it is not reality. there is one real advantage that america has over england, largely due to its livelier and more impressionable ideal. america does not think that stupidity is practical. it does not think that ideas are merely destructive things. it does not think that a genius is only a person to be told to go away and blow his brains out; rather it would open all its machinery to the genius and beg him to blow his brains in. it might attempt to use a natural force like blake or shelley for very ignoble purposes; it would be quite capable of asking blake to take his tiger and his golden lions round as a sort of barnum's show, or shelley to hang his stars and haloed clouds among the lights of broadway. but it would not assume that a natural force is useless, any more than that niagara is useless. and there is a very definite distinction here touching the intelligence of the trader, whatever we may think of either course touching the intelligence of the artist. it is one thing that apollo should be employed by admetus, although he is a god. it is quite another thing that apollo should always be sacked by admetus, because he is a god. now in england, largely owing to the accident of a rivalry and therefore a comparison with france, there arose about the end of the eighteenth century an extraordinary notion that there was some sort of connection between dullness and success. what the americans call a bonehead became what the english call a hard-headed man. the merchants of london evinced their contempt for the fantastic logicians of paris by living in a permanent state of terror lest somebody should set the thames on fire. in this as in much else it is much easier to understand the americans if we connect them with the french who were their allies than with the english who were their enemies. there are a great many franco-american resemblances which the practical anglo-saxons are of course too hard-headed (or boneheaded) to see. american history is haunted with the shadow of the plebiscitary president; they have a tradition of classical architecture for public buildings. their cities are planned upon the squares of paris and not upon the labyrinth of london. they call their cities corinth and syracuse, as the french called their citizens epaminondas and timoleon. their soldiers wore the french kepi; and they make coffee admirably, and do not make tea at all. but of all the french elements in america the most french is this real practicality. they know that at certain times the most businesslike of all qualities is 'l'audace, et encore de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace.' the publisher may induce the poet to do a pot-boiler; but the publisher would cheerfully allow the poet to set the mississippi on fire, if it would boil his particular pot. it is not so much that englishmen are stupid as that they are afraid of being clever; and it is not so much that americans are clever as that they do not try to be any stupider than they are. the fire of french logic has burnt that out of america as it has burnt it out of europe, and of almost every place except england. this is one of the few points on which english insularity really is a disadvantage. it is the fatal notion that the only sort of commonsense is to be found in compromise, and that the only sort of compromise is to be found in confusion. this must be clearly distinguished from the commonplace about the utilitarian world not rising to the invisible values of genius. under this philosophy the utilitarian does not see the utility of genius, even when it is quite visible. he does not see it, not because he is a utilitarian, but because he is an idealist whose ideal is dullness. for some time the english aspired to be stupid, prayed and hoped with soaring spiritual ambition to be stupid. but with all their worship of success, they did not succeed in being stupid. the natural talents of a great and traditional nation were always breaking out in spite of them. in spite of the merchants of london, turner did set the thames on fire. in spite of our repeatedly explained preference for realism to romance, europe persisted in resounding with the name of byron. and just when we had made it perfectly clear to the french that we despised all their flamboyant tricks, that we were a plain prosaic people and there was no fantastic glory or chivalry about us, the very shaft we sent against them shone with the name of nelson, a shooting and a falling star. _presidents and problems_ all good americans wish to fight the representatives they have chosen. all good englishmen wish to forget the representatives they have chosen. this difference, deep and perhaps ineradicable in the temperaments of the two peoples, explains a thousand things in their literature and their laws. the american national poet praised his people for their readiness 'to _rise_ against the never-ending audacity of elected persons.' the english national anthem is content to say heartily, but almost hastily, 'confound their politics,' and then more cheerfully, as if changing the subject, 'god save the king.' for this is especially the secret of the monarch or chief magistrate in the two countries. they arm the president with the powers of a king, that he may be a nuisance in politics. we deprive the king even of the powers of a president, lest he should remind us of a politician. we desire to forget the never-ending audacity of elected persons; and with us therefore it really never does end. that is the practical objection to our own habit of changing the subject, instead of changing the ministry. the king, as the irish wit observed, is not a subject; but in that sense the english crowned head is not a king. he is a popular figure intended to remind us of the england that politicians do not remember; the england of horses and ships and gardens and good fellowship. the americans have no such purely social symbol; and it is rather the root than the result of this that their social luxury, and especially their sport, are a little lacking in humanity and humour. it is the american, much more than the englishman, who takes his pleasures sadly, not to say savagely. the genuine popularity of constitutional monarchs, in parliamentary countries, can be explained by any practical example. let us suppose that great social reform, the compulsory haircutting act, has just begun to be enforced. the compulsory haircutting act, as every good citizen knows, is a statute which permits any person to grow his hair to any length, in any wild or wonderful shape, so long as he is registered with a hairdresser who charges a shilling. but it imposes a universal close-shave (like that which is found so hygienic during a curative detention at dartmoor) on all who are registered only with a barber who charges threepence. thus, while the ornamental classes can continue to ornament the street with piccadilly weepers or chin-beards if they choose, the working classes demonstrate the care with which the state protects them by going about in a fresher, cooler, and cleaner condition; a condition which has the further advantage of revealing at a glance that outline of the criminal skull, which is so common among them. the compulsory haircutting act is thus in every way a compact and convenient example of all our current laws about education, sport, liquor and liberty in general. well, the law has passed and the masses, insensible to its scientific value, are still murmuring against it. the ignorant peasant maiden is averse to so extreme a fashion of bobbing her hair; and does not see how she can even be a flapper with nothing to flap. her father, his mind already poisoned by bolshevists, begins to wonder who the devil does these things, and why. in proportion as he knows the world of to-day, he guesses that the real origin may be quite obscure, or the real motive quite corrupt. the pressure may have come from anybody who has gained power or money anyhow. it may come from the foreign millionaire who owns all the expensive hairdressing saloons; it may come from some swindler in the cutlery trade who has contracted to sell a million bad razors. hence the poor man looks about him with suspicion in the street; knowing that the lowest sneak or the loudest snob he sees may be directing the government of his country. anybody may have to do with politics; and this sort of thing is politics. suddenly he catches sight of a crowd, stops, and begins wildly to cheer a carriage that is passing. the carriage contains the one person who has certainly not originated any great scientific reform. he is the only person in the commonwealth who is not allowed to cut off other people's hair, or to take away other people's liberties. he at least is kept out of politics; and men hold him up as they did an unspotted victim to appease the wrath of the gods. he is their king, and the only man they know is not their ruler. we need not be surprised that he is popular, knowing how they are ruled. the popularity of a president in america is exactly the opposite. the american republic is the last mediaeval monarchy. it is intended that the president shall rule, and take all the risks of ruling. if the hair is cut he is the haircutter, the magistrate that bears not the razor in vain. all the popular presidents, jackson and lincoln and roosevelt, have acted as democratic despots, but emphatically not as constitutional monarchs. in short, the names have become curiously interchanged; and as a historical reality it is the president who ought to be called a king. but it is not only true that the president could correctly be called a king. it is also true that the king might correctly be called a president. we could hardly find a more exact description of him than to call him a president. what is expected in modern times of a modern constitutional monarch is emphatically that he should preside. we expect him to take the throne exactly as if he were taking the chair. the chairman does not move the motion or resolution, far less vote it; he is not supposed even to favour it. he is expected to please everybody by favouring nobody. the primary essentials of a president or chairman are that he should be treated with ceremonial respect, that he should be popular in his personality and yet impersonal in his opinions, and that he should actually be a link between all the other persons by being different from all of them. this is exactly what is demanded of the constitutional monarch in modern times. it is exactly the opposite to the american position; in which the president does not preside at all. he moves; and the thing he moves may truly be called a motion; for the national idea is perpetual motion. technically it is called a message; and might often actually be called a menace. thus we may truly say that the king presides and the president reigns. some would prefer to say that the president rules; and some senators and members of congress would prefer to say that he rebels. but there is no doubt that he moves; he does not take the chair or even the stool, but rather the stump. some people seem to suppose that the fall of president wilson was a denial of this almost despotic ideal in america. as a matter of fact it was the strongest possible assertion of it. the idea is that the president shall take responsibility and risk; and responsibility means being blamed, and risk means the risk of being blamed. the theory is that things are done by the president; and if things go wrong, or are alleged to go wrong, it is the fault of the president. this does not invalidate, but rather ratifies the comparison with true monarchs such as the mediaeval monarchs. constitutional princes are seldom deposed; but despots were often deposed. in the simpler races of sunnier lands, such as turkey, they were commonly assassinated. even in our own history a king often received the same respectful tribute to the responsibility and reality of his office. but king john was attacked because he was strong, not because he was weak. richard the second lost the crown because the crown was a trophy, not because it was a trifle. and president wilson was deposed because he had used a power which is such, in its nature, that a man must use it at the risk of deposition. as a matter of fact, of course, it is easy to exaggerate mr. wilson's real unpopularity, and still more easy to exaggerate mr. wilson's real failure. there are a great many people in america who justify and applaud him; and what is yet more interesting, who justify him not on pacifist and idealistic, but on patriotic and even military grounds. it is especially insisted by some that his demonstration, which seemed futile as a threat against mexico, was a very far-sighted preparation for the threat against prussia. but in so far as the democracy did disagree with him, it was but the occasional and inevitable result of the theory by which the despot has to anticipate the democracy. thus the american king and the english president are the very opposite of each other; yet they are both the varied and very national indications of the same contemporary truth. it is the great weariness and contempt that have fallen upon common politics in both countries. it may be answered, with some show of truth, that the new american president represents a return to common politics; and that in that sense he marks a real rebuke to the last president and his more uncommon politics. and it is true that many who put mr. harding in power regard him as the symbol of something which they call normalcy; which may roughly be translated into english by the word normality. and by this they do mean, more or less, the return to the vague capitalist conservatism of the nineteenth century. they might call mr. harding a victorian if they had ever lived under victoria. perhaps these people do entertain the extraordinary notion that the nineteenth century was normal. but there are very few who think so, and even they will not think so long. the blunder is the beginning of nearly all our present troubles. the nineteenth century was the very reverse of normal. it suffered a most unnatural strain in the combination of political equality in theory with extreme economic inequality in practice. capitalism was not a normalcy but an abnormalcy. property is normal, and is more normal in proportion as it is universal. slavery may be normal and even natural, in the sense that a bad habit may be second nature. but capitalism was never anything so human as a habit; we may say it was never anything so good as a bad habit. it was never a custom; for men never grew accustomed to it. it was never even conservative; for before it was even created wise men had realised that it could not be conserved. it was from the first a problem; and those who will not even admit the capitalist problem deserve to get the bolshevist solution. all things considered, i cannot say anything worse of them than that. the recent presidential election preserved some trace of the old party system of america; but its tradition has very nearly faded like that of the party system of england. it is easy for an englishman to confess that he never quite understood the american party system. it would perhaps be more courageous in him, and more informing, to confess that he never really understood the british party system. the planks in the two american platforms may easily be exhibited as very disconnected and ramshackle; but our own party was as much of a patchwork, and indeed i think even more so. everybody knows that the two american factions were called 'democrat' and 'republican.' it does not at all cover the case to identify the former with liberals and the latter with conservatives. the democrats are the party of the south and have some true tradition from the southern aristocracy and the defence of secession and state rights. the republicans rose in the north as the party of lincoln, largely condemning slavery. but the republicans are also the party of tariffs, and are at least accused of being the party of trusts. the democrats are the party of free trade; and in the great movement of twenty years ago the party of free silver. the democrats are also the party of the irish; and the stones they throw at trusts are retorted by stones thrown at tammany. it is easy to see all these things as curiously sporadic and bewildering; but i am inclined to think that they are as a whole more coherent and rational than our own old division of liberals and conservatives. there is even more doubt nowadays about what is the connecting link between the different items in the old british party programmes. i have never been able to understand why being in favour of protection should have anything to do with being opposed to home rule; especially as most of the people who were to receive home rule were themselves in favour of protection. i could never see what giving people cheap bread had to do with forbidding them cheap beer; or why the party which sympathises with ireland cannot sympathise with poland. i cannot see why liberals did not liberate public-houses or conservatives conserve crofters. i do not understand the principle upon which the causes were selected on both sides; and i incline to think that it was with the impartial object of distributing nonsense equally on both sides. heaven knows there is enough nonsense in american politics too; towering and tropical nonsense like a cyclone or an earthquake. but when all is said, i incline to think that there was more spiritual and atmospheric cohesion in the different parts of the american party than in those of the english party; and i think this unity was all the more real because it was more difficult to define. the republican party originally stood for the triumph of the north, and the north stood for the nineteenth century; that is for the characteristic commercial expansion of the nineteenth century; for a firm faith in the profit and progress of its great and growing cities, its division of labour, its industrial science, and its evolutionary reform. the democratic party stood more loosely for all the elements that doubted whether this development was democratic or was desirable; all that looked back to jeffersonian idealism and the serene abstractions of the eighteenth century, or forward to bryanite idealism and some simplified utopia founded on grain rather than gold. along with this went, not at all unnaturally, the last and lingering sentiment of the southern squires, who remembered a more rural civilisation that seemed by comparison romantic. along with this went, quite logically, the passions and the pathos of the irish, themselves a rural civilisation, whose basis is a religion or what the nineteenth century tended to call a superstition. above all, it was perfectly natural that this tone of thought should favour local liberties, and even a revolt on behalf of local liberties, and should distrust the huge machine of centralised power called the union. in short, something very near the truth was said by a suicidally silly republican orator, who was running blaine for the presidency, when he denounced the democratic party as supported by 'rome, rum, and rebellion.' they seem to me to be three excellent things in their place; and that is why i suspect that i should have belonged to the democratic party, if i had been born in america when there was a democratic party. but i fancy that by this time even this general distinction has become very dim. if i had been an american twenty years ago, in the time of the great free silver campaign, i should certainly never have hesitated for an instant about my sympathies or my side. my feelings would have been exactly those that are nobly expressed by mr. vachell lindsay, in a poem bearing the characteristic title of 'bryan, bryan, bryan, bryan.' and, by the way, nobody can begin to sympathise with america whose soul does not to some extent begin to swing and dance to the drums and gongs of mr. vachell lindsay's great orchestra; which has the note of his whole nation in this: that a refined person can revile it a hundred times over as violent and brazen and barbarous and absurd, but not as insincere; there is something in it, and that something is the soul of many million men. but the poet himself, in the political poem referred to, speaks of bryan's fall over free silver as 'defeat of my boyhood, defeat of my dream'; and it is only too probable that the cause has fallen as well as the candidate. the william jennings bryan of later years is not the man whom i should have seen in my youth, with the visionary eyes of mr. vachell lindsay. he has become a commonplace pacifist, which is in its nature the very opposite of a revolutionist; for if men will fight rather than sacrifice humanity on a golden cross, it cannot be wrong for them to resist its being sacrificed to an iron cross. i came into very indirect contact with mr. bryan when i was in america, in a fashion that made me realise how hard it has become to recover the illusions of a bryanite. i believe that my lecture agent was anxious to arrange a debate, and i threw out a sort of loose challenge to the effect that woman's suffrage had weakened the position of woman; and while i was away in the wilds of oklahoma my lecture agent (a man of blood-curdling courage and enterprise) asked mr. bryan to debate with me. now mr. bryan is one of the greatest orators of modern history, and there is no conceivable reason why he should trouble to debate with a wandering lecturer. but as a matter of fact he expressed himself in the most magnanimous and courteous terms about my personal position, but said (as i understood) that it would be improper to debate on female suffrage as it was already a part of the political system. and when i heard that, i could not help a sigh; for i recognised something that i knew only too well on the front benches of my own beloved land. the great and glorious demagogue had degenerated into a statesman. i had never expected for a moment that the great orator could be bothered to debate with me at all; but it had never occurred to me, as a general moral principle, that two educated men were for ever forbidden to talk sense about a particular topic, because a lot of other people had already voted on it. what is the matter with that attitude is the loss of the freedom of the mind. there can be no liberty of thought unless it is ready to unsettle what has recently been settled, as well as what has long been settled. we are perpetually being told in the papers that what is wanted is a strong man who will do things. what is wanted is a strong man who will undo things; and that will be a real test of strength. anyhow, we could have believed, in the time of the free silver fight, that the democratic party was democratic with a small d. in mr. wilson it was transfigured, his friends would say into a higher and his foes into a hazier thing. and the republican reaction against him, even where it has been healthy, has also been hazy. in fact, it has been not so much the victory of a political party as a relapse into repose after certain political passions; and in that sense there is a truth in the strange phrase about normalcy; in the sense that there is nothing more normal than going to sleep. but an even larger truth is this; it is most likely that america is no longer concentrated on these faction fights at all, but is considering certain large problems upon which those factions hardly troubled to take sides. they are too large even to be classified as foreign policy distinct from domestic policy. they are so large as to be inside as well as outside the state. from an english standpoint the most obvious example is the irish; for the irish problem is not a british problem, but also an american problem. and this is true even of the great external enigma of japan. the japanese question may be a part of foreign policy for america, but it is a part of domestic policy for california. and the same is true of that other intense and intelligent eastern people, the genius and limitations of which have troubled the world so much longer. what the japs are in california, the jews are in america. that is, they are a piece of foreign policy that has become imbedded in domestic policy; something which is found inside but still has to be regarded from the outside. on these great international matters i doubt if americans got much guidance from their party system; especially as most of these questions have grown very recently and rapidly to enormous size. men are left free to judge of them with fresh minds. and that is the truth in the statement that the washington conference has opened the gates of a new world. on the relations to england and ireland i will not attempt to dwell adequately here. i have already noted that my first interview was with an irishman, and my first impression from that interview a vivid sense of the importance of ireland in anglo-american relations; and i have said something of the irish problem, prematurely and out of its proper order, under the stress of that sense of urgency. here i will only add two remarks about the two countries respectively. a great many british journalists have recently imagined that they were pouring oil upon the troubled waters, when they were rather pouring out oil to smooth the downward path; and to turn the broad road to destruction into a butter-slide. they seem to have no notion of what to do, except to say what they imagine the very stupidest of their readers would be pleased to hear, and conceal whatever the most intelligent of their readers would probably like to know. they therefore informed the public that 'the majority of americans' had abandoned all sympathy with ireland, because of its alleged sympathy with germany; and that this majority of americans was now ardently in sympathy with its english brothers across the sea. now to begin with, such critics have no notion of what they are saying when they talk about the majority of americans. to anybody who has happened to look in, let us say, on the city of omaha, nebraska, the remark will have something enormous and overwhelming about it. it is like saying that the majority of the inhabitants of china would agree with the chinese ambassador in a preference for dining at the savoy rather than the ritz. there are millions and millions of people living in those great central plains of the north american continent of whom it would be nearer the truth to say that they have never heard of england, or of ireland either, than to say that their first emotional movement is a desire to come to the rescue of either of them. it is perfectly true that the more monomaniac sort of sinn feiner might sometimes irritate this innocent and isolated american spirit by being pro-irish. it is equally true that a traditional bostonian or virginian might irritate it by being pro-english. the only difference is that large numbers of pure irishmen are scattered in those far places, and large numbers of pure englishmen are not. but it is truest of all to say that neither england nor ireland so much as crosses the mind of most of them once in six months. painting up large notices of 'watch us grow,' making money by farming with machinery, together with an occasional hold-up with six-shooters and photographs of a beautiful murderess or divorcée, fill up the round of their good and happy lives, and fleet the time carelessly as in the golden age. but putting aside all this vast and distant democracy, which is the real 'majority of americans,' and confining ourselves to that older culture on the eastern coast which the critics probably had in mind, we shall find the case more comforting but not to be covered with cheap and false comfort. now it is perfectly true that any englishman coming to this eastern coast, as i did, finds himself not only most warmly welcomed as a guest, but most cordially complimented as an englishman. men recall with pride the branches of their family that belong to england or the english counties where they were rooted; and there are enthusiasms for english literature and history which are as spontaneous as patriotism itself. something of this may be put down to a certain promptitude and flexibility in all american kindness, which is never sufficiently stodgy to be called good nature. the englishman does sometimes wonder whether if he had been a russian, his hosts would not have remembered remote russian aunts and uncles and disinterred a muscovite great-grandmother; or whether if he had come from iceland, they would not have known as much about icelandic sagas and been as sympathetic about the absence of icelandic snakes. but with a fair review of the proportions of the case he will dismiss this conjecture, and come to the conclusion that a number of educated americans are very warmly and sincerely sympathetic with england. what i began to feel, with a certain creeping chill, was that they were only too sympathetic with england. the word sympathetic has sometimes rather a double sense. the impression i received was that all these chivalrous southerners and men mellow with bostonian memories were _rallying_ to england. they were on the defensive; and it was poor old england that they were defending. their attitude implied that somebody or something was leaving her undefended, or finding her indefensible. the burden of that hearty chorus was that england was not so black as she was painted; it seemed clear that somewhere or other she was being painted pretty black. but there was something else that made me uncomfortable; it was not only the sense of being somewhat boisterously forgiven; it was also something involving questions of power as well as morality. then it seemed to me that a new sensation turned me hot and cold; and i felt something i have never before felt in a foreign land. never had my father or my grandfather known that sensation; never during the great and complex and perhaps perilous expansion of our power and commerce in the last hundred years had an englishman heard exactly that note in a human voice. england was being _pitied_. i, as an englishman, was not only being pardoned but pitied. my country was beginning to be an object of compassion, like poland or spain. my first emotion, full of the mood and movement of a hundred years, was one of furious anger. but the anger has given place to anxiety; and the anxiety is not yet at an end. it is not my business here to expound my view of english politics, still less of european politics or the politics of the world; but to put down a few impressions of american travel. on many points of european politics the impression will be purely negative; i am sure that most americans have no notion of the position of france or the position of poland. but if english readers want the truth, i am sure this is the truth about their notion of the position of england. they are wondering, or those who are watching are wondering, whether the term of her success is come and she is going down the dark road after prussia. many are sorry if this is so; some are glad if it is so; but all are seriously considering the probability of its being so. and herein lay especially the horrible folly of our black-and-tan terrorism over the irish people. i have noted that the newspapers told us that america had been chilled in its irish sympathies by irish detachment during the war. it is the painful truth that any advantage we might have had from this we ourselves immediately proceeded to destroy. ireland _might_ have put herself wrong with america by her attitude about belgium, if england had not instantly proceeded to put herself more wrong by her attitude towards ireland. it is quite true that two blacks do not make a white; but you cannot send a black to reproach people with tolerating blackness; and this is quite as true when one is a black brunswicker and the other a black-and-tan. it is true that since then england has made surprisingly sweeping concessions; concessions so large as to increase the amazement that the refusal should have been so long. but unfortunately the combination of the two rather clinches the conception of our decline. if the concession had come before the terror, it would have looked like an attempt to emancipate, and would probably have succeeded. coming so abruptly after the terror, it looked only like an attempt to tyrannise, and an attempt that failed. it was partly an inheritance from a stupid tradition, which tried to combine what it called firmness with what it called conciliation; as if when we made up our minds to soothe a man with a five-pound note, we always took care to undo our own action by giving him a kick as well. the english politician has often done that; though there is nothing to be said of such a fool, except that he has wasted a fiver. but in this case he gave the kick first, received a kicking in return, and _then_ gave up the money; and it was hard for the bystanders to say anything except that he had been badly beaten. the combination and sequence of events seems almost as if it were arranged to suggest the dark and ominous parallel. the first action looked only too like the invasion of belgium, and the second like the evacuation of belgium. so that vast and silent crowd in the west looked at the british empire, as men look at a great tower that has begun to lean. thus it was that while i found real pleasure, i could not find unrelieved consolation in the sincere compliments paid to my country by so many cultivated americans; their memories of homely corners of historic counties from which their fathers came, of the cathedral that dwarfs the town, or the inn at the turning of the road. there was something in their voices and the look in their eyes which from the first disturbed me. so i have heard good englishmen, who died afterwards the death of soldiers, cry aloud in , 'it seems impossible, of those jolly bavarians!' or, 'i will never believe it, when i think of the time i had at heidelberg!' but there are other things besides the parallel of prussia or the problem of ireland. the american press is much freer than our own; the american public is much more familiar with the discussion of corruption than our own; and it is much more conscious of the corruption of our politics than we are. almost any man in america may speak of the marconi case; many a man in england does not even know what it means. many imagine that it had something to do with the propriety of politicians speculating on the stock exchange. so that it means a great deal to americans to say that one figure in that drama is ruling india and another is ruling palestine. and this brings me to another problem, which is also dealt with much more openly in america than in england. i mention it here only because it is a perfect model of the misunderstandings in the modern world. if any one asks for an example of exactly how the important part of every story is left out, and even the part that is reported is not understood, he could hardly have a stronger case than the story of henry ford of detroit. when i was in detroit i had the pleasure of meeting mr. ford, and it really was a pleasure. he is a man quite capable of views which i think silly to the point of insanity; but he is not the vulgar benevolent boss. it must be admitted that he is a millionaire; but he cannot really be convicted of being a philanthropist. he is not a man who merely wants to run people; it is rather his views that run him, and perhaps run away with him. he has a distinguished and sensitive face; he really invented things himself, unlike most men who profit by inventions; he is something of an artist and not a little of a fighter. a man of that type is always capable of being wildly wrong, especially in the sectarian atmosphere of america; and mr. ford has been wrong before and may be wrong now. he is chiefly known in england for a project which i think very preposterous; that of the peace ship, which came to europe during the war. but he is not known in england at all in connection with a much more important campaign, which he has conducted much more recently and with much more success; a campaign against the jews like one of the anti-semitic campaigns of the continent. now any one who knows anything of america knows exactly what the peace ship would be like. it was a national combination of imagination and ignorance, which has at least some of the beauty of innocence. men living in those huge, hedgeless inland plains know nothing about frontiers or the tragedy of a fight for freedom; they know nothing of alarum and armaments or the peril of a high civilisation poised like a precious statue within reach of a mailed fist. they are accustomed to a cosmopolitan citizenship, in which men of all bloods mingle and in which men of all creeds are counted equal. their highest moral boast is humanitarianism; their highest mental boast is enlightenment. in a word, they are the very last men in the world who would seem likely to pride themselves on a prejudice against the jews. they have no religion in particular, except a sincere sentiment which they would call 'true christianity,' and which specially forbids an attack on the jews. they have a patriotism which prides itself on assimilating all types, including the jews. mr. ford is a pure product of this pacific world, as was sufficiently proved by his pacifism. if a man of that sort has discovered that there is a jewish problem, it is because there is a jewish problem. it is certainly not because there is an anti-jewish prejudice. for if there had been any amount of such racial and religious prejudice, he would have been about the very last sort of man to have it. his particular part of the world would have been the very last place to produce it. we may well laugh at the peace ship, and its wild course and inevitable shipwreck; but remember that its very wildness was an attempt to sail as far as possible from the castle of front-de-boeuf. everything that made him anti-war should have prevented him from being anti-semite. we may mock him for being mad on peace; but we cannot say that he was so mad on peace that he made war on israel. it happened that, when i was in america, i had just published some studies on palestine; and i was besieged by rabbis lamenting my 'prejudice.' i pointed out that they would have got hold of the wrong word, even if they had not got hold of the wrong man. as a point of personal autobiography, i do not happen to be a man who dislikes jews; though i believe that some men do. i have had jews among my most intimate and faithful friends since my boyhood, and i hope to have them till i die. but even if i did have a dislike of jews, it would be illogical to call that dislike a prejudice. prejudice is a very lucid latin word meaning the bias which a man has before he considers a case. i might be said to be prejudiced against a hairy ainu because of his name, for i have never been on terms of such intimacy with him as to correct my preconceptions. but if after moving about in the modern world and meeting jews, knowing jews, doing business with jews, and reading and hearing about jews, i came to the conclusion that i did not like jews, my conclusion certainly would not be a prejudice. it would simply be an opinion; and one i should be perfectly entitled to hold; though as a matter of fact i do not hold it. no extravagance of hatred merely following on _experience_ of jews can properly be called a prejudice. now the point is that this new american anti-semitism springs from experience and nothing but experience. there is no prejudice for it to spring from. or rather the prejudice is all the other way. all the traditions of that democracy, and very creditable traditions too, are in favour of toleration and a sort of idealistic indifference. the sympathies in which these nineteenth-century people were reared were all against front-de-boeuf and in favour of rebecca. they inherited a prejudice against anti-semitism; a prejudice of anti-anti-semitism. these people of the plains have found the jewish problem exactly as they might have struck oil; because it is _there_, and not even because they were looking for it. their view of the problem, like their use of the oil, is not always satisfactory; and with parts of it i entirely disagree. but the point is that the thing which i call a problem, and others call a prejudice, has now appeared in broad daylight in a new country where there is no priestcraft, no feudalism, no ancient superstition to explain it. it has appeared because it _is_ a problem; and those are the best friends of the jews, including many of the jews themselves, who are trying to find a solution. that is the meaning of the incident of mr. henry ford of detroit; and you will hardly hear an intelligible word about it in england. the talk of prejudice against the japs is not unlike the talk of prejudice against the jews. only in this case our indifference has really the excuse of ignorance. we used to lecture the russians for oppressing the jews, before we heard the word bolshevist and began to lecture them for being oppressed by the jews. in the same way we have long lectured the californians for oppressing the japs, without allowing for the possibility of their foreseeing that the oppression may soon be the other way. as in the other case, it may be a persecution but it is not a prejudice. the californians know more about the japanese than we do; and our own colonists when they are placed in the same position generally say the same thing. i will not attempt to deal adequately here with the vast international and diplomatic problems which arise with the name of the new power in the far east. it is possible that japan, having imitated european militarism, may imitate european pacifism. i cannot honestly pretend to know what the japanese mean by the one any more than by the other. but when englishmen, especially english liberals like myself, take a superior and censorious attitude towards americans and especially californians, i am moved to make a final remark. when a considerable number of englishmen talk of the grave contending claims of our friendship with japan and our friendship with america, when they finally tend in a sort of summing up to dwell on the superior virtues of japan, i may be permitted to make a single comment. we are perpetually boring the world and each other with talk about the bonds that bind us to america. we are perpetually crying aloud that england and america are very much alike, especially england. we are always insisting that the two are identical in all the things in which they most obviously differ. we are always saying that both stand for democracy, when we should not consent to stand their democracy for half a day. we are always saying that at least we are all anglo-saxons, when we are descended from romans and normans and britons and danes, and they are descended from irishmen and italians and slavs and germans. we tell a people whose very existence is a revolt against the british crown that they are passionately devoted to the british constitution. we tell a nation whose whole policy has been isolation and independence that with us she can bear safely the white man's burden of universal empire. we tell a continent crowded with irishmen to thank god that the saxon can always rule the celt. we tell a populace whose very virtues are lawless that together we uphold the reign of law. we recognise our own law-abiding character in people who make laws that neither they nor anybody else can abide. we congratulate them on clinging to all they have cast away, and on imitating everything which they came into existence to insult. and when we have established all these nonsensical analogies with a nonexistent nation, we wait until there is a crisis in which we really are at one with america, and then we falter and threaten to fail her. in a battle where we really are of one blood, the blood of the great white race throughout the world, when we really have one language, the fundamental alphabet of cadmus and the script of rome, when we really do represent the same reign of law, the common conscience of christendom and the morals of men baptized, when we really have an implicit faith and honour and type of freedom to summon up our souls as with trumpets--_then_ many of us begin to weaken and waver and wonder whether there is not something very nice about little yellow men, whose heroic stories revolve round polygamy and suicide, and whose heroes wore two swords and worshipped the ancestors of the mikado. _prohibition in fact and fancy_ i went to america with some notion of not discussing prohibition. but i soon found that well-to-do americans were only too delighted to discuss it over the nuts and wine. they were even willing, if necessary, to dispense with the nuts. i am far from sneering at this; having a general philosophy which need not here be expounded, but which may be symbolised by saying that monkeys can enjoy nuts but only men can enjoy wine. but if i am to deal with prohibition, there is no doubt of the first thing to be said about it. the first thing to be said about it is that it does not exist. it is to some extent enforced among the poor; at any rate it was intended to be enforced among the poor; though even among them i fancy it is much evaded. it is certainly not enforced among the rich; and i doubt whether it was intended to be. i suspect that this has always happened whenever this negative notion has taken hold of some particular province or tribe. prohibition never prohibits. it never has in history; not even in moslem history; and it never will. mahomet at least had the argument of a climate and not the interest of a class. but if a test is needed, consider what part of moslem culture has passed permanently into our own modern culture. you will find the one moslem poem that has really pierced is a moslem poem in praise of wine. the crown of all the victories of the crescent is that nobody reads the koran and everybody reads the rubaiyat. most of us remember with satisfaction an old picture in _punch_, representing a festive old gentleman in a state of collapse on the pavement, and a philanthropic old lady anxiously calling the attention of a cabman to the calamity. the old lady says, 'i'm sure this poor gentleman is ill,' and the cabman replies with fervour, 'ill! i wish i 'ad 'alf 'is complaint.' we talk about unconscious humour; but there is such a thing as unconscious seriousness. flippancy is a flower whose roots are often underground in the subconsciousness. many a man talks sense when he thinks he is talking nonsense; touches on a conflict of ideas as if it were only a contradiction of language, or really makes a parallel when he means only to make a pun. some of the _punch_ jokes of the best period are examples of this; and that quoted above is a very strong example of it. the cabman meant what he said; but he said a great deal more than he meant. his utterance contained fine philosophical doctrines and distinctions of which he was not perhaps entirely conscious. the spirit of the english language, the tragedy and comedy of the condition of the english people, spoke through him as the god spoke through a teraph-head or brazen mask of oracle. and the oracle is an omen; and in some sense an omen of doom. observe, to begin with, the sobriety of the cabman. note his measure, his moderation; or to use the yet truer term, his temperance. he only wishes to have half the old gentleman's complaint. the old gentleman is welcome to the other half, along with all the other pomps and luxuries of his superior social station. there is nothing bolshevist or even communist about the temperance cabman. he might almost be called distributist, in the sense that he wishes to distribute the old gentleman's complaint more equally between the old gentleman and himself. and, of course, the social relations there represented are very much truer to life than it is fashionable to suggest. by the realism of this picture mr. punch made amends for some more snobbish pictures, with the opposite social moral. it will remain eternally among his real glories that he exhibited a picture in which the cabman was sober and the gentleman was drunk. despite many ideas to the contrary, it was emphatically a picture of real life. the truth is subject to the simplest of all possible tests. if the cabman were really and truly drunk he would not be a cabman, for he could not drive a cab. if he had the whole of the old gentleman's complaint, he would be sitting happily on the pavement beside the old gentleman; a symbol of social equality found at last, and the levelling of all classes of mankind. i do not say that there has never been such a monster known as a drunken cabman; i do not say that the driver may not sometimes have approximated imprudently to three-quarters of the complaint, instead of adhering to his severe but wise conception of half of it. but i do say that most men of the world, if they spoke sincerely, could testify to more examples of helplessly drunken gentlemen put inside cabs than of helplessly drunken drivers on top of them. philanthropists and officials, who never look at people but only at papers, probably have a mass of social statistics to the contrary; founded on the simple fact that cabmen can be cross-examined about their habits and gentlemen cannot. social workers probably have the whole thing worked out in sections and compartments, showing how the extreme intoxication of cabmen compares with the parallel intoxication of costermongers; or measuring the drunkenness of a dustman against the drunkenness of a crossing-sweeper. but there is more practical experience embodied in the practical speech of the english; and in the proverb that says 'as drunk as a lord.' now prohibition, whether as a proposal in england or a pretence in america, simply means that the man who has drunk less shall have no drink, and the man who has drunk more shall have all the drink. it means that the old gentleman shall be carried home in the cab drunker than ever; but that, in order to make it quite safe for him to drink to excess, the man who drives him shall be forbidden to drink even in moderation. that is what it means; that is all it means; that is all it ever will mean. it tends to that in moslem countries; where the luxurious and advanced drink champagne, while the poor and fanatical drink water. it means that in modern america; where the wealthy are all at this moment sipping their cocktails, and discussing how much harder labourers can be made to work if only they can be kept from festivity. this is what it means and all it means; and men are divided about it according to whether they believe in a certain transcendental concept called 'justice,' expressed in a more mystical paradox as the equality of men. so long as you do not believe in justice, and so long as you are rich and really confident of remaining so, you can have prohibition and be as drunk as you choose. i see that some remarks by the rev. r. j. campbell, dealing with social conditions in america, are reported in the press. they include some observations about sinn fein in which, as in most of mr. campbell's allusions to ireland, it is not difficult to detect his dismal origin, or the acrid smell of the smoke of belfast. but the remarks about america are valuable in the objective sense, over and above their philosophy. he believes that prohibition will survive and be a success, nor does he seem himself to regard the prospect with any special disfavour. but he frankly and freely testifies to the truth i have asserted; that prohibition does not prohibit, so far as the wealthy are concerned. he testifies to constantly seeing wine on the table, as will any other grateful guest of the generous hospitality of america; and he implies humorously that he asked no questions about the story told him of the old stocks in the cellars. so there is no dispute about the facts; and we come back as before to the principles. is mr. campbell content with a prohibition which is another name for privilege? if so, he has simply absorbed along with his new theology a new morality which is different from mine. but he does state both sides of the inequality with equal logic and clearness; and in these days of intellectual fog that alone is like a ray of sunshine. now my primary objection to prohibition is not based on any arguments against it, but on the one argument for it. i need nothing more for its condemnation than the only thing that is said in its defence. it is said by capitalists all over america; and it is very clearly and correctly reported by mr. campbell himself. the argument is that employees work harder, and therefore employers get richer. that this idea should be taken calmly, by itself, as the test of a problem of liberty, is in itself a final testimony to the presence of slavery. it shows that people have completely forgotten that there is any other test except the servile test. employers are willing that workmen should have exercise, as it may help them to do more work. they are even willing that workmen should have leisure; for the more intelligent capitalists can see that this also really means that they can do more work. but they are not in any way willing that workmen should have fun; for fun only increases the happiness and not the utility of the worker. fun is freedom; and in that sense is an end in itself. it concerns the man not as a worker but as a citizen, or even as a soul; and the soul in that sense is an end in itself. that a man shall have a reasonable amount of comedy and poetry and even fantasy in his life is part of his spiritual health, which is for the service of god; and not merely for his mechanical health, which is now bound to the service of man. the very test adopted has all the servile implication; the test of what we can get out of him, instead of the test of what he can get out of life. mr. campbell is reported to have suggested, doubtless rather as a conjecture than a prophecy, that england may find it necessary to become teetotal in order to compete commercially with the efficiency and economy of teetotal america. well, in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries there was in america one of the most economical and efficient of all forms of labour. it did not happen to be feasible for the english to compete with it by copying it. there were so many humanitarian prejudices about in those days. but economically there seems to be no reason why a man should not have prophesied that england would be forced to adopt american slavery then, as she is urged to adopt american prohibition now. perhaps such a prophet would have prophesied rightly. certainly it is not impossible that universal slavery might have been the vision of calhoun as universal prohibition seems to be the vision of campbell. the old england of would have said that such a plea for slavery was monstrous; but what would it have said of a plea for enforced water-drinking? nevertheless, the nobler servile state of calhoun collapsed before it could spread to europe. and there is always the hope that the same may happen to the far more materialistic utopia of mr. campbell and soft drinks. abstract morality is very important; and it may well clear the mind to consider what would be the effect of prohibition in america, if it were introduced there. it would, of course, be a decisive departure from the tradition of the declaration of independence. those who deny that are hardly serious enough to demand attention. it is enough to say that they are reduced to minimising that document in defence of prohibition, exactly as the slave-owners were reduced to minimising it in defence of slavery. they are reduced to saying that the fathers of the republic meant no more than that they would not be ruled by a king. and they are obviously open to the reply which lincoln gave to douglas on the slavery question; that if that great charter was limited to certain events in the eighteenth century, it was hardly worth making such a fuss about in the nineteenth--or in the twentieth. but they are also open to another reply which is even more to the point, when they pretend that jefferson's famous preamble only means to say that monarchy is wrong. they are maintaining that jefferson only meant to say something that he does not say at all. the great preamble does not say that all monarchical government must be wrong; on the contrary, it rather implies that most government is right. it speaks of human governments in general as justified by the necessity of defending certain personal rights. i see no reason whatever to suppose that it would not include any royal government that does defend those rights. still less do i doubt what it would say of a republican government that does destroy those rights. but what are those rights? sophists can always debate about their degree; but even sophists cannot debate about their direction. nobody in his five wits will deny that jeffersonian democracy wished to give the law a general control in more public things, but the citizens a more general liberty in private things. wherever we draw the line, liberty can only be personal liberty; and the most personal liberties must at least be the last liberties we lose. but to-day they are the first liberties we lose. it is not a question of drawing the line in the right place, but of beginning at the wrong end. what are the rights of man, if they do not include the normal right to regulate his own health, in relation to the normal risks of diet and daily life? nobody can pretend that beer is a poison as prussic acid is a poison; that all the millions of civilised men who drank it all fell down dead when they had touched it. its use and abuse is obviously a matter of judgment; and there can be no personal liberty, if it is not a matter of private judgment. it is not in the least a question of drawing the line between liberty and licence. if this is licence, there is no such thing as liberty. it is plainly impossible to find any right more individual or intimate. to say that a man has a right to a vote, but not a right to a voice about the choice of his dinner, is like saying that he has a right to his hat but not a right to his head. prohibition, therefore, plainly violates the rights of man, if there are any rights of man. what its supporters really mean is that there are none. and in suggesting this, they have all the advantages that every sceptic has when he supports a negation. that sort of ultimate scepticism can only be retorted upon itself, and we can point out to them that they can no more prove the right of the city to be oppressive than we can prove the right of the citizen to be free. in the primary metaphysics of such a claim, it would surely be easier to make it out for a single conscious soul than for an artificial social combination. if there are no rights of men, what are the rights of nations? perhaps a nation has no claim to self-government. perhaps it has no claim to good government. perhaps it has no claim to any sort of government or any sort of independence. perhaps they will say _that_ is not implied in the declaration of independence. but without going deep into my reasons for believing in natural rights, or rather in supernatural rights (and jefferson certainly states them as supernatural), i am content here to note that a man's treatment of his own body, in relation to traditional and ordinary opportunities for bodily excess, is as near to his self-respect as social coercion can possibly go; and that when that is gone there is nothing left. if coercion applies to that, it applies to everything; and in the future of this controversy it obviously will apply to everything. when i was in america, people were already applying it to tobacco. i never can see why they should not apply it to talking. talking often goes with tobacco as it goes with beer; and what is more relevant, talking may often lead both to beer and tobacco. talking often drives a man to drink, both negatively in the form of nagging and positively in the form of bad company. if the american puritan is so anxious to be a _censor morum_, he should obviously put a stop to the evil communications that really corrupt good manners. he should reintroduce the scold's bridle among the other blue laws for a land of blue devils. he should gag all gay deceivers and plausible cynics; he should cut off all flattering lips and the tongue that speaketh proud things. nobody can doubt that nine-tenths of the harm in the world is done simply by talking. jefferson and the old democrats allowed people to talk, not because they were unaware of this fact, but because they were fettered by this old fancy of theirs about freedom and the rights of man. but since we have already abandoned that doctrine in a final fashion, i cannot see why the new principle should not be applied intelligently; and in that case it would be applied to the control of conversation. the state would provide us with forms already filled up with the subjects suitable for us to discuss at breakfast; perhaps allowing us a limited number of epigrams each. perhaps we should have to make a formal application in writing, to be allowed to make a joke that had just occurred to us in conversation. and the committee would consider it in due course. perhaps it would be effected in a more practical fashion, and the private citizens would be shut up as the public-houses were shut up. perhaps they would all wear gags, which the policeman would remove at stated hours; and their mouths would be opened from one to three, as now in england even the public-houses are from time to time accessible to the public. to some this will sound fantastic; but not so fantastic as jefferson would have thought prohibition. but there is one sense in which it is indeed fantastic, for by hypothesis it leaves out the favouritism that is the fundamental of the whole matter. the only sense in which we can say that logic will never go so far as this is that logic will never go the length of equality. it is perfectly possible that the same forces that have forbidden beer may go on to forbid tobacco. but they will in a special and limited sense forbid tobacco--but not cigars. or at any rate not expensive cigars. in america, where large numbers of ordinary men smoke rather ordinary cigars, there would be doubtless a good opportunity of penalising a very ordinary pleasure. but the havanas of the millionaire will be all right. so it will be if ever the puritans bring back the scold's bridle and the statutory silence of the populace. it will only be the populace that is silent. the politicians will go on talking. these i believe to be the broad facts of the problem of prohibition; but it would not be fair to leave it without mentioning two other causes which, if not defences, are at least excuses. the first is that prohibition was largely passed in a sort of fervour or fever of self-sacrifice, which was a part of the passionate patriotism of america in the war. as i have remarked elsewhere, those who have any notion of what that national unanimity was like will smile when they see america made a model of mere international idealism. prohibition was partly a sort of patriotic renunciation; for the popular instinct, like every poetic instinct, always tends at great crises to great gestures of renunciation. but this very fact, while it makes the inhumanity far more human, makes it far less final and convincing. men cannot remain standing stiffly in such symbolical attitudes; nor can a permanent policy be founded on something analogous to flinging a gauntlet or uttering a battle-cry. we might as well expect all the yale students to remain through life with their mouths open, exactly as they were when they uttered the college yell. it would be as reasonable as to expect them to remain through life with their mouths shut, while the wine-cup which has been the sacrament of all poets and lovers passed round among all the youth of the world. this point appeared very plainly in a discussion i had with a very thoughtful and sympathetic american critic, a clergyman writing in an anglo-catholic magazine. he put the sentiment of these healthier prohibitionists, which had so much to do with the passing of prohibition, by asking, 'may not a man who is asked to give up his blood for his country be asked to give up his beer for his country?' and this phrase clearly illuminates all the limitations of the case. i have never denied, in principle, that it might in some abnormal crisis be lawful for a government to lock up the beer, or to lock up the bread. in that sense i am quite prepared to treat the sacrifice of beer in the same way as the sacrifice of blood. but is my american critic really ready to treat the sacrifice of blood in the same way as the sacrifice of beer? is bloodshed to be as prolonged and protracted as prohibition? is the normal noncombatant to shed his gore as often as he misses his drink? i can imagine people submitting to a special regulation, as i can imagine them serving in a particular war. i do indeed despise the political knavery that deliberately passes drink regulations as war measures and then preserves them as peace measures. but that is not a question of whether drink and drunkenness are wrong, but of whether lying and swindling are wrong. but i never denied that there might need to be exceptional sacrifices for exceptional occasions; and war is in its nature an exception. only, if war is the exception, why should prohibition be the rule? if the surrender of beer is worthy to be compared to the shedding of blood, why then blood ought to be flowing for ever like a fountain in the public squares of philadelphia and new york. if my critic wants to complete his parallel, he must draw up rather a remarkable programme for the daily life of the ordinary citizens. he must suppose that, through all their lives, they are paraded every day at lunch time and prodded with bayonets to show that they will shed their blood for their country. he must suppose that every evening, after a light repast of poison gas and shrapnel, they are made to go to sleep in a trench under a permanent drizzle of shell-fire. it is surely obvious that if this were the normal life of the citizen, the citizen would have no normal life. the common sense of the thing is that sacrifices of this sort are admirable but abnormal. it is not normal for the state to be perpetually regulating our days with the discipline of a fighting regiment; and it is not normal for the state to be perpetually regulating our diet with the discipline of a famine. to say that every citizen must be subject to control in such bodily things is like saying that every christian ought to tear himself with red-hot pincers because the christian martyrs did their duty in time of persecution. a man has a right to control his body, though in a time of martyrdom he may give his body to be burned; and a man has a right to control his bodily health, though in a state of siege he may give his body to be starved. thus, though the patriotic defence was a sincere defence, it is a defence that comes back on the defenders like a boomerang. for it proves only that prohibition ought to be ephemeral, unless war ought to be eternal. the other excuse is much less romantic and much more realistic. i have already said enough of the cause which is really realistic. the real power behind prohibition is simply the plutocratic power of the pushing employers who wish to get the last inch of work out of their workmen. but before the progress of modern plutocracy had reached this stage, there was a predetermining cause for which there was a much better case. the whole business began with the problem of black labour. i have not attempted in this book to deal adequately with the question of the negro. i have refrained for a reason that may seem somewhat sensational; that i do not think i have anything particularly valuable to say or suggest. i do not profess to understand this singularly dark and intricate matter; and i see no use in men who have no solution filling up the gap with sentimentalism. the chief thing that struck me about the coloured people i saw was their charming and astonishing cheerfulness. my sense of pathos was appealed to much more by the red indians; and indeed i wish i had more space here to do justice to the red indians. they did heroic service in the war; and more than justified their glorious place in the day-dreams and nightmares of our boyhood. but the negro problem certainly demands more study than a sight-seer could give it; and this book is controversial enough about things that i have really considered, without permitting it to exhibit me as a sight-seer who shoots at sight. but i believe that it was always common ground to people of common sense that the enslavement and importation of negroes had been the crime and catastrophe of american history. the only difference was originally that one side thought that, the crime once committed, the only reparation was their freedom; while the other thought that, the crime once committed, the only safety was their slavery. it was only comparatively lately, by a process i shall have to indicate elsewhere, that anything like a positive case for slavery became possible. now among the many problems of the presence of an alien and at least recently barbaric figure among the citizens, there was a very real problem of drink. drink certainly has a very exceptionally destructive effect upon negroes in their native countries; and it was alleged to have a peculiarly demoralising effect upon negroes in the united states; to call up the passions that are the particular temptation of the race and to lead to appalling outrages that are followed by appalling popular vengeance. however this may be, many of the states of the american union, which first forbade liquor to citizens, meant simply to forbid it to negroes. but they had not the moral courage to deny that negroes are citizens. about all their political expedients necessarily hung the load that hangs so heavy on modern politics; hypocrisy. the superior race had to rule by a sort of secret society organised against the inferior. the american politicians dared not disfranchise the negroes; so they coerced everybody in theory and only the negroes in practice. the drinking of the white men became as much a conspiracy as the shooting by the white horsemen of the ku-klux klan. and in that connection, it may be remarked in passing that the comparison illustrates the idiocy of supposing that the moral sense of mankind will ever support the prohibition of drinking as if it were something like the prohibition of shooting. shooting in america is liable to take a free form, and sometimes a very horrible form; as when private bravos were hired to kill workmen in the capitalistic interests of that pure patron of disarmament, carnegie. but when some of the rich americans gravely tell us that their drinking cannot be interfered with, because they are only using up their existing stocks of wine, we may well be disposed to smile. when i was there, at any rate, they were using them up very fast; and with no apparent fears about the supply. but if the ku-klux klan had started suddenly shooting everybody they didn't like in broad daylight, and had blandly explained that they were only using up the stocks of their ammunition, left over from the civil war, it seems probable that there would at least have been a little curiosity about how much they had left. there might at least have been occasional inquiries about how long it was likely to go on. it is even conceivable that some steps might have been taken to stop it. no steps are taken to stop the drinking of the rich, chiefly because the rich now make all the rules and therefore all the exceptions, but partly because nobody ever could feel the full moral seriousness of this particular rule. and the truth is, as i have indicated, that it was originally established as an exception and not as a rule. the emancipated negro was an exception in the community, and a certain plan was, rightly or wrongly, adopted to meet his case. a law was made professedly for everybody and practically only for him. prohibition is only important as marking the transition by which the trick, tried successfully on black labour, could be extended to all labour. we in england have no right to be pharisaic at the expense of the americans in this matter; for we have tried the same trick in a hundred forms. the true philosophical defence of the modern oppression of the poor would be to say frankly that we have ruled them so badly that they are unfit to rule themselves. but no modern oligarch is enough of a man to say this. for like all virile cynicism it would have an element of humility; which would not mix with the necessary element of hypocrisy. so we proceed, just as the americans do, to make a law for everybody and then evade it for ourselves. we have not the honesty to say that the rich may bet because they can afford it; so we forbid any man to bet in any place; and then say that a place is not a place. it is exactly as if there were an american law allowing a negro to be murdered because he is not a man within the meaning of the act. we have not the honesty to drive the poor to school because they are ignorant; so we pretend to drive everybody; and then send inspectors to the slums but not to the smart streets. we apply the same ingenuous principle; and are quite as undemocratic as western democracy. nevertheless there is an element in the american case which cannot be present in ours; and this chapter may well conclude upon so important a change. america can now say with pride that she has abolished the colour bar. in this matter the white labourer and the black labourer have at last been put upon an equal social footing. white labour is every bit as much enslaved as black labour; and is actually enslaved by a method and a model only intended for black labour. we might think it rather odd if the exact regulations about flogging negroes were reproduced as a plan for punishing strikers; or if industrial arbitration issued its reports in the precise terminology of the fugitive slave law. but this is in essentials what has happened; and one could almost fancy some negro orgy of triumph, with the beating of gongs and all the secret violence of voodoo, crying aloud to some ancestral mumbo jumbo that the poor white trash was being treated according to its name. _fads and public opinion_ a foreigner is a man who laughs at everything except jokes. he is perfectly entitled to laugh at anything, so long as he realises, in a reverent and religious spirit, that he himself is laughable. i was a foreigner in america; and i can truly claim that the sense of my own laughable position never left me. but when the native and the foreigner have finished with seeing the fun of each other in things that are meant to be serious, they both approach the far more delicate and dangerous ground of things that are meant to be funny. the sense of humour is generally very national; perhaps that is why the internationalists are so careful to purge themselves of it. i had occasion during the war to consider the rights and wrongs of certain differences alleged to have arisen between the english and american soldiers at the front. and, rightly or wrongly, i came to the conclusion that they arose from the failure to understand when a foreigner is serious and when he is humorous. and it is in the very nature of the best sort of joke to be the worst sort of insult if it is not taken as a joke. the english and the american types of humour are in one way directly contrary. the most american sort of fun involves a soaring imagination, piling one house on another in a tower like that of a sky-scraper. the most english humour consists of a sort of bathos, of a man returning to the earth his mother in a homely fashion; as when he sits down suddenly on a butter-slide. english farce describes a man as being in a hole. american fantasy, in its more aspiring spirit, describes a man as being up a tree. the former is to be found in the cockney comic songs that concern themselves with hanging out the washing or coming home with the milk. the latter is to be found in those fantastic yarns about machines that turn live pigs into pig-skin purses or burning cities that serve to hatch an egg. but it will be inevitable, when the two come first into contact, that the bathos will sound like vulgarity and the extravagance will sound like boasting. suppose an american soldier said to an english soldier in the trenches, 'the kaiser may want a place in the sun; i reckon he won't have a place in the solar system when we begin to hustle.' the english soldier will very probably form the impression that this is arrogance; an impression based on the extraordinary assumption that the american means what he says. the american has merely indulged in a little art for art's sake, and abstract adventure of the imagination; he has told an american short story. but the englishman, not understanding this, will think the other man is boasting, and reflecting on the insufficiency of the english effort. the english soldier is very likely to say something like, 'oh, you'll be wanting to get home to your old woman before that, and asking for a kipper with your tea.' and it is quite likely that the american will be offended in his turn at having his arabesque of abstract beauty answered in so personal a fashion. being an american, he will probably have a fine and chivalrous respect for his wife; and may object to her being called an old woman. possibly he in turn may be under the extraordinary delusion that talking of the old woman really means that the woman is old. possibly he thinks the mysterious demand for a kipper carries with it some charge of ill-treating his wife; which his national sense of honour swiftly resents. but the real cross-purposes come from the contrary direction of the two exaggerations, the american making life more wild and impossible than it is, and the englishman making it more flat and farcical than it is; the one escaping from the house of life by a skylight and the other by a trap-door. this difficulty of different humours is a very practical one for practical people. most of those who profess to remove all international differences are not practical people. most of the phrases offered for the reconciliation of severally patriotic peoples are entirely serious and even solemn phrases. but human conversation is not conducted in those phrases. the normal man on nine occasions out of ten is rather a flippant man. and the normal man is almost always the national man. patriotism is the most popular of all the virtues. the drier sort of democrats who despise it have the democracy against them in every country in the world. hence their international efforts seldom go any farther than to effect an international reconciliation of all internationalists. but we have not solved the normal and popular problem until we have an international reconciliation of all nationalists. it is very difficult to see how humour can be translated at all. when sam weller is in the fleet prison and mrs. weller and mr. stiggins sit on each side of the fireplace and weep and groan with sympathy, old mr. weller observes, 'vell, sammy, i hope you find your spirits rose by this 'ere lively visit.' i have never looked up this passage in the popular and successful french version of _pickwick_; but i confess i am curious as to what french past-participle conveys the precise effect of the word 'rose.' a translator has not only to give the right translation of the right word but the right translation of the wrong word. and in the same way i am quite prepared to suspect that there are english jokes which an englishman must enjoy in his own rich and romantic solitude, without asking for the sympathy of an american. but englishmen are generally only too prone to claim this fine perception, without seeing that the fine edge of it cuts both ways. i have begun this chapter on the note of national humour because i wish to make it quite clear that i realise how easily a foreigner may take something seriously that is not serious. when i think something in america is really foolish, it may be i that am made a fool of. it is the first duty of a traveller to allow for this; but it seems to be the very last thing that occurs to some travellers. but when i seek to say something of what may be called the fantastic side of america, i allow beforehand that some of it may be meant to be fantastic. and indeed it is very difficult to believe that some of it is meant to be serious. but whether or no there is a joke, there is certainly an inconsistency; and it is an inconsistency in the moral make-up of america which both puzzles and amuses me. the danger of democracy is not anarchy but convention. there is even a sort of double meaning in the word 'convention'; for it is also used for the most informal and popular sort of parliament; a parliament not summoned by any king. the americans come together very easily without any king; but their coming together is in every sense a convention, and even a very conventional convention. in a democracy riot is rather the exception and respectability certainly the rule. and though a superficial sight-seer should hesitate about all such generalisations, and certainly should allow for enormous exceptions to them, he does receive a general impression of unity verging on uniformity. thus americans all dress well; one might almost say that american women all look well; but they do not, as compared with europeans, look very different. they are in the fashion; too much in the fashion even to be conspicuously fashionable. of course there are patches, both bohemian and babylonian, of which this is not true, but i am talking of the general tone of a whole democracy. i have said there is more respectability than riot; but indeed in a deeper sense the same spirit is behind both riot and respectability. it is the same social force that makes it possible for the respectable to boycott a man and for the riotous to lynch him. i do not object to it being called 'the herd instinct,' so long as we realise that it is a metaphor and not an explanation. public opinion can be a prairie fire. it eats up everything that opposes it; and there is the grandeur as well as the grave disadvantages of a natural catastrophe in that national unity. pacifists who complained in england of the intolerance of patriotism have no notion of what patriotism can be like. if they had been in america, after america had entered the war, they would have seen something which they have always perhaps subconsciously dreaded, and would then have beyond all their worst dreams detested; and the name of it is democracy. they would have found that there are disadvantages in birds of a feather flocking together; and that one of them follows on a too complacent display of the white feather. the truth is that a certain flexible sympathy with eccentrics of this kind is rather one of the advantages of an aristocratic tradition. the imprisonment of mr. debs, the american pacifist, which really was prolonged and oppressive, would probably have been shortened in england where his opinions were shared by aristocrats like mr. bertrand russell and mr. ponsonby. a man like lord hugh cecil could be moved to the defence of conscientious objectors, partly by a true instinct of chivalry; but partly also by the general feeling that a gentleman may very probably have aunts and uncles who are quite as mad. he takes the matter personally, in the sense of being able to imagine the psychology of the persons. but democracy is no respecter of persons. it is no respecter of them, either in the bad and servile or in the good and sympathetic sense. and debs was nothing to democracy. he was but one of the millions. this is a real problem, or question in the balance, touching different forms of government; which is, of course, quite neglected by the idealists who merely repeat long words. there was during the war a society called the union of democratic control, which would have been instantly destroyed anywhere where democracy had any control, or where there was any union. and in this sense the united states have most emphatically got a union. nevertheless i think there is something rather more subtle than this simple popular solidity behind the assimilation of american citizens to each other. there is something even in the individual ideals that drives towards this social sympathy. and it is here that we have to remember that biological fancies like the herd instinct are only figures of speech, and cannot really cover anything human. for the americans are in some ways a very self-conscious people. to compare their social enthusiasm to a stampede of cattle is to ask us to believe in a bull writing a diary or a cow looking in a looking-glass. intensely sensitive by their very vitality, they are certainly conscious of criticism and not merely of a blind and brutal appetite. but the peculiar point about them is that it is this very vividness in the self that often produces the similarity. it may be that when they are unconscious they are like bulls and cows. but it is when they are self-conscious that they are like each other. individualism is the death of individuality. it is so, if only because it is an 'ism.' many americans become almost impersonal in their worship of personality. where their natural selves might differ, their ideal selves tend to be the same. anybody can see what i mean in those strong self-conscious photographs of american business men that can be seen in any american magazine. each may conceive himself to be a solitary napoleon brooding at st. helena; but the result is a multitude of napoleons brooding all over the place. each of them must have the eyes of a mesmerist; but the most weak-minded person cannot be mesmerised by more than one millionaire at a time. each of the millionaires must thrust forward his jaw, offering (if i may say so) to fight the world with the same weapon as samson. each of them must accentuate the length of his chin, especially, of course, by always being completely clean-shaven. it would be obviously inconsistent with personality to prefer to wear a beard. these are of course fantastic examples on the fringe of american life; but they do stand for a certain assimilation, not through brute gregariousness, but rather through isolated dreaming. and though it is not always carried so far as this, i do think it is carried too far. there is not quite enough unconsciousness to produce real individuality. there is a sort of worship of will-power in the abstract, so that people are actually thinking about how they can will, more than about what they want. to this i do think a certain corrective could be found in the nature of english eccentricity. every man in his humour is most interesting when he is unconscious of his humour; or at least when he is in an intermediate stage between humour in the old sense of oddity and in the new sense of irony. much is said in these days against negative morality; and certainly most americans would show a positive preference for positive morality. the virtues they venerate collectively are very active virtues; cheerfulness and courage and vim, otherwise zip, also pep and similar things. but it is sometimes forgotten that negative morality is freer than positive morality. negative morality is a net of a larger and more open pattern, of which the lines or cords constrict at longer intervals. a man like dr. johnson could grow in his own way to his own stature in the net of the ten commandments; precisely because he was convinced there were only ten of them. he was not compressed into the mould of positive beauty, like that of the apollo belvedere or the american citizen. this criticism is sometimes true even of the american woman, who is certainly a much more delightful person than the mesmeric millionaire with his shaven jaw. interviewers in the united states perpetually asked me what i thought of american women, and i confessed a distaste for such generalisations which i have not managed to lose. the americans, who are the most chivalrous people in the world, may perhaps understand me; but i can never help feeling that there is something polygamous about talking of women in the plural at all; something unworthy of any american except a mormon. nevertheless, i think the exaggeration i suggest does extend in a less degree to american women, fascinating as they are. i think they too tend too much to this cult of impersonal personality. it is a description easy to exaggerate even by the faintest emphasis; for all these things are subtle and subject to striking individual exceptions. to complain of people for being brave and bright and kind and intelligent may not unreasonably appear unreasonable. and yet there is something in the background that can only be expressed by a symbol, something that is not shallowness but a neglect of the subconsciousness and the vaguer and slower impulses; something that can be missed amid all that laughter and light, under those starry candelabra of the ideals of the happy virtues. sometimes it came over me, in a wordless wave, that i should like to see a sulky woman. how she would walk in beauty like the night, and reveal more silent spaces full of older stars! these things cannot be conveyed in their delicate proportion even in the most detached description. but the same thing was in the mind of a white-bearded old man i met in new york, an irish exile and a wonderful talker, who stared up at the tower of gilded galleries of the great hotel, and said with that spontaneous movement of style which is hardly heard except from irish talkers: 'and i have been in a village in the mountains where the people could hardly read or write; but all the men were like soldiers, and all the women had pride.' it sounds like a poem about an earthly paradise to say that in this land the old women can be more beautiful than the young. indeed, i think walt whitman, the national poet, has a line somewhere almost precisely to that effect. it sounds like a parody upon utopia, and the image of the lion lying down with the lamb, to say it is a place where a man might almost fall in love with his mother-in-law. but there is nothing in which the finer side of american gravity and good feeling does more honourably exhibit itself than in a certain atmosphere around the older women. it is not a cant phrase to say that they grow old gracefully; for they do really grow old. in this the national optimism really has in it the national courage. the old women do not dress like young women; they only dress better. there is another side to this feminine dignity in the old, sometimes a little lost in the young, with which i shall deal presently. the point for the moment is that even whitman's truly poetic vision of the beautiful old women suffers a little from that bewildering multiplicity and recurrence that is indeed the whole theme of whitman. it is like the green eternity of leaves of grass. when i think of the eccentric spinsters and incorrigible grandmothers of my own country, i cannot imagine that any one of them could possibly be mistaken for another, even at a glance. and in comparison i feel as if i had been travelling in an earthly paradise of more decorative harmonies; and i remember only a vast cloud of grey and pink as of the plumage of cherubim in an old picture. but on second thoughts, i think this may be only the inevitable effect of visiting any country in a swift and superficial fashion; and that the grey and pink cloud is probably an illusion, like the spinning prairies scattered by the wheel of the train. anyhow there is enough of this equality, and of a certain social unity favourable to sanity, to make the next point about america very much of a puzzle. it seems to me a very real problem, to which i have never seen an answer even such as i shall attempt here, why a democracy should produce fads; and why, where there is so genuine a sense of human dignity, there should be so much of an impossible petty tyranny. i am not referring solely or even specially to prohibition, which i discuss elsewhere. prohibition is at least a superstition, and therefore next door to a religion; it has some imaginable connection with moral questions, as have slavery or human sacrifice. but those who ask us to model ourselves on the states which punish the sin of drink forget that there are states which punish the equally shameless sin of smoking a cigarette in the open air. the same american atmosphere that permits prohibition permits of people being punished for kissing each other. in other words, there are states psychologically capable of making a man a convict for wearing a blue neck-tie or having a green front-door, or anything else that anybody chooses to fancy. there is an american atmosphere in which people may some day be shot for shaking hands, or hanged for writing a post-card. as for the sort of thing to which i refer, the american newspapers are full of it and there is no name for it but mere madness. indeed it is not only mad, but it calls itself mad. to mention but one example out of many, it was actually boasted that some lunatics were teaching children to take care of their health. and it was proudly added that the children were 'health-mad.' that it is not exactly the object of all mental hygiene to make people mad did not occur to them; and they may still be engaged in their earnest labours to teach babies to be valetudinarians and hypochondriacs in order to make them healthy. in such cases, we may say that the modern world is too ridiculous to be ridiculed. you cannot caricature a caricature. imagine what a satirist of saner days would have made of the daily life of a child of six, who was actually admitted to be mad on the subject of his own health. these are not days in which that great extravaganza could be written; but i dimly see some of its episodes like uncompleted dreams. i see the child pausing in the middle of a cart-wheel, or when he has performed three-quarters of a cart-wheel, and consulting a little note-book about the amount of exercise per diem. i see him pausing half-way up a tree, or when he has climbed exactly one-third of a tree; and then producing a clinical thermometer to take his own temperature. but what would be the good of imaginative logic to prove the madness of such people, when they themselves praise it for being mad? there is also the cult of the infant phenomenon, of which dickens made fun and of which educationalists make fusses. when i was in america another newspaper produced a marvellous child of six who had the intellect of a child of twelve. the only test given, and apparently one on which the experiment turned, was that she could be made to understand and even to employ the word 'annihilate.' when asked to say something proving this, the happy infant offered the polished aphorism, 'when common sense comes in, superstition is annihilated.' in reply to which, by way of showing that i also am as intelligent as a child of twelve, and there is no arrested development about me, i will say in the same elegant diction, 'when psychological education comes in, common sense is annihilated.' everybody seems to be sitting round this child in an adoring fashion. it did not seem to occur to anybody that we do not particularly want even a child of twelve to talk about annihilating superstition; that we do not want a child of six to talk like a child of twelve, or a child of twelve to talk like a man of fifty, or even a man of fifty to talk like a fool. and on the principle of hoping that a little girl of six will have a massive and mature brain, there is every reason for hoping that a little boy of six will grow a magnificent and bushy beard. now there is any amount of this nonsense cropping up among american cranks. anybody may propose to establish coercive eugenics; or enforce psychoanalysis--that is, enforce confession without absolution. and i confess i cannot connect this feature with the genuine democratic spirit of the mass. i can only suggest, in concluding this chapter, two possible causes rather peculiar to america, which may have made this great democracy so unlike all other democracies, and in this so manifestly hostile to the whole democratic idea. the first historical cause is puritanism; but not puritanism merely in the sense of prohibitionism. the truth is that prohibitions might have done far less harm as prohibitions, if a vague association had not arisen, on some dark day of human unreason, between prohibition and progress. and it was the progress that did the harm, not the prohibition. men can enjoy life under considerable limitations, if they can be sure of their limited enjoyments; but under progressive puritanism we can never be sure of anything. the curse of it is not limitation; it is unlimited limitation. the evil is not in the restriction; but in the fact that nothing can ever restrict the restriction. the prohibitions are bound to progress point by point; more and more human rights and pleasures must of necessity be taken away; for it is of the nature of this futurism that the latest fad is the faith of the future, and the most fantastic fad inevitably makes the pace. thus the worst thing in the seventeenth-century aberration was not so much puritanism as sectarianism. it searched for truth not by synthesis but by subdivision. it not only broke religion into small pieces, but it was bound to choose the smallest piece. there is in america, i believe, a large religious body that has felt it right to separate itself from christendom because it cannot believe in the morality of wearing buttons. i do not know how the schism arose; but it is easy to suppose, for the sake of argument, that there had originally existed some puritan body which condemned the frivolity of ribbons though not of buttons. i was going to say of badges but not buttons; but on reflection i cannot bring myself to believe that any american, however insane, would object to wearing badges. but the point is that as the holy spirit of progressive prophesy rested on the first sect because it had invented a new objection to ribbons, so that holy spirit would then pass from it to the new sect who invented a further objection to buttons. and from them it must inevitably pass to any rebel among them who shall choose to rise and say that he disapproves of trousers because of the existence of trouser-buttons. each secession in turn must be right because it is recent, and progress must progress by growing smaller and smaller. that is the progressive theory, the legacy of seventeenth-century sectarianism, the dogma implied in much modern politics, and the evident enemy of democracy. democracy is reproached with saying that the majority is always right. but progress says that the minority is always right. progressives are prophets; and fortunately not all the people are prophets. thus in the atmosphere of this slowly dying sectarianism anybody who chooses to prophesy and prohibit can tyrannise over the people. if he chooses to say that drinking is always wrong, or that kissing is always wrong, or that wearing buttons is always wrong, people are afraid to contradict him for fear they should be contradicting their own great-grandchild. for their superstition is an inversion of the ancestor-worship of china; and instead of vainly appealing to something that is dead, they appeal to something that may never be born. there is another cause of this strange servile disease in american democracy. it is to be found in american feminism, and feminist america is an entirely different thing from feminine america. i should say that the overwhelming majority of american girls laugh at their female politicians at least as much as the majority of american men despise their male politicians. but though the aggressive feminists are a minority, they are in this atmosphere which i have tried to analyse; the atmosphere in which there is a sort of sanctity about the minority. and it is this superstition of seriousness that constitutes the most solid obstacle and exception to the general and almost conventional pressure of public opinion. when a fad is frankly felt to be anti-national, as was abolitionism before the civil war, or pro-germanism in the great war, or the suggestion of racial admixture in the south at all times, then the fad meets far less mercy than anywhere else in the world; it is snowed under and swept away. but when it does not thus directly challenge patriotism or popular ideas, a curious halo of hopeful solemnity surrounds it, merely because it is a fad, but above all if it is a feminine fad. the earnest lady-reformer who really utters a warning against the social evil of beer or buttons is seen to be walking clothed in light, like a prophetess. perhaps it is something of the holy aureole which the east sees shining around an idiot. but i think there is another explanation, feminine rather than feminist, and proceeding from normal women and not from abnormal idiots. it is something that involves an old controversy, but one upon which i have not, like so many politicians, changed my opinion. it concerns the particular fashion in which women tend to regard, or rather to disregard, the formal and legal rights of the citizen. in so far as this is a bias, it is a bias in the directly opposite direction from that now lightly alleged. there is a sort of underbred history going about, according to which women in the past have always been in the position of slaves. it is much more to the point to note that women have always been in the position of despots. they have been despotic because they ruled in an area where they had too much common sense to attempt to be constitutional. you cannot grant a constitution to a nursery; nor can babies assemble like barons and extort a great charter. tommy cannot plead a habeas corpus against going to bed; and an infant cannot be tried by twelve other infants before he is put in the corner. and as there can be no laws or liberties in a nursery, the extension of feminism means that there shall be no more laws or liberties in a state than there are in a nursery. the woman does not really regard men as citizens but as children. she may, if she is a humanitarian, love all mankind; but she does not respect it. still less does she respect its votes. now a man must be very blind nowadays not to see that there is a danger of a sort of amateur science or pseudo-science being made the excuse for every trick of tyranny and interference. anybody who is not an anarchist agrees with having a policeman at the corner of the street; but the danger at present is that of finding the policeman half-way down the chimney or even under the bed. in other words, it is a danger of turning the policeman into a sort of benevolent burglar. against this protests are already being made, and will increasingly be made, if men retain any instinct of independence or dignity at all. but to complain of the woman interfering in the home will always sound like complaining of the oyster intruding into the oyster-shell. to object that she has too much power over education will seem like objecting to a hen having too much to do with eggs. she has already been given an almost irresponsible power over a limited region in these things; and if that power is made infinite it will be even more irresponsible. if she adds to her own power in the family all these alien fads external to the family, her power will not only be irresponsible but insane. she will be something which may well be called a nightmare of the nursery; a mad mother. but the point is that she will be mad about other nurseries as well as her own, or possibly instead of her own. the results will be interesting; but at least it is certain that under this softening influence government of the people, by the people, for the people, will most assuredly perish from the earth. but there is always another possibility. hints of it may be noted here and there like muffled gongs of doom. the other day some people preaching some low trick or other, for running away from the glory of motherhood, were suddenly silenced in new york; by a voice of deep and democratic volume. the prigs who potter about the great plains are pygmies dancing round a sleeping giant. that which sleeps, so far as they are concerned, is the huge power of human unanimity and intolerance in the soul of america. at present the masses in the middle west are indifferent to such fancies or faintly attracted by them, as fashions of culture from the great cities. but any day it may not be so; some lunatic may cut across their economic rights or their strange and buried religion; and then he will see something. he will find himself running like a nigger who has wronged a white woman or a man who has set the prairie on fire. he will see something which the politicians fan in its sleep and flatter with the name of the people, which many reactionaries have cursed with the name of the mob, but which in any case has had under its feet the crowns of many kings. it was said that the voice of the people is the voice of god; and this at least is certain, that it can be the voice of god to the wicked. and the last antics of their arrogance shall stiffen before something enormous, such as towers in the last words that job heard out of the whirlwind; and a voice they never knew shall tell them that his name is leviathan, and he is lord over all the children of pride. _the extraordinary american_ when i was in america i had the feeling that it was far more foreign than france or even than ireland. and by foreign i mean fascinating rather than repulsive. i mean that element of strangeness which marks the frontier of any fairyland, or gives to the traveller himself the almost eerie title of the stranger. and i saw there more clearly than in countries counted as more remote from us, in race or religion, a paradox that is one of the great truths of travel. we have never even begun to understand a people until we have found something that we do not understand. so long as we find the character easy to read, we are reading into it our own character. if when we see an event we can promptly provide an explanation, we may be pretty certain that we had ourselves prepared the explanation before we saw the event. it follows from this that the best picture of a foreign people can probably be found in a puzzle picture. if we can find an event of which the meaning is really dark to us, it will probably throw some light on the truth. i will therefore take from my american experiences one isolated incident, which certainly could not have happened in any other country i have ever clapped eyes on. i have really no notion of what it meant. i have heard even from americans about five different conjectures about its meaning. but though i do not understand it, i do sincerely believe that if i did understand it, i should understand america. it happened in the city of oklahoma, which would require a book to itself, even considered as a background. the state of oklahoma is a district in the south-west recently reclaimed from the red indian territory. what many, quite incorrectly, imagine about all america is really true of oklahoma. it is proud of having no history. it is glowing with the sense of having a great future--and nothing else. people are just as likely to boast of an old building in nashville as in norwich; people are just as proud of old families in boston as in bath. but in oklahoma the citizens do point out a colossal structure, arrogantly affirming that it wasn't there last week. it was against the colours of this crude stage scenery, as of a pantomime city of pasteboard, that the fantastic figure appeared which still haunts me like a walking note of interrogation. i was strolling down the main street of the city, and looking in at a paper-stall vivid with the news of crime, when a stranger addressed me; and asked me, quite politely but with a curious air of having authority to put the question, what i was doing in that city. he was a lean brown man, having rather the look of a shabby tropical traveller, with a grey moustache and a lively and alert eye. but the most singular thing about him was that the front of his coat was covered with a multitude of shining metallic emblems made in the shape of stars and crescents. i was well accustomed by this time to americans adorning the lapels of their coats with little symbols of various societies; it is a part of the american passion for the ritual of comradeship. there is nothing that an american likes so much as to have a secret society and to make no secret of it. but in this case, if i may put it so, the rash of symbolism seemed to have broken out all over the man, in a fashion that indicated that the fever was far advanced. of this minor mystery, however, his first few sentences offered a provisional explanation. in answer to his question, touching my business in oklahoma, i replied with restraint that i was lecturing. to which he replied without restraint, but rather with an expansive and radiant pride, 'i also am lecturing. i am lecturing on astronomy.' so far a certain wild rationality seemed to light up the affair. i knew it was unusual, in my own country, for the astronomer royal to walk down the strand with his coat plastered all over with the solar system. indeed, it was unusual for any english astronomical lecturer to advertise the subject of his lectures in this fashion. but though it would be unusual, it would not necessarily be unreasonable. in fact, i think it might add to the colour and variety of life, if specialists did adopt this sort of scientific heraldry. i should like to be able to recognise an entomologist at sight by the decorative spiders and cockroaches crawling all over his coat and waistcoat. i should like to see a conchologist in a simple costume of shells. an osteopath, i suppose, would be agreeably painted so as to resemble a skeleton, while a botanist would enliven the street with the appearance of a jack-in-the-green. so while i regarded the astronomical lecturer in the astronomical coat as a figure distinguishable, by a high degree of differentiation, from the artless astronomers of my island home (enough their simple loveliness for me) i saw in him nothing illogical, but rather an imaginative extreme of logic. and then came another turn of the wheel of topsy-turvydom, and all the logic was scattered to the wind. expanding his starry bosom and standing astraddle, with the air of one who owned the street, the strange being continued, 'yes, i am lecturing on astronomy, anthropology, archaeology, palaeontology, embryology, eschatology,' and so on in a thunderous roll of theoretical sciences apparently beyond the scope of any single university, let alone any single professor. having thus introduced himself, however, he got to business. he apologised with true american courtesy for having questioned me at all, and excused it on the ground of his own exacting responsibilities. i imagined him to mean the responsibility of simultaneously occupying the chairs of all the faculties already mentioned. but these apparently were trifles to him, and something far more serious was clouding his brow. 'i feel it to be my duty,' he said, 'to acquaint myself with any stranger visiting this city; and it is an additional pleasure to welcome here a member of the upper ten.' i assured him earnestly that i knew nothing about the upper ten, except that i did not belong to them; i felt, not without alarm, that the upper ten might be another secret society. he waved my abnegation aside and continued, 'i have a great responsibility in watching over this city. my friend the mayor and i have a great responsibility.' and then an extraordinary thing happened. suddenly diving his hand into his breast-pocket, he flashed something before my eyes like a hand-mirror; something which disappeared again almost as soon as it appeared. in that flash i could only see that it was some sort of polished metal plate, with some letters engraved on it like a monogram. but the reward of a studious and virtuous life, which has been spent chiefly in the reading of american detective stories, shone forth for me in that hour of trial; i received at last the prize of a profound scholarship in the matter of imaginary murders in tenth-rate magazines. i remembered who it was who in the yankee detective yarn flashes before the eyes of slim jim or the lone hand crook a badge of metal sometimes called a shield. assuming all the desperate composure of slim jim himself, i replied, 'you mean you are connected with the police authorities here, don't you? well, if i commit a murder here, i'll let you know.' whereupon that astonishing man waved a hand in deprecation, bowed in farewell with the grace of a dancing master; and said, 'oh, those are not things we expect from members of the upper ten.' then that moving constellation moved away, disappearing in the dark tides of humanity, as the vision passed away down the dark tides from sir galahad and, starlike, mingled with the stars. that is the problem i would put to all americans, and to all who claim to understand america. who and what was that man? was he an astronomer? was he a detective? was he a wandering lunatic? if he was a lunatic who thought he was an astronomer, why did he have a badge to prove he was a detective? if he was a detective pretending to be an astronomer, why did he tell a total stranger that he was a detective two minutes after saying he was an astronomer? if he wished to watch over the city in a quiet and unobtrusive fashion, why did he blazon himself all over with all the stars of the sky, and profess to give public lectures on all the subjects of the world? every wise and well-conducted student of murder stories is acquainted with the notion of a policeman in plain clothes. but nobody could possibly say that this gentleman was in plain clothes. why not wear his uniform, if he was resolved to show every stranger in the street his badge? perhaps after all he had no uniform; for these lands were but recently a wild frontier rudely ruled by vigilance committees. some americans suggested to me that he was the sheriff; the regular hard-riding, free-shooting sheriff of bret harte and my boyhood's dreams. others suggested that he was an agent of the ku-klux klan, that great nameless revolution of the revival of which there were rumours at the time; and that the symbol he exhibited was theirs. but whether he was a sheriff acting for the law, or a conspirator against the law, or a lunatic entirely outside the law, i agree with the former conjectures upon one point. i am perfectly certain he had something else in his pocket besides a badge. and i am perfectly certain that under certain circumstances he would have handled it instantly, and shot me dead between the gay bookstall and the crowded trams. and that is the last touch to the complexity; for though in that country it often seems that the law is made by a lunatic, you never know when the lunatic may not shoot you for keeping it. only in the presence of that citizen of oklahoma i feel i am confronted with the fullness and depth of the mystery of america. because i understand nothing, i recognise the thing that we call a nation; and i salute the flag. but even in connection with this mysterious figure there is a moral which affords another reason for mentioning him. whether he was a sheriff or an outlaw, there was certainly something about him that suggested the adventurous violence of the old border life of america; and whether he was connected with the police or no, there was certainly violence enough in his environment to satisfy the most ardent policeman. the posters in the paper-shop were placarded with the verdict in the hamon trial; a _cause célèbre_ which reached its crisis in oklahoma while i was there. senator hamon had been shot by a girl whom he had wronged, and his widow demanded justice, or what might fairly be called vengeance. there was very great excitement culminating in the girl's acquittal. nor did the hamon case appear to be entirely exceptional in that breezy borderland. the moment the town had received the news that clara smith was free, newsboys rushed down the street shouting, 'double stabbing outrage near oklahoma,' or 'banker's throat cut on main street,' or otherwise resuming their regular mode of life. it seemed as much as to say, 'do not imagine that our local energies are exhausted in shooting a senator,' or 'come, now, the world is young, even if clara smith is acquitted, and the enthusiasm of oklahoma is not yet cold.' but my particular reason for mentioning the matter is this. despite my friend's mystical remarks about the upper ten, he lived in an atmosphere of something that was at least the very reverse of a respect for persons. indeed, there was something in the very crudity of his social compliment that smacked, strangely enough, of that egalitarian soil. in a vaguely aristocratic country like england, people would never dream of telling a total stranger that he was a member of the upper ten. for one thing, they would be afraid that he might be. real snobbishness is never vulgar; for it is intended to please the refined. nobody licks the boots of a duke, if only because the duke does not like his boots cleaned in that way. nobody embraces the knees of a marquis, because it would embarrass that nobleman. and nobody tells him he is a member of the upper ten, because everybody is expected to know it. but there is a much more subtle kind of snobbishness pervading the atmosphere of any society trial in england. and the first thing that struck me was the total absence of that atmosphere in the trial at oklahoma. mr. hamon was presumably a member of the upper ten, if there is such a thing. he was a member of the senate or upper house in the american parliament; he was a millionaire and a pillar of the republican party, which might be called the respectable party; he is said to have been mentioned as a possible president. and the speeches of clara smith's counsel, who was known by the delightfully oklahomite title of wild bill mclean, were wild enough in all conscience; but they left very little of my friend's illusion that members of the upper ten could not be accused of crimes. nero and borgia were quite presentable people compared with senator hamon when wild bill mclean had done with him. but the difference was deeper, and even in a sense more delicate than this. there is a certain tone about english trials, which does at least begin with a certain scepticism about people prominent in public life being abominable in private life. people do vaguely doubt the criminality of 'a man in that position'; that is, the position of the marquise de brinvilliers or the marquis de sade. _prima facie_, it would be an advantage to the marquis de sade that he was a marquis. but it was certainly against hamon that he was a millionaire. wild bill did not minimise him as a bankrupt or an adventurer; he insisted on the solidity and size of his fortune, he made mountains out of the 'hamon millions,' as if they made the matter much worse; as indeed i think they do. but that is because i happen to share a certain political philosophy with wild bill and other wild buffaloes of the prairies. in other words, there is really present here a democratic instinct against the domination of wealth. it does not prevent wealth from dominating; but it does prevent the domination from being regarded with any affection or loyalty. despite the man in the starry coat, the americans have not really any illusions about the upper ten. mclean was appealing to an implicit public opinion when he pelted the senator with his gold. but something more is involved. i became conscious, as i have been conscious in reading the crime novels of america, that the millionaire was taken as a type and not an individual. this is the great difference; that america recognises rich crooks as a _class_. any englishman might recognise them as individuals. any english romance may turn on a crime in high life; in which the baronet is found to have poisoned his wife, or the elusive burglar turns out to be the bishop. but the english are not always saying, either in romance or reality, 'what's to be done, if our food is being poisoned by all these baronets?' they do not murmur in indignation, 'if bishops will go on burgling like this, something must be done.' the whole point of the english romance is the exceptional character of a crime in high life. that is not the tone of american novels or american newspapers or american trials like the trial in oklahoma. americans may be excited when a millionaire crook is caught, as when any other crook is caught; but it is at his being caught, not at his being discovered. to put the matter shortly, england recognises a criminal class at the bottom of the social scale. america also recognises a criminal class at the top of the social scale. in both, for various reasons, it may be difficult for the criminals to be convicted; but in america the upper class of criminals is recognised. in both america and england, of course, it exists. this is an assumption at the back of the american mind which makes a great difference in many ways; and in my opinion a difference for the better. i wrote merely fancifully just now about bishops being burglars; but there is a story in new york, illustrating this, which really does in a sense attribute a burglary to a bishop. the story was that an anglican lord spiritual, of the pompous and now rather antiquated school, was pushing open the door of a poor american tenement with all the placid patronage of the squire and rector visiting the cottagers, when a gigantic irish policeman came round the corner and hit him a crack over the head with a truncheon on the assumption that he was a house-breaker. i hope that those who laugh at the story see that the laugh is not altogether against the policeman; and that it is not only the policeman, but rather the bishop, who had failed to recognise some fine logical distinctions. the bishop, being a learned man, might well be called upon (when he had sufficiently recovered from the knock on the head) to define what is the exact difference between a house-breaker and a home-visitor; and why the home-visitor should not be regarded as a house-breaker when he will not behave as a guest. an impartial intelligence will be much less shocked at the policeman's disrespect for the home-visitor than by the home-visitor's disrespect for the home. but that story smacks of the western soil, precisely because of the element of brutality there is in it. in england snobbishness and social oppression are much subtler and softer; the manifestations of them at least are more mellow and humane. in comparison there is indeed something which people call ruthless about the air of america, especially the american cities. the bishop may push open the door without an apology, but he would not break open the door with a truncheon; but the irish policeman's truncheon hits both ways. it may be brutal to the tenement dweller as well as to the bishop; but the difference and distinction is that it might really be brutal to the bishop. it is because there is after all, at the back of all that barbarism, a sort of a negative belief in the brotherhood of men, a dark democratic sense that men are really men and nothing more, that the coarse and even corrupt bureaucracy is not resented exactly as oligarchic bureaucracies are resented. there is a sense in which corruption is not so narrow as nepotism. it is upon this queer cynical charity, and even humility, that it has been possible to rear so high and uphold so long that tower of brass, tammany hall. the modern police system is in spirit the most inhuman in history, and its evil belongs to an age and not to a nation. but some american police methods are evil past all parallel; and the detective can be more crooked than a hundred crooks. but in the states it is not only possible that the policeman is worse than the convict, it is by no means certain that he thinks that he is any better. in the popular stories of o. henry there are light allusions to tramps being kicked out of hotels which will make any christian seek relief in strong language and a trust in heaven--not to say in hell. and yet books even more popular than o. henry's are those of the 'sob-sisterhood' who swim in lachrymose lakes after love-lorn spinsters, who pass their lives in reclaiming and consoling such tramps. there are in this people two strains of brutality and sentimentalism which i do not understand, especially where they mingle; but i am fairly sure they both work back to the dim democratic origin. the irish policeman does not confine himself fastidiously to bludgeoning bishops; his truncheon finds plenty of poor people's heads to hit; and yet i believe on my soul he has a sort of sympathy with poor people not to be found in the police of more aristocratic states. i believe he also reads and weeps over the stories of the spinsters and the reclaimed tramps; in fact, there is much of such pathos in an american magazine (my sole companion on many happy railway journeys) which is not only devoted to detective stories, but apparently edited by detectives. in these stories also there is the honest, popular astonishment at the upper ten expressed by the astronomical detective, if indeed he was a detective and not a demon from the dark red-indian forests that faded to the horizon behind him. but i have set him as the head and text of this chapter because with these elements of the third degree of devilry and the seventh heaven of sentimentalism i touch on elements that i do not understand; and when i do not understand, i say so. _the republican in the ruins_ the heathen in his blindness bows down to wood and stone; especially to a wood-cut or a lithographic stone. modern people put their trust in pictures, especially scientific pictures, as much as the most superstitious ever put it in religious pictures. they publish a portrait of the missing link as if he were the missing man, for whom the police are always advertising; for all the world as if the anthropoid had been photographed before he absconded. the scientific diagram may be a hypothesis; it may be a fancy; it may be a forgery. but it is always an idol in the true sense of an image; and an image in the true sense of a thing mastering the imagination and not the reason. the power of these talismanic pictures is almost hypnotic to modern humanity. we can never forget that we have seen a portrait of the missing link; though we should instantly detect the lapse of logic into superstition, if we were told that the old greek agnostics had made a statue of the unknown god. but there is a still stranger fashion in which we fall victims to the same trick of fancy. we accept in a blind and literal spirit, not only images of speculation, but even figures of speech. the nineteenth century prided itself on having lost its faith in myths, and proceeded to put all its faith in metaphors. it dismissed the old doctrines about the way of life and the light of the world; and then it proceeded to talk as if the light of truth were really and literally a light, that could be absorbed by merely opening our eyes; or as if the path of progress were really and truly a path, to be found by merely following our noses. thus the purpose of god is an idea, true or false; but the purpose of nature is merely a metaphor; for obviously if there is no god there is no purpose. yet while men, by an imaginative instinct, spoke of the purpose of god with a grand agnosticism, as something too large to be seen, something reaching out to worlds and to eternities, they speak of the purpose of nature in particular and practical problems of curing babies or cutting up rabbits. this power of the modern metaphor must be understood, by way of an introduction, if we are to understand one of the chief errors, at once evasive and pervasive, which perplex the problem of america. america is always spoken of as a young nation; and whether or no this be a valuable and suggestive metaphor, very few people notice that it is a metaphor at all. if somebody said that a certain deserving charity had just gone into trousers, we should recognise that it was a figure of speech, and perhaps a rather surprising figure of speech. if somebody said that a daily paper had recently put its hair up, we should know it could only be a metaphor, and possibly a rather strained metaphor. yet these phrases would mean the only thing that can possibly be meant by calling a corporate association of all sorts of people 'young'; that is, that a certain institution has only existed for a certain time. i am not now denying that such a corporate nationality may happen to have a psychology comparatively analogous to the psychology of youth. i am not even denying that america has it. i am only pointing out, to begin with, that we must free ourselves from the talismanic tyranny of a metaphor which we do not recognise as a metaphor. men realised that the old mystical doctrines were mystical; they do not realise that the new metaphors are metaphorical. they have some sort of hazy notion that american society must be growing, must be promising, must have the virtues of hope or the faults of ignorance, merely _because_ it has only had a separate existence since the eighteenth century. and that is exactly like saying that a new chapel must be growing taller, or that a limited liability company will soon have its second teeth. now in truth this particular conception of american hopefulness would be anything but hopeful for america. if the argument really were, as it is still vaguely supposed to be, that america must have a long life before it, because it only started in the eighteenth century, we should find a very fatal answer by looking at the other political systems that did start in the eighteenth century. the eighteenth century was called the age of reason; and there is a very real sense in which the other systems were indeed started in a spirit of reason. but starting from reason has not saved them from ruin. if we survey the europe of to-day with real clarity and historic comprehension, we shall see that it is precisely the most recent and the most rationalistic creations that have been ruined. the two great states which did most definitely and emphatically deserve to be called modern states were prussia and russia. there was no real prussia before frederick the great; no real russian empire before peter the great. both those innovators recognised themselves as rationalists bringing a new reason and order into an indeterminate barbarism; and doing for the barbarians what the barbarians could not do for themselves. they did not, like the kings of england or france or spain or scotland, inherit a sceptre that was the symbol of a historic and patriotic people. in this sense there was no russia but only an emperor of russia. in this sense prussia was a kingdom before it was a nation; if it ever was a nation. but anyhow both men were particularly modern in their whole mood and mind. they were modern to the extent of being not only anti-traditional, but almost anti-patriotic. peter forced the science of the west on russia to the regret of many russians. frederick talked the french of voltaire and not the german of luther. the two experiments were entirely in the spirit of voltairean rationalism; they were built in broad daylight by men who believed in nothing but the light of common day; and already their day is done. if then the promise of america were in the fact that she is one of the latest births of progress, we should point out that it is exactly the latest born that were the first to die. if in this sense she is praised as young, it may be answered that the young have died young, and have not lived to be old. and if this be confused with the argument that she came in an age of clarity and scepticism, uncontaminated by old superstitions, it could still be retorted that the works of superstition have survived the works of scepticism. but the truth is, of course, that the real quality of america is much more subtle and complex than this; and is mixed not only of good and bad, and rational and mystical, but also of old and new. that is what makes the task of tracing the true proportions of american life so interesting and so impossible. to begin with, such a metaphor is always as distracting as a mixed metaphor. it is a double-edged tool that cuts both ways; and consequently opposite ways. we use the same word 'young' to mean two opposite extremes. we mean something at an early stage of growth, and also something having the latest fruits of growth. we might call a commonwealth young if it conducted all its daily conversation by wireless telegraphy; meaning that it was progressive. but we might also call it young if it conducted all its industry with chipped flints; meaning that it was primitive. these two meanings of youth are hopelessly mixed up when the word is applied to america. but what is more curious, the two elements really are wildly entangled in america. america is in some ways what is called in advance of the times, and in some ways what is called behind the times; but it seems a little confusing to convey both notions by the same word. on the one hand, americans often are successful in the last inventions. and for that very reason they are often neglectful of the last but one. it is true of men in general, dealing with things in general, that while they are progressing in one thing, such as science, they are going back in another thing, such as art. what is less fully realised is that this is true even as between different methods of science. the perfection of wireless telegraphy might well be followed by the gross imperfection of wires. the very enthusiasm of american science brings this out very vividly. the telephone in new york works miracles all day long. replies from remote places come as promptly as in a private talk; nobody cuts anybody off; nobody says, 'sorry you've been troubled.' but then the postal service of new york does not work at all. at least i could never discover it working. letters lingered in it for days and days, as in some wild village of the pyrenees. when i asked a taxi-driver to drive me to a post-office, a look of far-off vision and adventure came into his eyes, and he said he had once heard of a post-office somewhere near west ninety-seventh street. men are not efficient in everything, but only in the fashionable thing. this may be a mark of the march of science; it does certainly in one sense deserve the description of youth. we can imagine a very young person forgetting the old toy in the excitement of a new one. but on the other hand, american manners contain much that is called young in the contrary sense; in the sense of an earlier stage of history. there are whole patches and particular aspects that seem to me quite early victorian. i cannot help having this sensation, for instance, about the arrangement for smoking in the railway carriages. there are no smoking carriages, as a rule; but a corner of each of the great cars is curtained off mysteriously, that a man may go behind the curtain and smoke. nobody thinks of a woman doing so. it is regarded as a dark, bohemian, and almost brutally masculine indulgence; exactly as it was regarded by the dowagers in thackeray's novels. indeed, this is one of the many such cases in which extremes meet; the extremes of stuffy antiquity and cranky modernity. the american dowager is sorry that tobacco was ever introduced; and the american suffragette and social reformer is considering whether tobacco ought not to be abolished. the tone of american society suggests some sort of compromise, by which women will be allowed to smoke, but men forbidden to do so. in one respect, however, america is very old indeed. in one respect america is more historic than england; i might almost say more archaeological than england. the record of one period of the past, morally remote and probably irrevocable, is there preserved in a more perfect form as a pagan city is preserved at pompeii. in a more general sense, of course, it is easy to exaggerate the contrast as a mere contrast between the old world and the new. there is a superficial satire about the millionaire's daughter who has recently become the wife of an aristocrat; but there is a rather more subtle satire in the question of how long the aristocrat has been aristocratic. there is often much misplaced mockery of a marriage between an upstart's daughter and a decayed relic of feudalism; when it is really a marriage between an upstart's daughter and an upstart's grandson. the sentimental socialist often seems to admit the blue blood of the nobleman, even when he wants to shed it; just as he seems to admit the marvellous brains of the millionaire, even when he wants to blow them out. unfortunately (in the interests of social science, of course) the sentimental socialist never does go so far as bloodshed or blowing out brains; otherwise the colour and quality of both blood and brains would probably be a disappointment to him. there are certainly more american families that really came over in the _mayflower_ than english families that really came over with the conqueror; and an english county family clearly dating from the time of the _mayflower_ would be considered a very traditional and historic house. nevertheless, there are ancient things in england, though the aristocracy is hardly one of them. there are buildings, there are institutions, there are even ideas in england which do preserve, as in a perfect pattern, some particular epoch of the past, and even of the remote past. a man could study the middle ages in lincoln as well as in rouen; in canterbury as well as in cologne. even of the renaissance the same is true, at least on the literary side; if shakespeare was later he was also greater than ronsard. but the point is that the spirit and philosophy of the periods were present in fullness and in freedom. the guildsmen were as christian in england as they were anywhere; the poets were as pagan in england as they were anywhere. personally i do not admit that the men who served patrons were freer than those who served patron saints. but each fashion had its own kind of freedom; and the point is that the english, in each case, had the fullness of that kind of freedom. but there was another ideal of freedom which the english never had at all; or, anyhow, never expressed at all. there was another ideal, the soul of another epoch, round which we built no monuments and wrote no masterpieces. you will find no traces of it in england; but you will find them in america. the thing i mean was the real religion of the eighteenth century. its religion, in the more defined sense, was generally deism, as in robespierre or jefferson. in the more general way of morals and atmosphere it was rather stoicism, as in the suicide of wolfe tone. it had certain very noble and, as some would say, impossible ideals; as that a politician should be poor, and should be proud of being poor. it knew latin; and therefore insisted on the strange fancy that the republic should be a public thing. its republican simplicity was anything but a silly pose; unless all martyrdom is a silly pose. even of the prigs and fanatics of the american and french revolutions we can often say, as stevenson said of an american, that 'thrift and courage glowed in him.' and its virtue and value for us is that it did remember the things we now most tend to forget; from the dignity of liberty to the danger of luxury. it did really believe in self-determination, in the self-determination of the self, as well as of the state. and its determination was really determined. in short, it believed in self-respect; and it is strictly true even of its rebels and regicides that they desired chiefly to be respectable. but there were in it the marks of religion as well as respectability; it had a creed; it had a crusade. men died singing its songs; men starved rather than write against its principles. and its principles were liberty, equality, and fraternity, or the dogmas of the declaration of independence. this was the idea that redeemed the dreary negations of the eighteenth century; and there are still corners of philadelphia or boston or baltimore where we can feel so suddenly in the silence its plain garb and formal manners, that the walking ghost of jefferson would hardly surprise us. there is not the ghost of such a thing in england. in england the real religion of the eighteenth century never found freedom or scope. it never cleared a space in which to build that cold and classic building called the capitol. it never made elbow-room for that free if sometimes frigid figure called the citizen. in eighteenth-century england he was crowded out, partly perhaps by the relics of better things of the past, but largely at least by the presence of much worse things in the present. the worst things kept out the best things of the eighteenth century. the ground was occupied by legal fictions; by a godless erastian church and a powerless hanoverian king. its realities were an aristocracy of regency dandies, in costumes made to match brighton pavilion; a paganism not frigid but florid. it was a touch of this aristocratic waste in fox that prevented that great man from being a glorious exception. it is therefore well for us to realise that there is something in history which we did not experience; and therefore probably something in americans that we do not understand. there was this idealism at the very beginning of their individualism. there was a note of heroic publicity and honourable poverty which lingers in the very name of cincinnati. but i have another and special reason for noting this historical fact; the fact that we english never made anything upon the model of a capitol, while we can match anybody with the model of a cathedral. it is far from improbable that the latter model may again be a working model. for i have myself felt, naturally and for a long time, a warm sympathy with both those past ideals, which seem to some so incompatible. i have felt the attraction of the red cap as well as the red cross, of the marseillaise as well as the magnificat. and even when they were in furious conflict i have never altogether lost my sympathy for either. but in the conflict between the republic[ ] and the church, the point often made against the church seems to me much more of a point against the republic. it is emphatically the republic and not the church that i venerate as something beautiful but belonging to the past. in fact i feel exactly the same sort of sad respect for the republican ideal that many mid-victorian free-thinkers felt for the religious ideal. the most sincere poets of that period were largely divided between those who insisted, like arnold and clough, that christianity might be a ruin, but after all it must be treated as a picturesque ruin; and those, like swinburne, who insisted that it might be a picturesque ruin, but after all it must be treated as a ruin. but surely their own pagan temple of political liberty is now much more of a ruin than the other; and i fancy i am one of the few who still take off their hats in that ruined temple. that is why i went about looking for the fading traces of that lost cause, in the old-world atmosphere of the new world. but i do not, as a fact, feel that the cathedral is a ruin; i doubt if i should feel it even if i wished to lay it in ruins. i doubt if mr. m'cabe really thinks that catholicism is dying, though he might deceive himself into saying so. nobody could be naturally moved to say that the crowded cathedral of st. patrick in new york was a ruin, or even that the unfinished anglo-catholic cathedral at washington was a ruin, though it is not yet a church; or that there is anything lost or lingering about the splendid and spirited gothic churches springing up under the inspiration of mr. cram of boston. as a matter of feeling, as a matter of fact, as a matter quite apart from theory or opinion, it is not in the religious centres that we now have the feeling of something beautiful but receding, of something loved but lost. it is exactly in the spaces cleared and levelled by america for the large and sober religion of the eighteenth century; it is where an old house in philadelphia contains an old picture of franklin, or where the men of maryland raised above their city the first monument of washington. it is there that i feel like one who treads alone some banquet hall deserted, whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, and all save he departed. it is then that i feel as if i were the last republican. but when i say that the republic of the age of reason is now a ruin, i should rather say that at its best it is a ruin. at its worst it has collapsed into a death-trap or is rotting like a dunghill. what is the real republic of our day as distinct from the ideal republic of our fathers, but a heap of corrupt capitalism crawling with worms; with those parasites, the professional politicians? i was re-reading swinburne's bitter but not ignoble poem, 'before a crucifix,' in which he bids christ, or the ecclesiastical image of christ, stand out of the way of the onward march of a political idealism represented by united italy or the french republic. i was struck by the strange and ironic exactitude with which every taunt he flings at the degradation of the old divine ideal would now fit the degradation of his own human ideal. the time has already come when we can ask his goddess of liberty, as represented by the actual liberals, 'have _you_ filled full men's starved-out souls; have _you_ brought freedom on the earth?' for every engine in which these old free-thinkers firmly and confidently trusted has itself become an engine of oppression and even of class oppression. its free parliament has become an oligarchy. its free press has become a monopoly. if the pure church has been corrupted in the course of two thousand years, what about the pure republic that has rotted into a filthy plutocracy in less than a hundred? o, hidden face of man, whereover the years have woven a viewless veil, if thou wert verily man's lover what did thy love or blood avail? thy blood the priests make poison of; and in gold shekels coin thy love. which has most to do with shekels to-day, the priests or the politicians? can we say in any special sense nowadays that clergymen, as such, make a poison out of the blood of the martyrs? can we say it in anything like the real sense, in which we do say that yellow journalists make a poison out of the blood of the soldiers? but i understand how swinburne felt when confronted by the image of the carven christ, and, perplexed by the contrast between its claims and its consequences, he said his strange farewell to it, hastily indeed, but not without regret, not even really without respect. i felt the same myself when i looked for the last time on the statue of liberty. footnote: [ ] in the conclusion of this chapter i mean by the republic not merely the american republic, but the whole modern representative system, as in france or even in england. _is the atlantic narrowing?_ a certain kind of question is asked very earnestly in our time. because of a certain logical quality in it, connected with premises and data, it is very difficult to answer. thus people will ask what is the hidden weakness in the celtic race that makes them everywhere fail or fade away; or how the germans contrived to bring all their organisation into a state of such perfect efficiency; and what was the significance of the recent victory of prussia. or they will ask by what stages the modern world has abandoned all belief in miracles; and the modern newspapers ceased to print any news of murders. they will ask why english politics are free from corruption; or by what mental and moral training certain millionaires were enabled to succeed by sheer force of character; in short, they will ask why plutocrats govern well and how it is that pigs fly, spreading their pink pinions to the breeze or delighting us as they twitter and flutter from tree to tree. the logical difficulty of answering these questions is connected with an old story about charles the second and a bowl of goldfish, and with another anecdote about a gentleman who was asked, 'when did you leave off beating your wife?' but there is something analogous to it in the present discussions about the forces drawing england and america together. it seems as if the reasoners hardly went far enough back in their argument, or took trouble enough to disentangle their assumptions. they are still moving with the momentum of the peculiar nineteenth-century notion of progress; of certain very simple tendencies perpetually increasing and needing no special analysis. it is so with the international _rapprochement_ i have to consider here. in other places i have ventured to express a doubt about whether nations can be drawn together by an ancient rumour about races; by a sort of prehistoric chit-chat or the gossip of the stone age. i have ventured farther; and even expressed a doubt about whether they ought to be drawn together, or rather dragged together, by the brute violence of the engines of science and speed. but there is yet another horrible doubt haunting my morbid mind, which it will be better for my constitution to confess frankly. and that is the doubt about whether they are being drawn together at all. it has long been a conversational commonplace among the enlightened that all countries are coming closer and closer to each other. it was a conversational commonplace among the enlightened, somewhere about the year , that all wars were receding farther and farther into a barbaric past. there is something about these sayings that seems simple and familiar and entirely satisfactory when we say them; they are of that consoling sort which we can say without any of the mental pain of thinking what we are saying. but if we turn our attention from the phrases we use to the facts that we talk about, we shall realise at least that there are a good many facts on the other side and examples pointing the other way. for instance, it does happen occasionally, from time to time, that people talk about ireland. he would be a very hilarious humanitarian who should maintain that ireland and england have been more and more assimilated during the last hundred years. the very name of sinn fein is an answer to it, and the very language in which that phrase is spoken. curran and sheil would no more have dreamed of uttering the watchword of 'repeal' in gaelic than of uttering it in zulu. grattan could hardly have brought himself to believe that the real repeal of the union would actually be signed in london in the strange script as remote as the snaky ornament of the celtic crosses. it would have seemed like washington signing the declaration of independence in the picture-writing of the red indians. ireland has clearly grown away from england; and her language, literature, and type of patriotism are far less english than they were. on the other hand, no one will pretend that the mass of modern englishmen are much nearer to talking gaelic or decorating celtic crosses. a hundred years ago it was perfectly natural that byron and moore should walk down the street arm in arm. even the sight of mr. rudyard kipling and mr. w. b. yeats walking down the street arm in arm would now arouse some remark. i could give any number of other examples of the same new estrangement of nations. i could cite the obvious facts that norway and sweden parted company not very long ago, that austria and hungary have again become separate states. i could point to the mob of new nations that have started up after the war; to the fact that the great empires are now nearly all broken up; that the russian empire no longer directs poland, that the austrian empire no longer directs bohemia, that the turkish empire no longer directs palestine. sinn fein is the separatism of the irish. zionism is the separatism of the jews. but there is one simple and sufficing example, which is here more to my purpose, and is at least equally sufficient for it. and that is the deepening national difference between the americans and the english. let me test it first by my individual experience in the matter of literature. when i was a boy i read a book like _the autocrat of the breakfast-table_ exactly as i read another book like _the book of snobs_. i did not think of it as an american book, but simply as a book. its wit and idiom were like those of the english literary tradition; and its few touches of local colour seemed merely accidental, like those of an englishman who happened to be living in switzerland or sweden. my father and my father's friends were rightly enthusiastic for the book; so that it seemed to come to me by inheritance like _gulliver's travels_ or _tristram shandy_. its language was as english as ruskin, and a great deal more english than carlyle. well, i have seen in later years an almost equally wide and well-merited popularity of the stories of o. henry. but never for one moment could i or any one else reading them forget that they were stories by an american about america. the very first fact about them is that they are told with an american accent, that is, in the unmistakable tones of a brilliant and fascinating foreigner. and the same is true of every other recent work of which the fame has managed to cross the atlantic. we did not say that _the spoon river anthology_ was a new book, but that it was a new book from america. it was exactly as if a remarkable realistic novel was reported from russia or italy. we were in no danger of confusing it with the 'elegy in a country churchyard.' people in england who heard of main street were not likely to identify it with a high street; with the principal thoroughfare in any little town in berkshire or buckinghamshire. but when i was a boy i practically identified the boarding-house of the autocrat with any boarding-house i happened to know in brompton or brighton. no doubt there were differences; but the point is that the differences did not pierce the consciousness or prick the illusion. i said to myself, 'people are like this in boarding-houses,' not 'people are like this in boston.' this can be seen even in the simple matter of language, especially in the sense of slang. take, for instance, the delightful sketch in the causerie of oliver wendell holmes; the character of the young man called john. he is the very modern type in every modern country who does specialise in slang. he is the young fellow who is something in the city; the everyday young man of the gilbertian song, with a stick and a pipe and a half-bred black-and-tan. in every country he is at once witty and commonplace. in every country, therefore, he tends both to the vivacity and the vulgarity of slang. but when he appeared in holmes's book, his language was not very different from what it would have been in a brighton instead of a boston boarding-house; or, in short, if the young man called john had more commonly been called 'arry. if he had appeared in a modern american book, his language would have been almost literally unintelligible. at the least an englishman would have had to read some of the best sentences twice, as he sometimes has to read the dizzy and involved metaphors of o. henry. nor is it an answer that this depended on the personalities of the particular writers. a comparison between the real journalism of the time of holmes and the real journalism of the time of henry reveals the same thing. it is the expansion of a slight difference of style into a luxuriant difference of idiom; and the process continued indefinitely would certainly produce a totally different language. after a few centuries the signatures of american ambassadors would look as fantastic as gaelic, and the very name of the republic be as strange as sinn fein. it is true that there has been on the surface a certain amount of give and take; or at least, as far as the english are concerned, of take rather than give. but it is true that it was once all the other way; and indeed the one thing is something like a just nemesis of the other. indeed, the story of the reversal is somewhat singular, when we come to think of it. it began in a certain atmosphere and spirit of certain well-meaning people who talked about the english-speaking race; and were apparently indifferent to how the english was spoken, whether in the accent of a jamaican negro or a convict from botany bay. it was their logical tendency to say that dante was a dago. it was their logical punishment to say that disraeli was an englishman. now there may have been a period when this anglo-american amalgamation included more or less equal elements from england and america. it never included the larger elements, or the more valuable elements of either. but, on the whole, i think it true to say that it was not an allotment but an interchange of parts; and that things first went all one way and then all the other. people began by telling the americans that they owed all their past triumphs to england; which was false. they ended up by telling the english that they would owe all their future triumphs to america; which is if possible still more false. because we chose to forget that new york had been new amsterdam, we are now in danger of forgetting that london is not new york. because we insisted that chicago was only a pious imitation of chiswick, we may yet see chiswick an inferior imitation of chicago. our anglo-saxon historians attempted that conquest in which howe and burgoyne had failed, and with infinitely less justification on their side. they attempted the great crime of the anglicisation of america. they have called down the punishment of the americanisation of england. we must not murmur; but it is a heavy punishment. it may lift a little of its load, however, if we look at it more closely; we shall then find that though it is very much on top of us, it is only on top. in that sense such americanisation as there is is very superficial. for instance, there is a certain amount of american slang picked up at random; it appears in certain pushing types of journalism and drama. but we may easily dwell too much on this tragedy; of people who have never spoken english beginning to speak american. i am far from suggesting that american, like any other foreign language, may not frequently contribute to the common culture of the world phrases for which there is no substitute; there are french phrases so used in england and english phrases in france. the word 'high-brow,' for instance, is a real discovery and revelation, a new and necessary name for something that walked nameless but enormous in the modern world, a shaft of light and a stroke of lightning. that comes from america and belongs to the world, as much as 'the raven' or _the scarlet letter_ or the novels of henry james belong to the world. in fact, i can imagine henry james originating it in the throes of self-expression, and bringing out a word like 'high-browed,' with a sort of gentle jerk, at the end of searching sentences which groped sensitively until they found the phrase. but most of the american slang that is borrowed seems to be borrowed for no particular reason. it either has no point or the point is lost by translation into another context and culture. it is either something which does not need any grotesque and exaggerative description, or of which there already exists a grotesque and exaggerative description more native to our tongue and soil. for instance, i cannot see that the strong and simple expression 'now it is for you to pull the police magistrate's nose' is in any way strengthened by saying, 'now it is up to you to pull the police magistrate's nose.' when tennyson says of the men of the light brigade 'theirs but to do and die,' the expression seems to me perfectly lucid. 'up to them to do and die' would alter the metre without especially clarifying the meaning. this is an example of ordinary language being quite adequate; but there is a further difficulty that even wild slang comes to sound like ordinary language. very often the english have already as humorous and fanciful idiom of their own, only that through habit it has lost its humour. when keats wrote the line, 'what pipes and timbrels, what wild ecstasy!' i am willing to believe that the american humorist would have expressed the same sentiment by beginning the sentence with 'some pipe!' when that was first said, somewhere in the wilds of colorado, it was really funny; involving a powerful understatement and the suggestion of a mere sample. if a spinster has informed us that she keeps a bird, and we find it is an ostrich, there will be considerable point in the colorado satirist saying inquiringly, 'some bird?' as if he were offering us a small slice of a small plover. but if we go back to this root and rationale of a joke, the english language already contains quite as good a joke. it is not necessary to say, 'some bird'; there is a far finer irony in the old expression, 'something like a bird.' it suggests that the speaker sees something faintly and strangely birdlike about a bird; that it remotely and almost irrationally reminds him of a bird; and that there is about ostrich plumes a yard long something like the faint and delicate traces of a feather. it has every quality of imaginative irony, except that nobody even imagines it to be ironical. all that happens is that people get tired of that turn of phrase, take up a foreign phrase and get tired of that, without realising the point of either. all that happens is that a number of weary people who used to say, 'something like a bird,' now say, 'some bird,' with undiminished weariness. but they might just as well use dull and decent english; for in both cases they are only using jocular language without seeing the joke. there is indeed a considerable trade in the transplantation of these american jokes to england just now. they generally pine and die in our climate, or they are dead before their arrival; but we cannot be certain that they were never alive. there is a sort of unending frieze or scroll of decorative designs unrolled ceaselessly before the british public, about a hen-pecked husband, which is indistinguishable to the eye from an actual self-repeating pattern like that of the greek key, but which is imported as if it were as precious and irreplaceable as the elgin marbles. advertisement and syndication make mountains out of the most funny little mole-hills; but no doubt the mole-hills are picturesque enough in their own landscape. in any case there is nothing so national as humour; and many things, like many people, can be humorous enough when they are at home. but these american jokes are boomed as solemnly as american religions; and their supporters gravely testify that they are funny, without seeing the fun of it for a moment. this is partly perhaps the spirit of spontaneous institutionalism in american democracy, breaking out in the wrong place. they make humour an institution; and a man will be set to tell an anecdote as if to play the violin. but when the story is told in america it really is amusing; and when these jokes are reprinted in england they are often not even intelligible. with all the stupidity of the millionaire and the monopolist, the enterprising proprietor prints jokes in england which are necessarily unintelligible to nearly every english person; jokes referring to domestic and local conditions quite peculiar to america. i saw one of these narrative caricatures the other day in which the whole of the joke (what there was of it) turned on the astonishment of a housewife at the absurd notion of not having an ice-box. it is perfectly true that nearly every ordinary american housewife possesses an ice-box. an ordinary english housewife would no more expect to possess an ice-box than to possess an iceberg. and it would be about as sensible to tow an iceberg to an english port all the way from the north pole, as to trail that one pale and frigid joke to fleet street all the way from the new york papers. it is the same with a hundred other advertisements and adaptations. i have already confessed that i took a considerable delight in the dancing illuminations of broadway--in broadway. everything there is suitable to them, the vast interminable thoroughfare, the toppling houses, the dizzy and restless spirit of the whole city. it is a city of dissolving views, and one may almost say a city in everlasting dissolution. but i do not especially admire a burning fragment of broadway stuck up opposite the old georgian curve of regent street. i would as soon express sympathy with the republic of switzerland by erecting a small alp, with imitation snow, in the middle of st. james's park. but all this commercial copying is very superficial; and above all, it never copies anything that is really worth copying. nations never _learn_ anything from each other in this way. we have many things to learn from america; but we only listen to those americans who have still to learn them. thus, for instance, we do not import the small farm but only the big shop. in other words, we hear nothing of the democracy of the middle west, but everything of the plutocracy of the middleman, who is probably as unpopular in the middle west as the miller in the middle ages. if mr. elihu k. pike could be transplanted bodily from the neighbourhood of his home town of marathon, neb., with his farm and his frame-house and all its fittings, and they could be set down exactly in the spot now occupied by selfridge's (which could be easily cleared away for the purpose), i think we could really get a great deal of good by watching him, even if the watching were inevitably a little too like watching a wild beast in a cage or an insect under a glass case. urban crowds could collect every day behind a barrier or railing, and gaze at mr. pike pottering about all day in his ancient and autochthonous occupations. we could see him growing indian corn with all the gravity of an indian; though it is impossible to imagine mrs. pike blessing the cornfield in the manner of minnehaha. as i have said, there is a certain lack of humane myth and mysticism about this puritan peasantry. but we could see him transforming the maize into pop-corn, which is a very pleasant domestic ritual and pastime, and is the american equivalent of the glory of roasting chestnuts. above all, many of us would learn for the first time that a man can really live and walk about upon something more productive than a pavement; and that when he does so he can really be a free man, and have no lord but the law. instead of that, america can give nothing to london but those multiple modern shops, of which it has too many already. i know that many people entertain the innocent illusion that big shops are more efficient than small ones; but that is only because the big combinations have the monopoly of advertisement as well as trade. the big shop is not in the least remarkable for efficiency; it is only too big to be blamed for its inefficiency. it is secure in its reputation for always sacking the wrong man. a big shop, considered as a place to shop in, is simply a village of small shops roofed in to keep out the light and air; and one in which none of the shopkeepers is really responsible for his shop. if any one has any doubts on this matter, since i have mentioned it, let him consider this fact: that in practice we never do apply this method of commercial combination to anything that matters very much. we do not go to the surgical department of the stores to have a portion of our brain removed by a delicate operation; and then pass on to the advocacy department to employ one or any of its barristers, when we are in temporary danger of being hanged. we go to men who own their own tools and are responsible for the use of their own talents. and the same truth applies to that other modern method of advertisement, which has also so largely fallen across us like the gigantic shadow of america. nations do not arm themselves for a mortal struggle by remembering which sort of submarine they have seen most often on the hoardings. they can do it about something like soap, precisely because a nation will not perish by having a second-rate sort of soap, as it might by having a second-rate sort of submarine. a nation may indeed perish slowly by having a second-rate sort of food or drink or medicine; but that is another and much longer story, and the story is not ended yet. but nobody wins a great battle at a great crisis because somebody has told him that cadgerboy's cavalry is the best. it may be that commercial enterprise will eventually cover these fields also, and advertisement-agents will provide the instruments of the surgeon and the weapons of the soldier. when that happens, the armies will be defeated and the patients will die. but though we modern people are indeed patients, in the sense of being merely receptive and accepting things with astonishing patience, we are not dead yet; and we have lingering gleams of sanity. for the best things do not travel. as i appear here as a traveller, i may say with all modesty that the best people do not travel either. both in england and america the normal people are the national people; and i repeat that i think they are growing more and more national. i do not think the abyss is being bridged by cosmopolitan theories; and i am sure i do not want it bridged by all this slang journalism and blatant advertisement. i have called all that commercial publicity the gigantic shadow of america. it may be the shadow of america, but it is not the light of america. the light lies far beyond, a level light upon the lands of sunset, where it shines upon wide places full of a very simple and a very happy people; and those who would see it must seek for it. _lincoln and lost causes_ it has already been remarked here that the english know a great deal about past american literature, but nothing about past american history. they do not know either, of course, as well as they know the present american advertising, which is the least important of the three. but it is worth noting once more how little they know of the history, and how illogically that little is chosen. they have heard, no doubt, of the fame and the greatness of henry clay. he is a cigar. but it would be unwise to cross-examine any englishman, who may be consuming that luxury at the moment, about the missouri compromise or the controversies with andrew jackson. and just as the statesman of kentucky is a cigar, so the state of virginia is a cigarette. but there is perhaps one exception, or half-exception, to this simple plan. it would perhaps be an exaggeration to say that plymouth rock is a chicken. any english person keeping chickens, and chiefly interested in plymouth rocks considered as chickens, would nevertheless have a hazy sensation of having seen the word somewhere before. he would feel subconsciously that the plymouth rock had not always been a chicken. indeed, the name connotes something not only solid but antiquated; and is not therefore a very tactful name for a chicken. there would rise up before him something memorable in the haze that he calls his history; and he would see the history books of his boyhood and old engravings of men in steeple-crowned hats struggling with sea-waves or red indians. the whole thing would suddenly become clear to him if (by a simple reform) the chickens were called pilgrim fathers. then he would remember all about it. the pilgrim fathers were champions of religious liberty; and they discovered america. it is true that he has also heard of a man called christopher columbus; but that was in connection with an egg. he has also heard of somebody known as sir walter raleigh; and though his principal possession was a cloak, it is also true that he had a potato, not to mention a pipe of tobacco. can it be possible that he brought it from virginia, where the cigarettes come from? gradually the memories will come back and fit themselves together for the average hen-wife who learnt history at the english elementary schools, and who has now something better to do. even when the narrative becomes consecutive, it will not necessarily become correct. it is not strictly true to say that the pilgrim fathers discovered america. but it is quite as true as saying that they were champions of religious liberty. if we said that they were martyrs who would have died heroically in torments rather than tolerate any religious liberty, we should be talking something like sense about them, and telling the real truth that is their due. the whole puritan movement, from the solemn league and covenant to the last stand of the last stuarts, was a struggle _against_ religious toleration, or what they would have called religious indifference. the first religious equality on earth was established by a catholic cavalier in maryland. now there is nothing in this to diminish any dignity that belongs to any real virtues and virilities in the pilgrim fathers; on the contrary, it is rather to the credit of their consistency and conviction. but there is no doubt that the note of their whole experiment in new england was intolerance, and even inquisition. and there is no doubt that new england was then only the newest and not the oldest of these colonial experiments. at least two cavaliers had been in the field before any puritans. and they had carried with them much more of the atmosphere and nature of the normal englishman than any puritan could possibly carry. they had established it especially in virginia, which had been founded by a great elizabethan and named after the great elizabeth. before there was any new england in the north, there was something very like old england in the south. relatively speaking, there is still. whenever the anniversary of the _mayflower_ comes round, there is a chorus of anglo-american congratulation and comradeship, as if this at least were a matter on which all can agree. but i knew enough about america, even before i went there, to know that there are a good many people there at any rate who do not agree with it. long ago i wrote a protest in which i asked why englishmen had forgotten the great state of virginia, the first in foundation and long the first in leadership; and why a few crabbed nonconformists should have the right to erase a record that begins with raleigh and ends with lee, and incidentally includes washington. the great state of virginia was the backbone of america until it was broken in the civil war. from virginia came the first great presidents and most of the fathers of the republic. its adherence to the southern side in the war made it a great war, and for a long time a doubtful war. and in the leader of the southern armies it produced what is perhaps the one modern figure that may come to shine like st. louis in the lost battle, or hector dying before holy troy. again, it is characteristic that while the modern english know nothing about lee they do know something about lincoln; and nearly all that they know is wrong. they know nothing of his southern connections, nothing of his considerable southern sympathy, nothing of the meaning of his moderation in face of the problem of slavery, now lightly treated as self-evident. above all, they know nothing about the respect in which lincoln was quite un-english, was indeed the very reverse of english; and can be understood better if we think of him as a frenchman, since it seems so hard for some of us to believe that he was an american. i mean his lust for logic for its own sake, and the way he kept mathematical truths in his mind like the fixed stars. he was so far from being a merely practical man, impatient of academic abstractions, that he reviewed and revelled in academic abstractions, even while he could not apply them to practical life. he loved to repeat that slavery was intolerable while he tolerated it, and to prove that something ought to be done while it was impossible to do it. this was probably very bewildering to his brother-politicians; for politicians always whitewash what they do not destroy. but for all that this inconsistent consistency beat the politicians at their own game, and this abstracted logic proved the most practical of all. for when the chance did come to do something, there was no doubt about the thing to be done. the thunderbolt fell from the clear heights of heaven; it had not been tossed about and lost like a common missile in the market-place. the matter is worth mentioning, because it has a moral for a much larger modern question. a wise man's attitude towards industrial capitalism will be very like lincoln's attitude towards slavery. that is, he will manage to endure capitalism; but he will not endure a defence of capitalism. he will recognise the value, not only of knowing what he is doing, but of knowing what he would like to do. he will recognise the importance of having a thing clearly labelled in his own mind as bad, long before the opportunity comes to abolish it. he may recognise the risk of even worse things in immediate abolition, as lincoln did in abolitionism. he will not call all business men brutes, any more than lincoln would call all planters demons; because he knows they are not. he will regard many alternatives to capitalism as crude and inhuman, as lincoln regarded john brown's raid; because they are. but he will clear his _mind_ from cant about capitalism; he will have no doubt of what is the truth about trusts and trade combines and the concentration of capital; and it is the truth that they endure under one of the ironic silences of heaven, over the pageants and the passing triumphs of hell. but the name of lincoln has a more immediate reference to the international matters i am considering here. his name has been much invoked by english politicians and journalists in connection with the quarrel with ireland. and if we study the matter, we shall hardly admire the tact and sagacity of those journalists and politicians. history is an eternal tangle of cross-purposes; and we could not take a clearer case, or rather a more complicated case, of such a tangle, than the facts lying behind a political parallel recently mentioned by many politicians. i mean the parallel between the movement for irish independence and the attempted secession of the southern confederacy in america. superficially any one might say that the comparison is natural enough; and that there is much in common between the quarrel of the north and south in ireland and the quarrel of the north and south in america. in both cases the south was on the whole agricultural, the north on the whole industrial. true, the parallel exaggerates the position of belfast; to complete it we must suppose the whole federal system to have consisted of pittsburg. in both the side that was more successful was felt by many to be less attractive. in both the same political terms were used, such as the term 'union' and 'unionism.' an ordinary englishman comes to america, knowing these main lines of american history, and knowing that the american knows the similar main lines of irish history. he knows that there are strong champions of ireland in america; possibly he also knows that there are very genuine champions of england in america. by every possible historical analogy, he would naturally expect to find the pro-irish in the south and the pro-english in the north. as a matter of fact, he finds almost exactly the opposite. he finds boston governed by irishmen, and nashville containing people more pro-english than englishmen. he finds virginians not only of british blood, like george washington, but of british opinions almost worthy of george the third. but i do not say this, as will be seen in a moment, as a criticism of the comparative toryism of the south. i say it as a criticism of the superlative stupidity of english propaganda. on another page i remark on the need for a new sort of english propaganda; a propaganda that should be really english and have some remote reference to england. now if it were a matter of making foreigners feel the real humours and humanities of england, there are no americans so able or willing to do it as the americans of the southern states. as i have already hinted, some of them are so loyal to the english humanities, that they think it their duty to defend even the english inhumanities. new england is turning into new ireland. but old england can still be faintly traced in old dixie. it contains some of the best things that england herself has had, and therefore (of course) the things that england herself has lost, or is trying to lose. but above all, as i have said, there are people in these places whose historic memories and family traditions really hold them to us, not by alliance but by affection. indeed, they have the affection in spite of the alliance. they love us in spite of our compliments and courtesies and hands across the sea; all our ambassadorial salutations and speeches cannot kill their love. they manage even to respect us in spite of the shady jew stockbrokers we send them as english envoys, or the 'efficient' men, who are sent out to be tactful with foreigners because they have been too tactless with trades unionists. this type of traditional american, north or south, really has some traditions connecting him with england; and though he is now in a very small minority, i cannot imagine why england should wish to make it smaller. england once sympathised with the south. the south still sympathises with england. it would seem that the south, or some elements in the south, had rather the advantage of us in political firmness and fidelity; but it does not follow that that fidelity will stand every shock. and at this moment, and in this matter, of all things in the world, our political propagandists must try to bolster british imperialism up, by kicking southern secession when it is down. the english politicians eagerly point out that we shall be justified in crushing ireland exactly as sumner and stevens crushed the most english part of america. it does not seem to occur to them that this comparison between the unionist triumph in america and a unionist triumph in britain is rather hard upon our particular sympathisers, who did not triumph. when england exults in lincoln's victory over his foes, she is exulting in his victory over her own friends. if her diplomacy continues as delicate and chivalrous as it is at present, they may soon be her only friends. england will be defending herself at the expense of her only defenders. but however this may be, it is as well to bear witness to some of the elements of my own experience; and i can answer for it, at least, that there are some people in the south who will not be pleased at being swept into the rubbish heap of history as rebels and ruffians; and who will not, i regret to say, by any means enjoy even being classed with fenians and sinn feiners. now touching the actual comparison between the conquest of the confederacy and the conquest of ireland, there are, of course, a good many things to be said which politicians cannot be expected to understand. strange to say, it is not certain that a lost cause was never worth winning; and it would be easy to argue that the world lost very much indeed when that particular cause was lost. these are not days in which it is exactly obvious that an agricultural society was more dangerous than an industrial one. and even southern slavery had this one moral merit, that it was decadent; it has this one historic advantage, that it is dead. the northern slavery, industrial slavery, or what is called wage slavery, is not decaying but increasing; and the end of it is not yet. but in any case, it would be well for us to realise that the reproach of resembling the confederacy does not ring in all ears as an unanswerable condemnation. it is scarcely a self-evident or sufficient argument, to some hearers, even to prove that the english are as delicate and philanthropic as sherman, still less that the irish are as criminal and lawless as lee. nor will it soothe every single soul on the american continent to say that the english victory in ireland will be followed by a reconstruction, like the reconstruction exhibited in the film called 'the birth of a nation.' and, indeed, there is a further inference from that fine panorama of the exploits of the ku-klux klan. it would be easy, as i say, to turn the argument entirely in favour of the confederacy. it would be easy to draw the moral, not that the southern irish are as wrong as the southern states, but that the southern states were as right as the southern irish. but upon the whole, i do not incline to accept the parallel in that sense any more than in the opposite sense. for reasons i have already given elsewhere, i do believe that in the main abraham lincoln was right. but right in what? if lincoln was right, he was right in guessing that there was not really a northern nation and a southern nation, but only one american nation. and if he has been proved right, he has been proved right by the fact that men in the south, as well as the north, do now feel a patriotism for that american nation. his wisdom, if it really was wisdom, was justified not by his opponents being conquered, but by their being converted. now, if the english politicians must insist on this parallel, they ought to see that the parallel is fatal to themselves. the very test which proved lincoln right has proved them wrong. the very judgment which may have justified him quite unquestionably condemns them. we have again and again conquered ireland, and have never come an inch nearer to converting ireland. we have had not one gettysburg, but twenty gettysburgs; but we have had no union. and that is where, as i have remarked, it is relevant to remember that flying fantastic vision on the films that told so many people what no histories have told them. i heard when i was in america rumours of the local reappearance of the ku-klux klan; but the smallness and mildness of the manifestation, as compared with the old southern or the new irish case, is alone a sufficient example of the exception that proves the rule. to approximate to any resemblance to recent irish events, we must imagine the ku-klux klan riding again in more than the terrors of that vision, wild as the wind, white as the moon, terrible as an army with banners. if there were really such a revival of the southern action, there would equally be a revival of the southern argument. it would be clear that lee was right and lincoln was wrong; that the southern states were national and were as indestructible as nations. if the south were as rebellious as ireland, the north would be as wrong as england. but i desire a new english diplomacy that will exhibit, not the things in which england is wrong but the things in which england is right. and england is right in england, just as she is wrong in ireland; and it is exactly that rightness of a real nation in itself that it is at once most difficult and most desirable to explain to foreigners. now the irishman, and to some extent the american, has remained alien to england, largely because he does not truly realise that the englishman loves england, still less can he really imagine why the englishman loves england. that is why i insist on the stupidity of ignoring and insulting the opinions of those few virginians and other southerners who really have some inherited notion of why englishmen love england; and even love it in something of the same fashion themselves. politicians who do not know the english spirit when they see it at home, cannot of course be expected to recognise it abroad. publicists are eloquently praising abraham lincoln, for all the wrong reasons; but fundamentally for that worst and vilest of all reasons--that he succeeded. none of them seems to have the least notion of how to look for england in england; and they would see something fantastic in the figure of a traveller who found it elsewhere, or anywhere but in new england. and it is well, perhaps, that they have not yet found england where it is hidden in england; for if they found it, they would kill it. all i am concerned to consider here is the inevitable failure of this sort of anglo-american propaganda to create a friendship. to praise lincoln as an englishman is about as appropriate as if we were praising lincoln as an english town. we are talking about something totally different. and indeed the whole conversation is rather like some such cross-purposes about some such word as 'lincoln'; in which one party should be talking about the president and the other about the cathedral. it is like some wild bewilderment in a farce, with one man wondering how a president could have a church-spire, and the other wondering how a church could have a chin-beard. and the moral is the moral on which i would insist everywhere in this book; that the remedy is to be found in disentangling the two and not in entangling them further. you could not produce a democrat of the logical type of lincoln merely out of the moral materials that now make up an english cathedral town, like that on which old tom of lincoln looks down. but on the other hand, it is quite certain that a hundred abraham lincolns, working for a hundred years, could not build lincoln cathedral. and the farcical allegory of an attempt to make old tom and old abe embrace to the glory of the illogical anglo-saxon language is but a symbol of something that is always being attempted, and always attempted in vain. it is not by mutual imitation that the understanding can come. it is not by erecting new york sky-scrapers in london that new york can learn the sacred significance of the towers of lincoln. it is not by english dukes importing the daughters of american millionaires that england can get any glimpse of the democratic dignity of american men. i have the best of all reasons for knowing that a stranger can be welcomed in america; and just as he is courteously treated in the country as a stranger, so he should always be careful to treat it as a strange land. that sort of imaginative respect, as for something different and even distant, is the only beginning of any attachment between patriotic peoples. the english traveller may carry with him at least one word of his own great language and literature; and whenever he is inclined to say of anything 'this is passing strange,' he may remember that it was no inconsiderable englishman who appended to it the answer, 'and therefore as a stranger give it welcome.' _wells and the world state_ there was recently a highly distinguished gathering to celebrate the past, present, and especially future triumphs of aviation. some of the most brilliant men of the age, such as mr. h. g. wells and mr. j. l. garvin, made interesting and important speeches, and many scientific aviators luminously discussed the new science. among their graceful felicitations and grave and quiet analyses a word was said, or a note was struck, which i myself can never hear, even in the most harmless after-dinner speech, without an impulse to leap up and yell, and smash the decanters and wreck the dinner-table. long ago, when i was a boy, i heard it with fury; and never since have i been able to understand any free man hearing it without fury. i heard it when bloch, and the old prophets of pacifism by panic, preached that war would become too horrible for patriots to endure. it sounded to me like saying that an instrument of torture was being prepared by my dentist, that would finally cure me of loving my dog. and i felt it again when all these wise and well-meaning persons began to talk about the inevitable effect of aviation in bridging the atlantic, and establishing alliance and affection between england and america. i resent the suggestion that a machine can make me bad. but i resent quite equally the suggestion that a machine can make me good. it might be the unfortunate fact that a coolness had arisen between myself and mr. fitzarlington blenkinsop, inhabiting the suburban villa and garden next to mine; and i might even be largely to blame for it. but if somebody told me that a new kind of lawn-mower had just been invented, of so cunning a structure that i should be forced to become a bosom-friend of mr. blenkinsop whether i liked it or not, i should be very much annoyed. i should be moved to say that if that was the only way of cutting my grass i would not cut my grass, but continue to cut my neighbour. or suppose the difference were even less defensible; suppose a man had suffered from a trifling shindy with his wife. and suppose somebody told him that the introduction of an entirely new vacuum-cleaner would compel him to a reluctant reconciliation with his wife. it would be found, i fancy, that human nature abhors that vacuum. reasonably spirited human beings will not be ordered about by bicycles and sewing-machines; and a sane man will not be made good, let alone bad, by the things he has himself made. i have occasionally dictated to a typewriter, but i will not be dictated to by a typewriter, even of the newest and most complicated mechanism; nor have i ever met a typewriter, however complex, that attempted such a tyranny. yet this and nothing else is what is implied in all such talk of the aeroplane annihilating distinctions as well as distances; and an international aviation abolishing nationalities. this and nothing else was really implied in one speaker's prediction that such aviation will almost necessitate an anglo-american friendship. incidentally, i may remark, it is not a true suggestion even in the practical and materialistic sense; and the speaker's phrase refuted the speaker's argument. he said that international relations must be more friendly when men can get from england to america in a day. well, men can already get from england to germany in a day; and the result was a mutual invitation of which the formalities lasted for five years. men could get from the coast of england to the coast of france very quickly, through nearly all the ages during which those two coasts were bristling with arms against each other. they could get there very quickly when nelson went down by that burford inn to embark for trafalgar; they could get there very quickly when napoleon sat in his tent in that camp at boulogne that filled england with alarums of invasion. are these the amiable and pacific relations which will unite england and america, when englishmen can get to america in a day? the shortening of the distance seems quite as likely, so far as that argument goes, to facilitate that endless guerilla warfare which raged across the narrow seas in the middle ages; when french invaders carried away the bells of rye, and the men of those flats of east sussex gloriously pursued and recovered them. i do not know whether american privateers, landing at liverpool, would carry away a few of the more elegant factory chimneys as a substitute for the superstitious symbols of the past. i know not if the english, on ripe reflection, would essay with any enthusiasm to get them back. but anyhow it is anything but self-evident that people cannot fight each other because they are near to each other; and if it were true, there would never have been any such thing as border warfare in the world. as a fact, border warfare has often been the one sort of warfare which it was most difficult to bring under control. and our own traditional position in face of this new logic is somewhat disconcerting. we have always supposed ourselves safer because we were insular and therefore isolated. we have been congratulating ourselves for centuries on having enjoyed peace because we were cut off from our neighbours. and now they are telling us that we shall only enjoy peace when we are joined up with our neighbours. we have pitied the poor nations with frontiers, because a frontier only produces fighting; and now we are trusting to a frontier as the only thing that will produce friendship. but, as a matter of fact, and for a far deeper and more spiritual reason, a frontier will not produce friendship. only friendliness produces friendship. and we must look far deeper into the soul of man for the thing that produces friendliness. but apart from this fallacy about the facts, i feel, as i say, a strong abstract anger against the idea, or what some would call the ideal. if it were true that men could be taught and tamed by machines, even if they were taught wisdom or tamed to amiability, i should think it the most tragic truth in the world. a man so improved would be, in an exceedingly ugly sense, losing his soul to save it. but in truth he cannot be so completely coerced into good; and in so far as he is incompletely coerced, he is quite as likely to be coerced into evil. of the financial characters who figure as philanthropists and philosophers in such cases, it is strictly true to say that their good is evil. the light in their bodies is darkness, and the highest objects of such men are the lowest objects of ordinary men. their peace is mere safety, their friendship is mere trade; their international friendship is mere international trade. the best we can say of that school of capitalism is that it will be unsuccessful. it has every other vice, but it is not practical. it has at least the impossibility of idealism; and so far as remoteness can carry it, that inferno is indeed a utopia. all the visible manifestations of these men are materialistic; but at least their visions will not materialise. the worst we suffer; but the best we shall at any rate escape. we may continue to endure the realities of cosmopolitan capitalism; but we shall be spared its ideals. but i am not primarily interested in the plutocrats whose vision takes so vulgar a form. i am interested in the same thing when it takes a far more subtle form, in men of genius and genuine social enthusiasm like mr. h. g. wells. it would be very unfair to a man like mr. wells to suggest that in his vision the englishman and the american are to embrace only in the sense of clinging to each other in terror. he is a man who understands what friendship is, and who knows how to enjoy the motley humours of humanity. but the political reconstruction which he proposes is too much determined by this old nightmare of necessitarianism. he tells us that our national dignities and differences must be melted into the huge mould of a world state, or else (and i think these are almost his own words) we shall be destroyed by the instruments and machinery we have ourselves made. in effect, men must abandon patriotism or they will be murdered by science. after this, surely no one can accuse mr. wells of an undue tenderness for scientific over other types of training. greek may be a good thing or no; but nobody says that if greek scholarship is carried past a certain point, everybody will be torn in pieces like orpheus, or burned up like semele, or poisoned like socrates. philosophy, theology and logic may or may not be idle academic studies; but nobody supposes that the study of philosophy, or even of theology, ultimately forces its students to manufacture racks and thumb-screws against their will; or that even logicians need be so alarmingly logical as all that. science seems to be the only branch of study in which people have to be waved back from perfection as from a pestilence. but my business is not with the scientific dangers which alarm mr. wells, but with the remedy he proposes for them; or rather with the relation of that remedy to the foundation and the future of america. now it is not too much to say that mr. wells finds his model in america. the world state is to be the united states of the world. he answers almost all objections to the practicability of such a peace among states, by pointing out that the american states have such a peace, and by adding, truly enough, that another turn of history might easily have seen them broken up by war. the pattern of the world state is to be found in the new world. oddly enough, as it seems to me, he proposes almost cosmic conquests for the american constitution, while leaving out the most successful thing in that constitution. the point appeared in answer to a question which many, like myself, must have put in this matter; the question of despotism and democracy. i cannot understand any democrat not seeing the danger of so distant and indirect a system of government. it is hard enough anywhere to get representatives to represent. it is hard enough to get a little town council to fulfil the wishes of a little town, even when the townsmen meet the town councillors every day in the street, and could kick them down the street if they liked. what the same town councillors would be like if they were ruling all their fellow-creatures from the north pole or the new jerusalem, is a vision of oriental despotism beyond the towering fancies of tamberlane. this difficulty in all representative government is felt everywhere, and not least in america. but i think that if there is one truth apparent in such a choice of evils, it is that monarchy is at least better than oligarchy; and that where we have to act on a large scale, the most genuine popularity can gather round a particular person like a pope or a president of the united states, or even a dictator like caesar or napoleon, rather than round a more or less corrupt committee which can only be defined as an obscure oligarchy. and in that sense any oligarchy is obscure. for people to continue to trust twenty-seven men it is necessary, as a preliminary formality, that people should have heard of them. and there are no twenty-seven men of whom everybody has heard as everybody in france had heard of napoleon, as all catholics have heard of the pope or all americans have heard of the president. i think the mass of ordinary americans do really elect their president; and even where they cannot control him at least they watch him, and in the long run they judge him. i think, therefore, that the american constitution has a real popular institution in the presidency. but mr. wells would appear to want the american constitution without the presidency. if i understand his words rightly, he seems to want the great democracy without its popular institution. alluding to this danger, that the world state might be a world tyranny, he seems to take tyranny entirely in the sense of autocracy. he asks whether the president of the world state would not be rather too tremendous a person, and seems to suggest in answer that there need not even be any such person. he seems to imply that the committee controlling the planet could meet almost without any one in the chair, certainly without any one on the throne. i cannot imagine anything more manifestly made to be a tyranny than such an acephalous aristocracy. but while mr. wells's decision seems to me strange, his reason for it seems to me still more extraordinary. he suggests that no such dictator will be needed in his world state because 'there will be no wars and no diplomacy.' a world state ought doubtless to go round the world; and going round the world seems to be a good training for arguing in a circle. obviously there will be no wars and no war-diplomacy if something has the power to prevent them; and we cannot deduce that the something will not want any power. it is rather as if somebody, urging that the germans could only be defeated by uniting the allied commands under marshal foch, had said that after all it need not offend the british generals because the french supremacy need only be a fiction, the germans being defeated. we should naturally say that the german defeat would only be a reality because the allied command was not a fiction. so the universal peace would only be a reality if the world state were not a fiction. and it could not be even a state if it were not a government. this argument amounts to saying, first that the world state will be needed because it is strong, and then that it may safely be weak because it will not be needed. internationalism is in any case hostile to democracy. i do not say it is incompatible with it; but any combination of the two will be a compromise between the two. the only purely popular government is local, and founded on local knowledge. the citizens can rule the city because they know the city; but it will always be an exceptional sort of citizen who has or claims the right to rule over ten cities, and these remote and altogether alien cities. all irishmen may know roughly the same sort of things about ireland; but it is absurd to say they all know the same things about iceland, when they may include a scholar steeped in icelandic sagas or a sailor who has been to iceland. to make all politics cosmopolitan is to create an aristocracy of globe-trotters. if your political outlook really takes in the cannibal islands, you depend of necessity upon a superior and picked minority of the people who have been to the cannibal islands; or rather of the still smaller and more select minority who have come back. given this difficulty about quite direct democracy over large areas, i think the nearest thing to democracy is despotism. at any rate i think it is some sort of more or less independent monarchy, such as andrew jackson created in america. and i believe it is true to say that the two men whom the modern world really and almost reluctantly regards with impersonal respect, as clothed by their office with something historic and honourable, are the pope and the president of the united states. but to admire the united states as the united states is one thing. to admire them as the world state is quite another. the attempt of mr. wells to make america a sort of model for the federation of all the free nations of the earth, though it is international in intention, is really as narrowly national, in the bad sense, as the desire of mr. kipling to cover the world with british imperialism, or of professor treitschke to cover it with prussian pan-germanism. not being schoolboys, we no longer believe that everything can be settled by painting the map red. nor do i believe it can be done by painting it blue with white spots, even if they are called stars. the insufficiency of british imperialism does not lie in the fact that it has always been applied by force of arms. as a matter of fact, it has not. it has been effected largely by commerce, by colonisation of comparatively empty places, by geographical discovery and diplomatic bargain. whether it be regarded as praise or blame, it is certainly the truth that among all the things that have called themselves empires, the british has been perhaps the least purely military, and has least both of the special guilt and the special glory that goes with militarism. the insufficiency of british imperialism is not that it is imperial, let alone military. the insufficiency of british imperialism is that it is british; when it is not merely jewish. it is that just as a man is no more than a man, so a nation is no more than a nation; and any nation is inadequate as an international model. any state looks small when it occupies the whole earth. any polity is narrow as soon as it is as wide as the world. it would be just the same if ireland began to paint the map green or montenegro were to paint it black. the objection to spreading anything all over the world is that, among other things, you have to spread it very thin. but america, which mr. wells takes as a model, is in another sense rather a warning. mr. wells says very truly that there was a moment in history when america might well have broken up into independent states like those of europe. he seems to take it for granted that it was in all respects an advantage that this was avoided. yet there is surely a case, however mildly we put it, for a certain importance in the world still attaching to europe. there are some who find france as interesting as florida; and who think they can learn as much about history and humanity in the marble cities of the mediterranean as in the wooden towns of the middle west. europe may have been divided, but it was certainly not destroyed; nor has its peculiar position in the culture of the world been destroyed. nothing has yet appeared capable of completely eclipsing it, either in its extension in america or its imitation in japan. but the immediate point here is perhaps a more important one. there is now no creed accepted as embodying the common sense of all europe, as the catholic creed was accepted as embodying it in mediaeval times. there is no culture broadly superior to all others, as the mediterranean culture was superior to that of the barbarians in roman times. if europe were united in modern times, it would probably be by the victory of one of its types over others, possibly over all the others. and when america was united finally in the nineteenth century, it _was_ by the victory of one of its types over others. it is not yet certain that this victory was a good thing. it is not yet certain that the world will be better for the triumph of the north over the southern traditions of america. it may yet turn out to be as unfortunate as a triumph of the north germans over the southern traditions of germany and of europe. the men who will not face this fact are men whose minds are not free. they are more crushed by progress than any pietists by providence. they are not allowed to question that whatever has recently happened was all for the best. now progress is providence without god. that is, it is a theory that everything has always perpetually gone right by accident. it is a sort of atheistic optimism, based on an everlasting coincidence far more miraculous than a miracle. if there be no purpose, or if the purpose permits of human free will, then in either case it is almost insanely unlikely that there should be in history a period of steady and uninterrupted progress; or in other words a period in which poor bewildered humanity moves amid a chaos of complications, without making a single mistake. what has to be hammered into the heads of most normal newspaper-readers to-day is that man has made a great many mistakes. modern man has made a great many mistakes. indeed, in the case of that progressive and pioneering character, one is sometimes tempted to say that he has made nothing but mistakes. calvinism was a mistake, and capitalism was a mistake, and teutonism and the flattery of the northern tribes were mistakes. in the french the persecution of catholicism by the politicians was a mistake, as they found out in the great war; when the memory gave irish or italian catholics an excuse for hanging back. in england the loss of agriculture and therefore of food-supply in war, and the power to stand a siege, was a mistake. and in america the introduction of the negroes was a mistake; but it may yet be found that the sacrifice of the southern white man to them was even more of a mistake. the reason of this doubt is in one word. we have not yet seen the end of the whole industrial experiment; and there are already signs of it coming to a bad end. it may end in bolshevism. it is more likely to end in the servile state. indeed, the two things are not so different as some suppose, and they grow less different every day. the bolshevists have already called in capitalists to help them to crush the free peasants. the capitalists are quite likely to call in labour leaders to whitewash their compromise as social reform or even socialism. the cosmopolitan jews who are the communists in the east will not find it so very hard to make a bargain with the cosmopolitan jews who are capitalists in the west. the western jews would be willing to admit a nominal socialism. the eastern jews have already admitted that their socialism is nominal. it was the bolshevist leader himself who said, 'russia is again a capitalist country.' but whoever makes the bargain, and whatever is its precise character, the substance of it will be servile. it will be servile in the only rational and reliable sense; that is, an arrangement by which a mass of men are ensured shelter and livelihood, in return for being subjected to a law which obliges them to continue to labour. of course it will not be called the servile state; it is very probable that it will be called the socialist state. but nobody seems to realise how very near all the industrial countries are to it. at any moment it may appear in the simple form of compulsory arbitration; for compulsory arbitration dealing with private employers is by definition slavery. when workmen receive unemployment pay, and at the same time arouse more and more irritation by going on strike, it may seem very natural to give them the unemployment pay for good and forbid them the strike for good; and the combination of those two things is by definition slavery. and trotsky can beat any trust magnate as a strike-breaker; for he does not even pretend that his compulsory labour is a free bargain. if trotsky and the trust magnate come to a working compromise, that compromise will be a servile state. but it will also be the supreme and by far the most constructive and conclusive result of the industrial movement in history; of the power of machinery or money; of the huge populations of the modern cities; of scientific inventions and resources; of all the things before which the agricultural society of the southern confederacy went down. but even those who cannot see that commercialism may end in the triumph of slavery can see that the northern victory has to a great extent ended in the triumph of commercialism. and the point at the moment is that this did definitely mean, even at the time, the triumph of one american type over another american type; just as much as any european war might mean the triumph of one european type over another. a victory of england over france would be a victory of merchants over peasants; and the victory of northerners over southerners was a victory of merchants over squires. so that that very unity, which mr. wells contrasts so favourably with war, was not only itself due to a war, but to a war which had one of the most questionable and even perilous of the results of war. that result was a change in the balance of power, the predominance of a particular partner, the exaltation of a particular example, the eclipse of excellent traditions when the defeated lost their international influence. in short, it made exactly the same sort of difference of which we speak when we say that was a disaster to europe, or that it was necessary to fight prussia lest she should prussianise the whole world. america would have been very different if the leadership had remained with virginia. the world would have been very different if america had been very different. it is quite reasonable to rejoice that the issue went as it did; indeed, as i have explained elsewhere, for other reasons i do on the whole rejoice in it. but it is certainly not self-evident that it is a matter for rejoicing. one type of american state conquered and subjugated another type of american state; and the virtues and value of the latter were very largely lost to the world. so if mr. wells insists on the parallel of a united states of europe, he must accept the parallel of a civil war of europe. he must suppose that the peasant countries crush the industrial countries or vice versa; and that one or other of them becomes the european tradition to the neglect of the other. the situation which seems to satisfy him so completely in america is, after all, the situation which would result in europe if the germanic empires, let us say, had entirely arrested the special development of the slavs; or if the influence of france had really broken off short under a blow from britain. the old south had qualities of humane civilisation which have not sufficiently survived; or at any rate have not sufficiently spread. it is true that the decline of the agricultural south has been considerably balanced by the growth of the agricultural west. it is true, as i have occasion to emphasise in another place, that the west does give the new america something that is nearly a normal peasantry, as a pendant to the industrial towns. but this is not an answer; it is rather an augmentation of the argument. in so far as america is saved it is saved by being patchy; and would be ruined if the western patch had the same fate as the southern patch. when all is said, therefore, the advantages of american unification are not so certain that we can apply them to a world unification. the doubt could be expressed in a great many ways and by a great many examples. for that matter, it is already being felt that the supremacy of the middle west in politics is inflicting upon other localities exactly the sort of local injustice that turns provinces into nations struggling to be free. it has already inflicted what amounts to religious persecution, or the imposition of an alien morality, on the wine-growing civilisation of california. in a word, the american system is a good one as governments go; but it is too large, and the world will not be improved by making it larger. and for this reason alone i should reject this second method of uniting england and america; which is not only americanising england, but americanising everything else. but the essential reason is that a type of culture came out on top in america and england in the nineteenth century, which cannot and would not be tolerated on top of the world. to unite all the systems at the top, without improving and simplifying their social organisation below, would be to tie all the tops of the trees together where they rise above a dense and poisonous jungle, and make the jungle darker than before. to create such a cosmopolitan political platform would be to build a roof above our own heads to shut out the sunlight, on which only usurers and conspirators clad in gold could walk about in the sun. this is no moment when industrial intellectualism can inflict such an artificial oppression upon the world. industrialism itself is coming to see dark days, and its future is very doubtful. it is split from end to end with strikes and struggles for economic life, in which the poor not only plead that they are starving, but even the rich can only plead that they are bankrupt. the peasantries are growing not only more prosperous but more politically effective; the russian moujik has held up the bolshevist government of moscow and petersburg; a huge concession has been made by england to ireland; the league of nations has decided for poland against prussia. it is not certain that industrialism will not wither even in its own field; it is certain that its intellectual ideas will not be allowed to cover every field; and this sort of cosmopolitan culture is one of its ideas. industrialism itself may perish; or on the other hand industrialism itself may survive, by some searching and scientific reform that will really guarantee economic security to all. it may really purge itself of the accidental maladies of anarchy and famine; and continue as a machine, but at least as a comparatively clean and humanely shielded machine; at any rate no longer as a man-eating machine. capitalism may clear itself of its worst corruptions by such reform as is open to it; by creating humane and healthy conditions for labour, and setting the labouring classes to work under a lucid and recognised law. it may make pittsburg one vast model factory for all who will model themselves upon factories; and may give to all men and women in its employment a clear social status in which they can be contented and secure. and on the day when that social security is established for the masses, when industrial capitalism has achieved this larger and more logical organisation and found peace at last, a strange and shadowy and ironic triumph, like an abstract apology, will surely hover over all those graves in the wilderness where lay the bones of so many gallant gentlemen; men who had also from their youth known and upheld such a social stratification, who had the courage to call a spade a spade and a slave a slave. _a new martin chuzzlewit_ the aim of this book, if it has one, is to suggest this thesis; that the very worst way of helping anglo-american friendship is to be an anglo-american. there is only one thing lower, of course, which is being an anglo-saxon. it is lower, because at least englishmen do exist and americans do exist; and it may be possible, though repulsive, to imagine an american and an englishman in some way blended together. but if angles and saxons ever did exist, they are all fortunately dead now; and the wildest imagination cannot form the weakest idea of what sort of monster would be made by mixing one with the other. but my thesis is that the whole hope, and the only hope, lies not in mixing two things together, but rather in cutting them very sharply asunder. that is the only way in which two things can succeed sufficiently in getting outside each other to appreciate and admire each other. so long as they are different and yet supposed to be the same, there can be nothing but a divided mind and a staggering balance. it may be that in the first twilight of time man and woman walked about as one quadruped. but if they did, i am sure it was a quadruped that reared and bucked and kicked up its heels. then the flaming sword of some angel divided them, and they fell in love with each other. should the reader require an example a little more within historical range, or a little more subject to critical tests, than the above prehistoric anecdote (which i need not say was revealed to me in a vision) it would be easy enough to supply them both in a hypothetical and a historical form. it is obvious enough in a general way that if we begin to subject diverse countries to an identical test, there will not only be rivalry, but what is far more deadly and disastrous, superiority. if we institute a competition between holland and switzerland as to the relative grace and agility of their mountain guides, it will be clear that the decision is disproportionately easy; it will also be clear that certain facts about the configuration of holland have escaped our international eye. if we establish a comparison between them in skill and industry in the art of building dykes against the sea, it will be equally clear that the injustice falls the other way; it will also be clear that the situation of switzerland on the map has received insufficient study. in both cases there will not only be rivalry but very unbalanced and unjust rivalry; in both cases, therefore, there will not only be enmity but very bitter or insolent enmity. but so long as the two are sharply divided there can be no enmity because there can be no rivalry. nobody can argue about whether the swiss climb mountains better than the dutch build dykes; just as nobody can argue about whether a triangle is more triangular than a circle is round. this fancy example is alphabetically and indeed artificially simple; but, having used it for convenience, i could easily give similar examples not of fancy but of fact. i had occasion recently to attend the christmas festivity of a club in london for the exiles of one of the scandinavian nations. when i entered the room the first thing that struck my eye, and greatly raised my spirits, was that the room was dotted with the colours of peasant costumes and the specimens of peasant craftsmanship. there were, of course, other costumes and other crafts in evidence; there were men dressed like myself (only better) in the garb of the modern middle classes; there was furniture like the furniture of any other room in london. now, according to the ideal formula of the ordinary internationalist, these things that we had in common ought to have moved me to a sense of the kinship of all civilisation. i ought to have felt that as the scandinavian gentleman wore a collar and tie, and i also wore a collar and tie, we were brothers and nothing could come between us. i ought to have felt that we were standing for the same principles of truth because we were wearing the same pair of trousers; or rather, to speak with more precision, similar pairs of trousers. anyhow, the pair of trousers, that cloven pennon, ought to have floated in fancy over my head as the banner of europe or the league of nations. i am constrained to confess that no such rush of emotions overcame me; and the topic of trousers did not float across my mind at all. so far as those things were concerned, i might have remained in a mood of mortal enmity, and cheerfully shot or stabbed the best dressed gentleman in the room. precisely what did warm my heart with an abrupt affection for that northern nation was the very thing that is utterly and indeed lamentably lacking in my own nation. it was something corresponding to the one great gap in english history, corresponding to the one great blot on english civilisation. it was the spiritual presence of a peasantry, dressed according to its own dignity, and expressing itself by its own creations. the sketch of america left by charles dickens is generally regarded as something which is either to be used as a taunt or covered with an apology. doubtless it was unduly critical, even of the america of that day; yet curiously enough it may well be the text for a true reconciliation at the present day. it is true that in this, as in other things, the dickensian exaggeration is itself exaggerated. it is also true that, while it is over-emphasised, it is not allowed for. dickens tended too much to describe the united states as a vast lunatic asylum; but partly because he had a natural inspiration and imagination suited to the description of lunatic asylums. as it was his finest poetic fancy that created a lunatic over the garden wall, so it was his fancy that created a lunatic over the western sea. to read some of the complaints, one would fancy that dickens had deliberately invented a low and farcical america to be a contrast to his high and exalted england. it is suggested that he showed america as full of rowdy bullies like hannibal chollop, or ridiculous wind-bags like elijah pogram, while england was full of refined and sincere spirits like jonas chuzzlewit, chevy slime, montague tigg, and mr. pecksniff. if _martin chuzzlewit_ makes america a lunatic asylum, what in the world does it make england? we can only say a criminal lunatic asylum. the truth is, of course, that dickens so described them because he had a genius for that sort of description; for the making of almost maniacal grotesques of the same type as quilp or fagin. he made these americans absurd because he was an artist in absurdity; and no artist can help finding hints everywhere for his own peculiar art. in a word, he created a laughable pogram for the same reason that he created a laughable pecksniff; and that was only because no other creature could have created them. it is often said that we learn to love the characters in romances as if they were characters in real life. i wish we could sometimes love the characters in real life as we love the characters in romances. there are a great many human souls whom we should accept more kindly, and even appreciate more clearly, if we simply thought of them as people in a story. _martin chuzzlewit_ is itself indeed an unsatisfactory and even unfortunate example; for it is, among its author's other works, a rather unusually harsh and hostile story. i do not suggest that we should feel towards an american friend that exact shade or tint of tenderness that we feel towards mr. hannibal chollop. our enjoyment of the foreigner should rather resemble our enjoyment of pickwick than our enjoyment of pecksniff. but there is this amount of appropriateness even in the particular example; that dickens did show in both countries how men can be made amusing to each other. so far the point is not that he made fun of america, but that he got fun out of america. and, as i have already pointed out, he applied exactly the same method of selection and exaggeration to england. in the other english stories, written in a more amiable mood, he applied it in a more amiable manner; but he could apply it to an american too, when he was writing in that mood and manner. we can see it in the witty and withering criticism delivered by the yankee traveller in the musty refreshment room of mugby junction; a genuine example of a genuinely american fun and freedom satirising a genuinely british stuffiness and snobbery. nobody expects the american traveller to admire the refreshments at mugby junction; but he might admire the refreshment at one of the pickwickian inns, especially if it contained pickwick. nobody expects pickwick to like pogram; but he might like the american who made fun of mugby junction. but the point is that, while he supported him in making fun, he would also think him funny. the two comic characters could admire each other, but they would also be amused at each other. and the american would think the englishman funny because he was english; and a very good reason too. the englishman would think the american amusing because he was american; nor can i imagine a better ground for his amusement. now many will debate on the psychological possibility of such a friendship founded on reciprocal ridicule, or rather on a comedy of comparisons. but i will say of this harmony of humours what mr. h. g. wells says of his harmony of states in the unity of his world state. if it be truly impossible to have such a peace, then there is nothing possible except war. if we cannot have friends in this fashion, then we shall sooner or later have enemies in some other fashion. there is no hope in the pompous impersonalities of internationalism. and this brings us to the real and relevant mistake of dickens. it was not in thinking his americans funny, but in thinking them foolish because they were funny. in this sense it will be noticed that dickens's american sketches are almost avowedly superficial; they are descriptions of public life and not private life. mr. jefferson brick had no private life. but mr. jonas chuzzlewit undoubtedly had a private life; and even kept some parts of it exceeding private. mr. pecksniff was also a domestic character; so was mr. quilp. mr. pecksniff and mr. quilp had slightly different ways of surprising their families; mr. pecksniff by playfully observing 'boh!' when he came home; mr. quilp by coming home at all. but we can form no picture of how mr. hannibal chollop playfully surprised his family; possibly by shooting at them; possibly by not shooting at them. we can only say that he would rather surprise us by having a family at all. we do not know how the mother of the modern gracchi managed the modern gracchi; for her maternity was rather a public than a private office. we have no romantic moonlit scenes of the love-making of elijah pogram, to balance against the love story of seth pecksniff. these figures are all in a special sense theatrical; all facing one way and lit up by a public limelight. their ridiculous characters are detachable from their real characters, if they have any real characters. and the author might perfectly well be right about what is ridiculous, and wrong about what is real. he might be as right in smiling at the pograms and the bricks as in smiling at the pickwicks and the boffins. and he might still be as wrong in seeing mr. pogram as a hypocrite as the great buzfuz was wrong in seeing mr. pickwick as a monster of revolting heartlessness and systematic villainy. he might still be as wrong in thinking jefferson brick a charlatan and a cheat as was that great disciple of lavater, mrs. wilfer, in tracing every wrinkle of evil cunning in the face of mrs. boffin. for mr. pickwick's spectacles and gaiters and mrs. boffin's bonnets and boudoir are after all superficial jokes; and might be equally well seen whatever we saw beneath them. a man may smile and smile and be a villain; but a man may also make us smile and not be a villain. he may make us smile and not even be a fool. he may make us roar with laughter and be an exceedingly wise man. now that is the paradox of america which dickens never discovered. elijah pogram was far more fantastic than his satirist thought; and the most grotesque feature of brick and chollop was hidden from him. the really strange thing was that pogram probably did say, 'rough he may be. so air our bars. wild he may be. so air our buffalers,' and yet was a perfectly intelligent and public-spirited citizen while he said it. the extraordinary thing is that jefferson brick may really have said, 'the libation of freedom must sometimes be quaffed in blood,' and yet jefferson brick may have served freedom, resisting unto blood. there really has been a florid school of rhetoric in the united states which has made it quite possible for serious and sensible men to say such things. it is amusing simply as a difference of idiom or costume is always amusing; just as english idiom and english costume are amusing to americans. but about this kind of difference there can be no kind of doubt. so sturdy not to say stuffy a materialist as ingersoll could say of so shoddy not to say shady a financial politician as blaine, 'like an arméd warrior, like a pluméd knight, james g. blaine strode down the hall of congress, and flung his spear full and true at the shield of every enemy of his country and every traducer of his fair name.' compared with that, the passage about bears and buffaloes, which mr. pogram delivered in defence of the defaulting post-master, is really a very reasonable and appropriate statement. for bears and buffaloes are wild and rough and in that sense free; while pluméd knights do not throw their lances about like the assegais of zulus. and the defaulting post-master was at least as good a person to praise in such a fashion as james g. blaine of the little rock railway. but anybody who had treated ingersoll or blaine merely as a fool and a figure of fun would have very rapidly found out his mistake. but dickens did not know brick or chollop long enough to find out his mistake. it need not be denied that, even after a full understanding, he might still have found things to smile at or to criticise. i do not insist on his admitting that hannibal chollop was as great a hero as hannibal, or that elijah pogram was as true a prophet as elijah. but i do say very seriously that they had something about their atmosphere and situation that made possible a sort of heroism and even a sort of prophecy that were really less natural at that period in that merry england whose comedy and common sense we sum up under the name of dickens. when we joke about the name of hannibal chollop, we might remember of what nation was the general who dismissed his defeated soldiers at appomatox with words which the historian has justly declared to be worthy of hannibal: 'we have fought through this war together. i have done my best for you.' it is not fair to forget jefferson, or even jefferson davis, entirely in favour of jefferson brick. for all these three things, good, bad, and indifferent, go together to form something that dickens missed, merely because the england of his time most disastrously missed it. in this case, as in every case, the only way to measure justly the excess of a foreign country is to measure the defect of our own country. for in this matter the human mind is the victim of a curious little unconscious trick, the cause of nearly all international dislikes. a man treats his own faults as original sin and supposes them scattered everywhere with the seed of adam. he supposes that men have then added their own foreign vices to the solid and simple foundation of his own private vices. it would astound him to realise that they have actually, by their strange erratic path, avoided his vices as well as his virtues. his own faults are things with which he is so much at home that he at once forgets and assumes them abroad. he is so faintly conscious of them in himself that he is not even conscious of the absence of them in other people. he assumes that they are there so that he does not see that they are not there. the englishman takes it for granted that a frenchman will have all the english faults. then he goes on to be seriously angry with the frenchman for having dared to complicate them by the french faults. the notion that the frenchman has the french faults and _not_ the english faults is a paradox too wild to cross his mind. he is like an old chinaman who should laugh at europeans for wearing ludicrous top-hats and curling up their pig-tails inside them; because obviously all men have pig-tails, as all monkeys have tails. or he is like an old chinese lady who should justly deride the high-heeled shoes of the west, considering them a needless addition to the sufficiently tight and secure bandaging of the foot; for, of course, all women bind up their feet, as all women bind up their hair. what these celestial thinkers would not think of, or allow for, is the wild possibility that we do not have pig-tails although we do have top-hats, or that our ladies are not silly enough to have chinese feet, though they are silly enough to have high-heeled shoes. nor should we necessarily have come an inch nearer to the chinese extravagances even if the chimney-pot hat rose higher than a factory chimney or the high heels had evolved into a sort of stilts. by the same fallacy the englishman will not only curse the french peasant as a miser, but will also try to tip him as a beggar. that is, he will first complain of the man having the surliness of an independent man, and then accuse him of having the servility of a dependent one. just as the hypothetical chinaman cannot believe that we have top-hats but not pig-tails, so the englishman cannot believe that peasants are not snobs even when they are savages. or he sees that a paris paper is violent and sensational; and then supposes that some millionaire owns twenty such papers and runs them as a newspaper trust. surely the yellow press is present everywhere to paint the map yellow, as the british empire to paint it red. it never occurs to such a critic that the french paper is violent because it is personal, and personal because it belongs to a real and responsible person, and not to a ring of nameless millionaires. it is a pamphlet, and not an anonymous pamphlet. in a hundred other cases the same truth could be illustrated; the situation in which the black man first assumes that all mankind is black, and then accuses the rest of the artificial vice of painting their faces red and yellow, or the hypocrisy of white-washing themselves after the fashion of whited sepulchres. the particular case of it now before us is that of the english misunderstanding of america; and it is based, as in all these cases, on the english misunderstanding of england. for the truth is that england has suffered of late from not having enough of the free shooting of hannibal chollop; from not understanding enough that the libation of freedom must sometimes be quaffed in blood. the prosperous englishman will not admit this; but then the prosperous englishman will not admit that he has suffered from anything. that is what he is suffering from. until lately at least he refused to realise that many of his modern habits had been bad habits, the worst of them being contentment. for all the real virtue in contentment evaporates, when the contentment is only satisfaction and the satisfaction is only self-satisfaction. now it is perfectly true that america and not england has seen the most obvious and outrageous official denials of liberty. but it is equally true that it has seen the most obvious flouting of such official nonsense, far more obvious than any similar evasions in england. and nobody who knows the subconscious violence of the american character would ever be surprised if the weapons of chollop began to be used in that most lawful lawlessness. it is perfectly true that the libation of freedom must sometimes be drunk in blood, and never more (one would think) than when mad millionaires forbid it to be drunk in beer. but america, as compared with england, is the country where one can still fancy men obtaining the libation of beer by the libation of blood. vulgar plutocracy is almost omnipotent in both countries; but i think there is now more kick of reaction against it in america than in england. the americans may go mad when they make laws; but they recover their reason when they disobey them. i wish i could believe that there was as much of that destructive repentance in england; as indeed there certainly was when cobbett wrote. it faded gradually like a dying fire through the victorian era; and it was one of the very few realities that dickens did not understand. but any one who does understand it will know that the days of cobbett saw the last lost fight for english democracy; and that if he had stood at that turning of the historic road, he would have wished a better fate to the frame-breakers and the fury against the first machinery, and luck to the luddite fires. anyhow, what is wanted is a new martin chuzzlewit, told by a wiser mark tapley. it is typical of something sombre and occasionally stale in the mood of dickens when he wrote that book, that the comic servant is not really very comic. mark tapley is a very thin shadow of sam weller. but if dickens had written it in a happier mood, there might have been a truer meaning in mark tapley's happiness. for it is true that this illogical good humour amid unreason and disorder is one of the real virtues of the english people. it is the real advantage they have in that adventure all over the world, which they were recently and reluctantly induced to call an empire. that receptive ridicule remains with them as a secret pleasure when they are colonists--or convicts. dickens might have written another version of the great romance, and one in which america was really seen gaily by mark instead of gloomily by martin. mark tapley might really have made the best of america. then america would have lived and danced before us like pickwick's england, a fairyland of happy lunatics and lovable monsters, and we might still have sympathised as much with the rhetoric of lafayette kettle as with the rhetoric of wilkins micawber, or with the violence of chollop as with the violence of boythorn. that new martin chuzzlewit will never be written; and the loss of it is more tragic than the loss of _edwin drood_. but every man who has travelled in america has seen glimpses and episodes in that untold tale; and far away on the red-indian frontiers or in the hamlets in the hills of pennsylvania, there are people whom i met for a few hours or for a few moments, whom i none the less sincerely like and respect because i cannot but smile as i think of them. but the converse is also true; they have probably forgotten me; but if they remember they laugh. _the spirit of america_ i suggest that diplomatists of the internationalist school should spend some of their money on staging farces and comedies of cross-purposes, founded on the curious and prevalent idea that england and america have the same language. i know, of course, that we both inherit the glorious tongue of shakespeare, not to mention the tune of the musical glasses; but there have been moments when i thought that if we spoke greek and they spoke latin we might understand each other better. for greek and latin are at least fixed, while american at least is still very fluid. i do not know the american language, and therefore i do not claim to distinguish between the american language and the american slang. but i know that highly theatrical developments might follow on taking the words as part of the english slang or the english language. i have already given the example of calling a person 'a regular guy,' which in the states is a graceful expression of respect and esteem, but which on the stage, properly handled, might surely lead the way towards a divorce or duel or something lively. sometimes coincidence merely clinches a mistake, as it so often clinches a misprint. every proof-reader knows that the worst misprint is not that which makes nonsense but that which makes sense; not that which is obviously wrong but that which is hideously right. he who has essayed to write 'he got the book,' and has found it rendered mysteriously as 'he got the boob' is pensively resigned. it is when it is rendered quite lucidly as 'he got the boot' that he is moved to a more passionate mood of regret. i have had conversations in which this sort of accident would have wholly misled me, if another accident had not come to the rescue. an american friend of mine was telling me of his adventures as a cinema-producer down in the south-west where real red indians were procurable. he said that certain indians were 'very bad actors.' it passed for me as a very ordinary remark on a very ordinary or natural deficiency. it would hardly seem a crushing criticism to say that some wild arab chieftain was not very good at imitating a farmyard; or that the grand llama of thibet was rather clumsy at making paper boats. but the remark might be natural in a man travelling in paper boats, or touring with an invisible farmyard for his menagerie. as my friend was a cinema-producer, i supposed he meant that the indians were bad cinema actors. but the phrase has really a high and austere moral meaning, which my levity had wholly missed. a bad actor means a man whose actions are bad or morally reprehensible. so that i might have embraced a red indian who was dripping with gore, or covered with atrocious crimes, imagining there was nothing the matter with him beyond a mistaken choice of the theatrical profession. surely there are here the elements of a play, not to mention a cinema play. surely a new england village maiden might find herself among the wigwams in the power of the formidable and fiendish 'little blue bison,' merely through her mistaken sympathy with his financial failure as a film star. the notion gives me glimpses of all sorts of dissolving views of primeval forests and flamboyant theatres; but this impulse of irrelevant theatrical production must be curbed. there is one example, however, of this complication of language actually used in contrary senses, about which the same figure can be used to illustrate a more serious fact. suppose that, in such an international interlude, an english girl and an american girl are talking about the fiancé of the former, who is coming to call. the english girl will be haughty and aristocratic (on the stage), the american girl will of course have short hair and skirts and will be cynical; americans being more completely free from cynicism than any people in the world. it is the great glory of americans that they are not cynical; for that matter, english aristocrats are hardly ever haughty; they understand the game much better than that. but on the stage, anyhow, the american girl may say, referring to her friend's fiancé, with a cynical wave of the cigarette, 'i suppose he's bound to come and see you.' and at this the blue blood of the vere de veres will boil over; the english lady will be deeply wounded and insulted at the suggestion that her lover only comes to see her because he is forced to do so. a staggering stage quarrel will then ensue, and things will go from bad to worse; until the arrival of an interpreter who can talk both english and american. he stands between the two ladies waving two pocket dictionaries, and explains the error on which the quarrel turns. it is very simple; like the seed of all tragedies. in english 'he is bound to come and see you' means that he is obliged or constrained to come and see you. in american it does not. in american it means that he is bent on coming to see you, that he is irrevocably resolved to do so, and will surmount any obstacle to do it. the two young ladies will then embrace as the curtain falls. now when i was lecturing in america i was often told, in a radiant and congratulatory manner, that such and such a person was bound to come and hear me lecture. it seemed a very cruel form of conscription, and i could not understand what authority could have made it compulsory. in the course of discovering my error, however, i thought i began to understand certain american ideas and instincts that lie behind this american idiom. for as i have urged before, and shall often urge again, the road to international friendship is through really understanding jokes. it is in a sense through taking jokes seriously. it is quite legitimate to laugh at a man who walks down the street in three white hats and a green dressing gown, because it is unfamiliar; but after all the man has _some_ reason for what he does; and until we know the reason we do not understand the story, or even understand the joke. so the outlander will always seem outlandish in custom or costume; but serious relations depend on our getting beyond the fact of difference to the things wherein it differs. a good symbolical figure for all this may be found among the people who say, perhaps with a self-revealing simplicity, that they are bound to go to a lecture. if i were asked for a single symbolic figure summing up the whole of what seems eccentric and interesting about america to an englishman, i should be satisfied to select that one lady who complained of mrs. asquith's lecture and wanted her money back. i do not mean that she was typically american in complaining; far from it. i, for one, have a great and guilty knowledge of all that amiable american audiences will endure without complaint. i do not mean that she was typically american in wanting her money; quite the contrary. that sort of american spends money rather than hoards it; and when we convict them of vulgarity we acquit them of avarice. where she was typically american, summing up a truth individual and indescribable in any other way, is that she used these words: 'i've risen from a sick-bed to come and hear her, and i want my money back.' the element in that which really amuses an englishman is precisely the element which, properly analysed, ought to make him admire an american. but my point is that only by going through the amusement can he reach the admiration. the amusement is in the vision of a tragic sacrifice for what is avowedly a rather trivial object. mrs. asquith is a candid lady of considerable humour; and i feel sure she does not regard the experience of hearing her read her diary as an ecstasy for which the sick should thus suffer martyrdom. she also is english; and had no other claim but to amuse americans and possibly to be amused by them. this being so, it is rather as if somebody said, 'i have risked my life in fire and pestilence to find my way to the music hall,' or, 'i have fasted forty days in the wilderness sustained by the hope of seeing totty toddles do her new dance.' and there is something rather more subtle involved here. there is something in an englishman which would make him feel faintly ashamed of saying that he had fasted to hear totty toddles, or risen from a sick-bed to hear mrs. asquith. he would feel that it was undignified to confess that he had wanted mere amusement so much; and perhaps that he had wanted anything so much. he would not like, so to speak, to be seen rushing down the street after totty toddles, or after mrs. asquith, or perhaps after anybody. but there is something in it distinct from a mere embarrassment at admitting enthusiasm. he might admit the enthusiasm if the object seemed to justify it; he might perfectly well be serious about a serious thing. but he cannot understand a person being proud of serious sacrifices for what is not a serious thing. he does not like to admit that a little thing can excite him; that he can lose his breath in running, or lose his balance in reaching, after something that might be called silly. now that is where the american is fundamentally different. to him the enthusiasm itself is meritorious. to him the excitement itself is dignified. he counts it a part of his manhood to fast or fight or rise from a bed of sickness for something, or possibly for anything. his ideal is not to be a lock that only a worthy key can open, but a 'live wire' that anything can touch or anybody can use. in a word, there is a difference in the very definition of virility and therefore of virtue. a live wire is not only active, it is also sensitive. thus sensibility becomes actually a part of virility. something more is involved than the vulgar simplification of the american as the irresistible force and the englishman as the immovable post. as a fact, those who speak of such things nowadays generally mean by something irresistible something simply immovable, or at least something unalterable, motionless even in motion, like a cannon ball; for a cannon ball is as dead as a cannon. prussian militarism was praised in that way--until it met a french force of about half its size on the banks of the marne. but that is not what an american means by energy; that sort of prussian energy is only monotony without repose. american energy is not a soulless machine; for it is the whole point that he puts his soul into it. it is a very small box for so big a thing; but it is not an empty box. but the point is that he is not only proud of his energy, he is proud of his excitement. he is not ashamed of his emotion, of the fire or even the tear in his manly eye, when he tells you that the great wheel of his machine breaks four billion butterflies an hour. that is the point about american sport; that it is not in the least sportive. it is because it is not very sportive that we sometimes say it is not very sporting. it has the vices of a religion. it has all the paradox of original sin in the service of aboriginal faith. it is sometimes untruthful because it is sincere. it is sometimes treacherous because it is loyal. men lie and cheat for it as they lied for their lords in a feudal conspiracy, or cheated for their chieftains in a highland feud. we may say that the vassal readily committed treason; but it is equally true that he readily endured torture. so does the american athlete endure torture. not only the self-sacrifice but the solemnity of the american athlete is like that of the american indian. the athletes in the states have the attitude of the athletes among the spartans, the great historical nation without a sense of humour. they suffer an ascetic régime not to be matched in any monasticism and hardly in any militarism. if any tradition of these things remains in a saner age, they will probably be remembered as a mysterious religious order of fakirs or dancing dervishes, who shaved their heads and fasted in honour of hercules or castor and pollux. and that is really the spiritual atmosphere though the gods have vanished; and the religion is subconscious and therefore irrational. for the problem of the modern world is that it has continued to be religious when it has ceased to be rational. americans really would starve to win a cocoa-nut shy. they would fast or bleed to win a race of paper boats on a pond. they would rise from a sick-bed to listen to mrs. asquith. but it is the real reason that interests me here. it is certainly not that americans are so stupid as not to know that cocoa-nuts are only cocoa-nuts and paper boats only made of paper. americans are, on an average, rather more intelligent than englishmen; and they are well aware that hercules is a myth and that mrs. asquith is something of a mythologist. it is not that they do not know that the object is small in itself; it is that they do really believe that the enthusiasm is great in itself. they admire people for being impressionable. they admire people for being excited. an american so struggling for some disproportionate trifle (like one of my lectures) really feels in a mystical way that he is right, because it is his whole morality to be keen. so long as he wants something very much, whatever it is, he feels he has his conscience behind him, and the common sentiment of society behind him, and god and the whole universe behind him. wedged on one leg in a hot crowd at a trivial lecture, he has self-respect; his dignity is at rest. that is what he means when he says he is bound to come to the lecture. now the englishman is fond of occasional larks. but these things are not larks; nor are they occasional. it is the essential of the englishman's lark that he should think it a lark; that he should laugh at it even when he does it. being english myself, i like it; but being english myself, i know it is connected with weaknesses as well as merits. in its irony there is condescension and therefore embarrassment. this patronage is allied to the patron, and the patron is allied to the aristocratic tradition of society. the larks are a variant of laziness because of leisure; and the leisure is a variant of the security and even supremacy of the gentleman. when an undergraduate at oxford smashes half a hundred windows he is well aware that the incident is merely a trifle. he can be trusted to explain to his parents and guardians that it was merely a trifle. he does not say, even in the american sense, that he was bound to smash the windows. he does not say that he had risen from a sick-bed to smash the windows. he does not especially think he has risen at all; he knows he has descended (though with delight, like one diving or sliding down the banisters) to something flat and farcical and full of the english taste for the bathos. he has collapsed into something entirely commonplace; though the owners of the windows may possibly not think so. this rather indescribable element runs through a hundred english things, as in the love of bathos shown even in the sound of proper names; so that even the yearning lover in a lyric yearns for somebody named sally rather than salome, and for a place called wapping rather than a place called westermain. even in the relapse into rowdiness there is a sort of relapse into comfort. there is also what is so large a part of comfort; carelessness. the undergraduate breaks windows because he does not care about windows, not because he does care about more fresh air like a hygienist, or about more light like a german poet. still less does he heroically smash a hundred windows because they come between him and the voice of mrs. asquith. but least of all does he do it because he seriously prides himself on the energy apart from its aim, and on the will-power that carries it through. he is not 'bound' to smash the windows, even in the sense of being bent upon it. he is not bound at all but rather relaxed; and his violence is not only a relaxation but a laxity. finally, this is shown in the fact that he only smashes windows when he is in the mood to smash windows; when some fortunate conjunction of stars and all the tints and nuances of nature whisper to him that it would be well to smash windows. but the american is always ready, at any moment, to waste his energies on the wilder and more suicidal course of going to lectures. and this is because to him such excitement is not a mood but a moral ideal. as i note in another connection, much of the english mystery would be clear to americans if they understood the word 'mood.' englishmen are very moody, especially when they smash windows. but i doubt if many americans understand exactly what we mean by the mood; especially the passive mood. it is only by trying to get some notion of all this that an englishman can enjoy the final crown and fruit of all international friendship; which is really liking an american to be american. if we only think that parts of him are excellent because parts of him are english, it would be far more sensible to stop at home and possibly enjoy the society of a whole complete englishman. but anybody who does understand this can take the same pleasure in an american being american that he does in a thunderbolt being swift and a barometer being sensitive. he can see that a vivid sensibility and vigilance really radiate outwards through all the ramifications of machinery and even of materialism. he can see that the american uses his great practical powers upon very small provocation; but he can also see that there is a kind of sense of honour, like that of a duellist, in his readiness to be provoked. indeed, there is some parallel between the american man of action, however vulgar his aims, and the old feudal idea of the gentleman with a sword at his side. the gentleman may have been proud of being strong or sturdy; he may too often have been proud of being thick-headed; but he was not proud of being thick-skinned. on the contrary, he was proud of being thin-skinned. he also seriously thought that sensitiveness was a part of masculinity. it may be very absurd to read of two irish gentlemen trying to kill each other for trifles, or of two irish-american millionaires trying to ruin each other for trash. but the very pettiness of the pretext and even the purpose illustrates the same conception; which may be called the virtue of excitability. and it is really this, and not any rubbish about iron will-power and masterful mentality, that redeems with romance their clockwork cosmos and its industrial ideals. being a live wire does not mean that the nerves should be like wires; but rather that the very wires should be like nerves. another approximation to the truth would be to say that an american is really not ashamed of curiosity. it is not so simple as it looks. men will carry off curiosity with various kinds of laughter and bravado, just as they will carry off drunkenness or bankruptcy. but very few people are really proud of lying on a door-step, and very few people are really proud of longing to look through a key-hole. i do not speak of looking through it, which involves questions of honour and self-control; but few people feel that even the desire is dignified. now i fancy the american, at least by comparison with the englishman, does feel that his curiosity is consistent with his dignity, because dignity is consistent with vivacity. he feels it is not merely the curiosity of paul pry, but the curiosity of christopher columbus. he is not a spy but an explorer; and he feels his greatness rather grow with his refusal to turn back, as a traveller might feel taller and taller as he neared the source of the nile or the north-west passage. many an englishman has had that feeling about discoveries in dark continents; but he does not often have it about discoveries in daily life. the one type does believe in the indignity and the other in the dignity of the detective. it has nothing to do with ethics in the merely external sense. it involves no particular comparison in practical morals and manners. it is something in the whole poise and posture of the self; of the way a man carries himself. for men are not only affected by what they are; but still more, when they are fools, by what they think they are; and when they are wise, by what they wish to be. there are truths that have almost become untrue by becoming untruthful. there are statements so often stale and insincere that one hesitates to use them, even when they stand for something more subtle. this point about curiosity is not the conventional complaint against the american interviewer. it is not the ordinary joke against the american child. and in the same way i feel the danger of it being identified with the cant about 'a young nation' if i say that it has some of the attractions, not of american childhood, but of real childhood. there is some truth in the tradition that the children of wealthy americans tend to be too precocious and luxurious. but there is a sense in which we can really say that if the children are like adults, the adults are like children. and that sense is in the very best sense of childhood. it is something which the modern world does not understand. it is something that modern americans do not understand, even when they possess it; but i think they do possess it. the devil can quote scripture for his purpose; and the text of scripture which he now most commonly quotes is, 'the kingdom of heaven is within you.' that text has been the stay and support of more pharisees and prigs and self-righteous spiritual bullies than all the dogmas in creation; it has served to identify self-satisfaction with the peace that passes all understanding. and the text to be quoted in answer to it is that which declares that no man can receive the kingdom except as a little child. what we are to have inside is the childlike spirit; but the childlike spirit is not entirely concerned about what is inside. it is the first mark of possessing it that one is interested in what is outside. the most childlike thing about a child is his curiosity and his appetite and his power of wonder at the world. we might almost say that the whole advantage of having the kingdom within is that we look for it somewhere else. _the spirit of england_ nine times out of ten a man's broad-mindedness is necessarily the narrowest thing about him. this is not particularly paradoxical; it is, when we come to think of it, quite inevitable. his vision of his own village may really be full of varieties; and even his vision of his own nation may have a rough resemblance to the reality. but his vision of the world is probably smaller than the world. his vision of the universe is certainly much smaller than the universe. hence he is never so inadequate as when he is universal; he is never so limited as when he generalises. this is the fallacy in the many modern attempts at a creedless creed, at something variously described as essential christianity or undenominational religion or a world faith to embrace all the faiths in the world. it is that every sectarian is more sectarian in his unsectarianism than he is in his sect. the emancipation of a baptist is a very baptist emancipation. the charity of a buddhist is a very buddhist charity, and very different from christian charity. when a philosophy embraces everything it generally squeezes everything, and squeezes it out of shape; when it digests it necessarily assimilates. when a theosophist absorbs christianity it is rather as a cannibal absorbs christian missionaries. in this sense it is even possible for the larger thing to be swallowed by the smaller; and for men to move about not only in a clapham sect but in a clapham cosmos under clapham moon and stars. but if this danger exists for all men, it exists especially for the englishman. the englishman is never so insular as when he is imperial; except indeed when he is international. in private life he is a good friend and in practical politics generally a good ally. but theoretical politics are more practical than practical politics. and in theoretical politics the englishman is the worst ally the world ever saw. this is all the more curious because he has passed so much of his historical life in the character of an ally. he has been in twenty great alliances and never understood one of them. he has never been farther away from european politics than when he was fighting heroically in the thick of them. i myself think that this splendid isolation is sometimes really splendid; so long as it is isolation and does not imagine itself to be imperialism or internationalism. with the idea of being international, with the idea of being imperial, comes the frantic and farcical idea of being impartial. generally speaking, men are never so mean and false and hypocritical as when they are occupied in being impartial. they are performing the first and most typical of all the actions of the devil; they are claiming the throne of god. even when it is not hypocrisy but only mental confusion, it is always a confusion worse and worse confounded. we see it in the impartial historians of the victorian age, who now seem far more victorian than the partial historians. hallam wrote about the middle ages; but hallam was far less mediaeval than macaulay; for macaulay was at least a fighter. huxley had more mediaeval sympathies than herbert spencer for the same reason; that huxley was a fighter. they both fought in many ways for the limitations of their own rationalistic epoch; but they were nearer the truth than the men who simply assumed those limitations as rational. the war of the controversionalists was a wider thing than the peace of the arbiters. and in the same way the englishman never cuts a less convincing figure before other nations than when he tries to arbitrate between them. i have by this time heard a great deal about the necessity of saving anglo-american friendship, a necessity which i myself feel rather too strongly to be satisfied with the ambassadorial and editorial style of achieving it. i have already said that the worst style of all is to be anglo-american; or, as the more illiterate would express, to be anglo-saxon. i am more and more convinced that the way for the englishman to do it is to be english; but to know that he is english and not everything else as well. thus the only sincere answer to irish nationalism is english nationalism, which is a reality; and not english imperialism, which is a reactionary fiction, or english internationalism, which is a revolutionary one. for the english are reviled for their imperialism because they are not imperialistic. they dislike it, which is the real reason why they do it badly; and they do it badly, which is the real reason why they are disliked when they do it. nobody calls france imperialistic because she has absorbed brittany. but everybody calls england imperialistic because she has not absorbed ireland. the englishman is fixed and frozen for ever in the attitude of a ruthless conqueror; not because he has conquered such people, but because he has not conquered them; but he is always trying to conquer them with a heroism worthy of a better cause. for the really native and vigorous part of what is unfortunately called the british empire is not an empire at all, and does not consist of these conquered provinces at all. it is not an empire but an adventure; which is probably a much finer thing. it was not the power of making strange countries similar to our own, but simply the pleasure of seeing strange countries because they were different from our own. the adventurer did indeed, like the third son, set out to seek his fortune, but not primarily to alter other people's fortunes; he wished to trade with people rather than to rule them. but as the other people remained different from him, so did he remain different from them. the adventurer saw a thousand strange things and remained a stranger. he was the robinson crusoe on a hundred desert islands; and on each he remained as insular as on his own island. what is wanted for the cause of england to-day is an englishman with enough imagination to love his country from the outside as well as the inside. that is, we need somebody who will do for the english what has never been done for them, but what is done for any outlandish peasantry or even any savage tribe. we want people who can make england attractive; quite apart from disputes about whether england is strong or weak. we want somebody to explain, not that england is everywhere, but what england is anywhere; not that england is or is not really dying, but why we do not want her to die. for this purpose the official and conventional compliments or claims can never get any farther than pompous abstractions about law and justice and truth; the ideals which england accepts as every civilised state accepts them, and violates as every civilised state violates them. that is not the way in which the picture of any people has ever been painted on the sympathetic imagination of the world. enthusiasts for old japan did not tell us that the japs recognised the existence of abstract morality; but that they lived in paper houses or wrote letters with paint-brushes. men who wished to interest us in arabs did not confine themselves to saying that they are monotheists or moralists; they filled our romances with the rush of arab steeds or the colours of strange tents or carpets. what we want is somebody who will do for the englishman with his front garden what was done for the jap and his paper house; who shall understand the englishman with his dog as well as the arab with his horse. in a word, what nobody has really tried to do is the one thing that really wants doing. it is to make england attractive as a nationality, and even as a small nationality. for it is a wild folly to suppose that nations will love each other because they are alike. they will never really do that unless they are really alike; and then they will not be nations. nations can love each other as men and women love each other, not because they are alike but because they are different. it can easily be shown, i fancy, that in every case where a real public sympathy was aroused for some unfortunate foreign people, it has always been accompanied with a particular and positive interest in their most foreign customs and their most foreign externals. the man who made a romance of the scotch high-lander made a romance of his kilt and even of his dirk; the friend of the red indians was interested in picture writing and had some tendency to be interested in scalping. to take a more serious example, such nations as serbia had been largely commended to international consideration by the study of serbian epics, or serbian songs. the epoch of negro emancipation was also the epoch of negro melodies. those who wept over uncle tom also laughed over uncle remus. and just as the admiration for the redskin almost became an apology for scalping, the mysterious fascination of the african has sometimes almost led us into the fringes of the black forest of voodoo. but the sort of interest that is felt even in the scalp-hunter and the cannibal, the torturer and the devil-worshipper, that sort of interest has never been felt in the englishman. and this is the more extraordinary because the englishman is really very interesting. he is interesting in a special degree in this special manner; he is interesting because he is individual. no man in the world is more misrepresented by everything official or even in the ordinary sense national. a description of english life must be a description of private life. in that sense there is no public life. in that sense there is no public opinion. there have never been those prairie fires of public opinion in england which often sweep over america. at any rate, there have never been any such popular revolutions since the popular revolutions of the middle ages. the english are a nation of amateurs; they are even a nation of eccentrics. an englishman is never more english than when he is considered a lunatic by the other englishmen. this can be clearly seen in a figure like dr. johnson, who has become national not by being normal but by being extraordinary. to express this mysterious people, to explain or suggest why they like tall hedges and heavy breakfasts and crooked roads and small gardens with large fences, and why they alone among christians have kept quite consistently the great christian glory of the open fireplace, here would be a strange and stimulating opportunity for any of the artists in words, who study the souls of strange peoples. that would be the true way to create a friendship between england and america, or between england and anything else; yes, even between england and ireland. for this justice at least has already been done to ireland; and as an indignant patriot i demand a more equal treatment for the two nations. i have already noted the commonplace that in order to teach internationalism we must talk nationalism. we must make the nations as nations less odious or mysterious to each other. we do not make men love each other by describing a monster with a million arms and legs, but by describing the men as men, with their separate and even solitary emotions. as this has a particular application to the emotions of the englishman, i will return to the topic once more. now americans have a power that is the soul and success of democracy, the power of spontaneous social organisation. their high spirits, their humane ideals are really creative, they abound in unofficial institutions; we might almost say in unofficial officialism. nobody who has felt the presence of all the leagues and guilds and college clubs will deny that whitman was national when he said he would build states and cities out of the love of comrades. when all this communal enthusiasm collides with the englishman, it too often seems literally to leave him cold. they say he is reserved; they possibly think he is rude. and the englishman, having been taught his own history all wrong, is only too likely to take the criticism as a compliment. he admits that he is reserved because he is stern and strong; or even that he is rude because he is shrewd and candid. but as a fact he is not rude and not especially reserved; at least reserve is not the meaning of his reluctance. the real difference lies, i think, in the fact that american high spirits are not only high but level; that the hilarious american spirit is like a plateau, and the humorous english spirit like a ragged mountain range. the englishman is moody; which does not in the least mean that the englishman is morose. dickens, as we all feel in reading his books, was boisterously english. dickens was moody when he wrote _oliver twist_; but he was also moody when he wrote _pickwick_. that is, he was in another and much healthier mood. the mood was normal to him in the sense that nine times out of ten he felt and wrote in that humorous and hilarious mood. but he was, if ever there was one, a man of moods; and all the more of a typical englishman for being a man of moods. but it was because of this, almost entirely, that he had a misunderstanding with america. in america there are no moods, or there is only one mood. it is the same whether it is called hustle or uplift; whether we regard it as the heroic love of comrades or the last hysteria of the herd instinct. it has been said of the typical english aristocrats of the government offices that they resemble certain ornamental fountains and play from ten till four; and it is true that an englishman, even an english aristocrat, is not always inclined to play any more than to work. but american sociability is not like the trafalgar fountains. it is like niagara. it never stops, under the silent stars or the rolling storms. there seems always to be the same human heat and pressure behind it; it is like the central heating of hotels as explained in the advertisements and announcements. the temperature can be regulated; but it is not. and it is always rather overpowering for an englishman, whose mood changes like his own mutable and shifting sky. the english mood is very like the english weather; it is a nuisance and a national necessity. if any one wishes to understand the quarrel between dickens and the americans, let him turn to that chapter in _martin chuzzlewit_, in which young martin has to receive endless defiles and deputations of total strangers each announced by name and demanding formal salutation. there are several things to be noticed about this incident. to begin with, it did not happen to martin chuzzlewit; but it did happen to charles dickens. dickens is incorporating almost without alteration a passage from a diary in the middle of a story; as he did when he included the admirable account of the prison petition of john dickens as the prison petition of wilkins micawber. there is no particular reason why even the gregarious americans should so throng the portals of a perfectly obscure steerage passenger like young chuzzlewit. there was every reason why they should throng the portals of the author of _pickwick_ and _oliver twist_. and no doubt they did. if i may be permitted the aleatory image, you bet they did. similar troops of sociable human beings have visited much more insignificant english travellers in america, with some of whom i am myself acquainted. i myself have the luck to be a little more stodgy and less sensitive than many of my countrymen; and certainly less sensitive than dickens. but i know what it was that annoyed him about that unending and unchanging stream of american visitors; it was the unending and unchanging stream of american sociability and high spirits. a people living on such a lofty but level tableland do not understand the ups and downs of the english temperament; the temper of a nation of eccentrics or (as they used to be called) of humorists. there is something very national in the very name of the old play of _every man in his humour_. but the play more often acted in real life is 'every man out of his humour.' it is true, as matthew arnold said, that an englishman wants to do as he likes; but it is not always true even that he likes what he likes. an englishman can be friendly and yet not feel friendly. or he can be friendly and yet not feel hospitable. or he can feel hospitable and yet not welcome those whom he really loves. he can think, almost with tears of tenderness, about people at a distance who would be bores if they came in at the door. american sociability sweeps away any such subtlety. it cannot be expected to understand the paradox or perversity of the englishman, who thus can feel friendly and avoid friends. that is the truth in the suggestion that dickens was sentimental. it means that he probably felt most sociable when he was solitary. in all these attempts to describe the indescribable, to indicate the real but unconscious differences between the two peoples, i have tried to balance my words without the irrelevant bias of praise and blame. both characteristics always cut both ways. on one side this comradeship makes possible a certain communal courage, a democratic derision of rich men in high places, that is not easy in our smaller and more stratified society. on the other hand the englishman has certainly more liberty, if less equality and fraternity. but the richest compensation of the englishman is not even in the word 'liberty,' but rather in the word 'poetry.' that humour of escape or seclusion, that genial isolation, that healing of wounded friendship by what christian science would call absent treatment, that is the best atmosphere of all for the creation of great poetry; and out of that came 'bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang' and 'thou wast not made for death, immortal bird.' in this sense it is indeed true that poetry is emotion remembered in tranquillity; which may be extended to mean affection remembered in loneliness. there is in it a spirit not only of detachment but even of distance; a spirit which does desire, as in the old english rhyme, to be not only over the hills but also far away. in other words, in so far as it is true that the englishman is an exception to the great truth of aristotle, it is because he is not so near to aristotle as he is to homer. in so far as he is not by nature a political animal, it is because he is a poetical animal. we see it in his relations to the other animals; his quaint and almost illogical love of dogs and horses and dependants whose political rights cannot possibly be defined in logic. many forms of hunting or fishing are but an excuse for the same thing which the shameless literary man does without any excuse. sport is speechless poetry. it would be easy for a foreigner, by taking a few liberties with the facts, to make a satire about the sort of silent shelley who decides ultimately to shoot the skylark. it would be easy to answer these poetic suggestions by saying that he himself might be responsible for ruining the choirs where late the sweet birds sang, or that the immortal bird was likely to be mortal when he was out with his gun. but these international satires are never just; and the real relations of an englishman and an english bird are far more delicate. it would be equally easy and equally unjust to suggest a similar satire against american democracy; and represent americans merely as birds of a feather who can do nothing but flock together. but this would leave out the fact that at least it is not the white feather; that democracy is capable of defiance and of death for an idea. touching the souls of great nations, these criticisms are generally false because they are critical. but when we are quite sure that we rejoice in a nation's strength, then and not before we are justified in judging its weakness. i am quite sure that i rejoice in any democratic success without _arrière pensée_; and nobody who knows me will credit me with a covert sneer at civic equality. and this being granted, i do think there is a danger in the gregariousness of american society. the danger of democracy is not anarchy; on the contrary, it is monotony. and it is touching this that all my experience has increased my conviction that a great deal that is called female emancipation has merely been the increase of female convention. now the males of every community are far too conventional; it was the females who were individual and criticised the conventions of the tribe. if the females become conventional also, there is a danger of individuality being lost. this indeed is not peculiar to america; it is common to the whole modern industrial world, and to everything which substitutes the impersonal atmosphere of the state for the personal atmosphere of the home. but it is emphasised in america by the curious contradiction that americans do in theory value and even venerate the individual. but individualism is still the foe of individuality. where men are trying to compete with each other they are trying to copy each other. they become featureless by 'featuring' the same part. personality, in becoming a conscious ideal, becomes a common ideal. in this respect perhaps there is really something to be learnt from the englishman with his turn or twist in the direction of private life. those who have travelled in such a fashion as to see all the american hotels and none of the american houses are sometimes driven to the excess of saying that the americans have no private life. but even if the exaggeration has a hint of truth, we must balance it with the corresponding truth; that the english have no public life. they on their side have still to learn the meaning of the public thing, the republic; and how great are the dangers of cowardice and corruption when the very state itself has become a state secret. the english are patriotic; but patriotism is the unconscious form of nationalism. it is being national without understanding the meaning of a nation. the americans are on the whole too self-conscious, kept moving too much in the pace of public life, with all its temptations to superficiality and fashion; too much aware of outside opinion and with too much appetite for outside criticism. but the english are much too unconscious; and would be the better for an increase in many forms of consciousness, including consciousness of sin. but even their sin is ignorance of their real virtue. the most admirable english things are not the things that are most admired by the english, or for which the english admire themselves. they are things now blindly neglected and in daily danger of being destroyed. it is all the worse that they should be destroyed, because there is really nothing like them in the world. that is why i have suggested a note of nationalism rather than patriotism for the english; the power of seeing their nation as a nation and not as the nature of things. we say of some ballad from the balkans or some peasant costume in the netherlands that it is unique; but the good things of england really are unique. our very isolation from continental wars and revolutionary reconstructions have kept them unique. the particular kind of beauty there is in an english village, the particular kind of humour there is in an english public-house, are things that cannot be found in lands where the village is far more simply and equally governed, or where the vine is far more honourably served and praised. yet we shall not save them by merely sinking into them with the conservative sort of contentment, even if the commercial rapacity of our plutocratic reforms would allow us to do so. we must in a sense get far away from england in order to behold her; we must rise above patriotism in order to be practically patriotic; we must have some sense of more varied and remote things before these vanishing virtues can be seen suddenly for what they are; almost as one might fancy that a man would have to rise to the dizziest heights of the divine understanding before he saw, as from a peak far above a whirlpool, how precious is his perishing soul. _the future of democracy_ the title of this final chapter requires an apology. i do not need to be reminded, alas, that the whole book requires an apology. it is written in accordance with a ritual or custom in which i could see no particular harm, and which gives me a very interesting subject, but a custom which it would be not altogether easy to justify in logic. everybody who goes to america for a short time is expected to write a book; and nearly everybody does. a man who takes a holiday at trouville or dieppe is not confronted on his return with the question, 'when is your book on france going to appear?' a man who betakes himself to switzerland for the winter sports is not instantly pinned by the statement, 'i suppose your history of the helvetian republic is coming out this spring?' lecturing, at least my kind of lecturing, is not much more serious or meritorious than ski-ing or sea-bathing; and it happens to afford the holiday-maker far less opportunity of seeing the daily life of the people. of all this i am only too well aware; and my only defence is that i am at least sincere in my enjoyment and appreciation of america, and equally sincere in my interest in its most serious problem, which i think a very serious problem indeed; the problem of democracy in the modern world. democracy may be a very obvious and facile affair for plutocrats and politicians who only have to use it as a rhetorical term. but democracy is a very serious problem for democrats. i certainly do not apologise for the word democracy; but i do apologise for the word future. i am no futurist; and any conjectures i make must be taken with the grain of salt which is indeed the salt of the earth; the decent and moderate humility which comes from a belief in free will. that faith is in itself a divine doubt. i do not believe in any of the scientific predictions about mankind; i notice that they always fail to predict any of the purely human developments of men; i also notice that even their successes prove the same truth as their failures; for their successful predictions are not about men but about machines. but there are two things which a man may reasonably do, in stating the probabilities of a problem, which do not involve any claim to be a prophet. the first is to tell the truth, and especially the neglected truth, about the tendencies that have already accumulated in human history; any miscalculation about which must at least mislead us in any case. we cannot be certain of being right about the future; but we can be almost certain of being wrong about the future, if we are wrong about the past. the other thing that he can do is to note what ideas necessarily go together by their own nature; what ideas will triumph together or fall together. hence it follows that this final chapter must consist of two things. the first is a summary of what has really happened to the idea of democracy in recent times; the second a suggestion of the fundamental doctrine which is necessary for its triumph at any time. the last hundred years has seen a general decline in the democratic idea. if there be anybody left to whom this historical truth appears a paradox, it is only because during that period nobody has been taught history, least of all the history of ideas. if a sort of intellectual inquisition had been established, for the definition and differentiation of heresies, it would have been found that the original republican orthodoxy had suffered more and more from secessions, schisms, and backslidings. the highest point of democratic idealism and conviction was towards the end of the eighteenth century, when the american republic was 'dedicated to the proposition that all men are equal.' it was then that the largest number of men had the most serious sort of conviction that the political problem could be solved by the vote of peoples instead of the arbitrary power of princes and privileged orders. these men encountered various difficulties and made various compromises in relation to the practical politics of their time; in england they preserved aristocracy; in america they preserved slavery. but though they had more difficulties, they had less doubts. since their time democracy has been steadily disintegrated by doubts; and these political doubts have been contemporary with and often identical with religious doubts. this fact could be followed over almost the whole field of the modern world; in this place it will be more appropriate to take the great american example of slavery. i have found traces in all sorts of intelligent quarters of an extraordinary idea that all the fathers of the republic owned black men like beasts of burden because they knew no better, until the light of liberty was revealed to them by john brown and mrs. beecher stowe. one of the best weekly papers in england said recently that even those who drew up the declaration of independence did not include negroes in its generalisation about humanity. this is quite consistent with the current convention, in which we were all brought up; the theory that the heart of humanity broadens in ever larger circles of brotherhood, till we pass from embracing a black man to adoring a black beetle. unfortunately it is quite inconsistent with the facts of american history. the facts show that, in this problem of the old south, the eighteenth century was _more_ liberal than the nineteenth century. there was _more_ sympathy for the negro in the school of jefferson than in the school of jefferson davis. jefferson, in the dark estate of his simple deism, said the sight of slavery in his country made him tremble, remembering that god is just. his fellow southerners, after a century of the world's advance, said that slavery in itself was good, when they did not go farther and say that negroes in themselves were bad. and they were supported in this by the great and growing modern suspicion that nature is unjust. difficulties seemed inevitably to delay justice, to the mind of jefferson; but so they did to the mind of lincoln. but that the slave was human and the servitude inhuman--that was, if anything, clearer to jefferson than to lincoln. the fact is that the utter separation and subordination of the black like a beast was a _progress_; it was a growth of nineteenth-century enlightenment and experiment; a triumph of science over superstition. it was 'the way the world was going,' as matthew arnold reverentially remarked in some connection; perhaps as part of a definition of god. anyhow, it was not jefferson's definition of god. he fancied, in his far-off patriarchal way, a father who had made all men brothers; and brutally unbrotherly as was the practice, such democratical deists never dreamed of denying the theory. it was not until the scientific sophistries began that brotherhood was really disputed. gobineau, who began most of the modern talk about the superiority and inferiority of racial stocks, was seized upon eagerly by the less generous of the slave-owners and trumpeted as a new truth of science and a new defence of slavery. it was not really until the dawn of darwinism, when all our social relations began to smell of the monkey-house, that men thought of the barbarian as only a first and the baboon as a second cousin. the full servile philosophy has been a modern and even a recent thing; made in an age whose invisible deity was the missing link. the missing link was a true metaphor in more ways than one; and most of all in its suggestion of a chain. by a symbolic coincidence, indeed, slavery grew more brazen and brutal under the encouragement of more than one movement of the progressive sort. its youth was renewed for it by the industrial prosperity of lancashire; and under that influence it became a commercial and competitive instead of a patriarchal and customary thing. we may say with no exaggerative irony that the unconscious patrons of slavery were huxley and cobden. the machines of manchester were manufacturing a great many more things than the manufacturers knew or wanted to know; but they were certainly manufacturing the fetters of the slave, doubtless out of the best quality of steel and iron. but this is a minor illustration of the modern tendency, as compared with the main stream of scepticism which was destroying democracy. evolution became more and more a vision of the break-up of our brotherhood, till by the end of the nineteenth century the genius of its greatest scientific romancer saw it end in the anthropophagous antics of the time machine. so far from evolution lifting us above the idea of enslaving men, it was providing us at least with a logical and potential argument for eating them. in the case of the american negroes, it may be remarked, it does at any rate permit the preliminary course of roasting them. all this materialistic hardening, which replaced the remorse of jefferson, was part of the growing evolutionary suspicion that savages were not a part of the human race, or rather that there was really no such thing as the human race. the south had begun by agreeing reluctantly to the enslavement of men. the south ended by agreeing equally reluctantly to the emancipation of monkeys. that is what had happened to the democratic ideal in a hundred years. anybody can test it by comparing the final phase, i will not say with the ideal of jefferson, but with the ideal of johnson. there was far more horror of slavery in an eighteenth-century tory like dr. johnson than in a nineteenth-century democrat like stephen douglas. stephen douglas may be mentioned because he is a very representative type of the age of evolution and expansion; a man thinking in continents, like cecil rhodes, human and hopeful in a truly american fashion, and as a consequence cold and careless rather than hostile in the matter of the old mystical doctrines of equality. he 'did not care whether slavery was voted up or voted down.' his great opponent lincoln did indeed care very much. but it was an intense individual conviction with lincoln exactly as it was with johnson. i doubt if the spirit of the age was not much more behind douglas and his westward expansion of the white race. i am sure that more and more men were coming to be in the particular mental condition of douglas; men in whom the old moral and mystical ideals had been undermined by doubt but only with a negative effect of indifference. their positive convictions were all concerned with what some called progress and some imperialism. it is true that there was a sincere sectional enthusiasm against slavery in the north; and that the slaves were actually emancipated in the nineteenth century. but i doubt whether the abolitionists would ever have secured abolition. abolition was a by-product of the civil war; which was fought for quite other reasons. anyhow, if slavery had somehow survived to the age of rhodes and roosevelt and evolutionary imperialism, i doubt if the slaves would ever have been emancipated at all. certainly if it had survived till the modern movement for the servile state, they would never have been emancipated at all. why should the world take the chains off the black man when it was just putting them on the white? and in so far as we owe the change to lincoln, we owe it to jefferson. exactly what gives its real dignity to the figure of lincoln is that he stands invoking a primitive first principle of the age of innocence, and holding up the tables of an ancient law, _against_ the trend of the nineteenth century; repeating, 'we hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator, etc.,' to a generation that was more and more disposed to say something like this: 'we hold these truths to be probable enough for pragmatists; that all things looking like men were evolved somehow, being endowed by heredity and environment with no equal rights, but very unequal wrongs,' and so on. i do not believe that creed, left to itself, would ever have founded a state; and i am pretty certain that, left to itself, it would never have overthrown a slave state. what it did do, as i have said, was to produce some very wonderful literary and artistic flights of sceptical imagination. the world did have new visions, if they were visions of monsters in the moon and martians striding about like spiders as tall as the sky, and the workmen and capitalists becoming two separate species, so that one could devour the other as gaily and greedily as a cat devours a bird. no one has done justice to the meaning of mr. wells and his original departure in fantastic fiction; to these nightmares that were the last apocalypse of the nineteenth century. they meant that the bottom had fallen out of the mind at last, that the bridge of brotherhood had broken down in the modern brain, letting up from the chasms this infernal light like a dawn. all had grown dizzy with degree and relativity; so that there would not be so very much difference between eating dog and eating darkie, or between eating darkie and eating dago. there were different sorts of apes; but there was no doubt that we were the superior sort. against all this irresistible force stood one immovable post. against all this dance of doubt and degree stood something that can best be symbolised by a simple example. an ape cannot be a priest, but a negro can be a priest. the dogmatic type of christianity, especially the catholic type of christianity, had riveted itself irrevocably to the manhood of all men. where its faith was fixed by creeds and councils it could not save itself even by surrender. it could not gradually dilute democracy, as could a merely sceptical or secular democrat. there stood, in fact or in possibility, the solid and smiling figure of a black bishop. and he was either a man claiming the most towering spiritual privileges of a man, or he was the mere buffoonery and blasphemy of a monkey in a mitre. that is the point about christian and catholic democracy; it is not that it is necessarily at any moment more democratic, it is that its indestructible minimum of democracy really is indestructible. and by the nature of things that mystical democracy was destined to survive, when every other sort of democracy was free to destroy itself. and whenever democracy destroying itself is suddenly moved to save itself, it always grasps at rag or tag of that old tradition that alone is sure of itself. hundreds have heard the story about the mediaeval demagogue who went about repeating the rhyme when adam delved and eve span, who was then the gentleman? many have doubtless offered the obvious answer to the question, 'the serpent.' but few seem to have noticed what would be the more modern answer to the question, if that innocent agitator went about propounding it. 'adam never delved and eve never span, for the simple reason that they never existed. they are fragments of a chaldeo-babylonian mythos, and adam is only a slight variation of tag-tug, pronounced uttu. for the real beginning of humanity we refer you to darwin's _origin of species_.' and then the modern man would go on to justify plutocracy to the mediaeval man by talking about the struggle for life and the survival of the fittest; and how the strongest man seized authority by means of anarchy, and proved himself a gentleman by behaving like a cad. now i do not base my beliefs on the theology of john ball, or on the literal and materialistic reading of the text of genesis; though i think the story of adam and eve infinitely less absurd and unlikely than that of the prehistoric 'strongest man' who could fight a hundred men. but i do note the fact that the idealism of the leveller could be put in the form of an appeal to scripture, and could not be put in the form of an appeal to science. and i do note also that democrats were still driven to make the same appeal even in the very century of science. tennyson was, if ever there was one, an evolutionist in his vision and an aristocrat in his sympathies. he was always boasting that john bull was evolutionary and not revolutionary, even as these frenchmen. he did not pretend to have any creed beyond faintly trusting the larger hope. but when human dignity is really in danger, john bull has to use the same old argument as john ball. he tells lady clara vere de vere that 'the gardener adam and his wife smile at the claim of long descent'; their own descent being by no means long. lady clara might surely have scored off him pretty smartly by quoting from 'maud' and 'in memoriam' about evolution and the eft that was lord of valley and hill. but tennyson has evidently forgotten all about darwin and the long descent of man. if this was true of an evolutionist like tennyson, it was naturally ten times truer of a revolutionist like jefferson. the declaration of independence dogmatically bases all rights on the fact that god created all men equal; and it is right; for if they were not created equal, they were certainly evolved unequal. there is no basis for democracy except in a dogma about the divine origin of man. that is a perfectly simple fact which the modern world will find out more and more to be a fact. every other basis is a sort of sentimental confusion, full of merely verbal echoes of the older creeds. those verbal associations are always vain for the vital purpose of constraining the tyrant. an idealist may say to a capitalist, 'don't you sometimes feel in the rich twilight, when the lights twinkle from the distant hamlet in the hills, that all humanity is a holy family?' but it is equally possible for the capitalist to reply with brevity and decision, 'no, i don't,' and there is no more disputing about it further than about the beauty of a fading cloud. and the modern world of moods is a world of clouds, even if some of them are thunderclouds. for i have only taken here, as a convenient working model, the case of negro slavery; because it was long peculiar to america and is popularly associated with it. it is more and more obvious that the line is no longer running between black and white but between rich and poor. as i have already noted in the case of prohibition, the very same arguments of the inevitable suicide of the ignorant, of the impossibility of freedom for the unfit, which were once applied to barbarians brought from africa are now applied to citizens born in america. it is argued even by industrialists that industrialism has produced a class submerged below the status of emancipated mankind. they imply that the missing link is no longer missing, even from england or the northern states, and that the factories have manufactured their own monkeys. scientific hypotheses about the feeble-minded and the criminal type will supply the masters of the modern world with more and more excuses for denying the dogma of equality in the case of white labour as well as black. and any man who knows the world knows perfectly well that to tell the millionaires, or their servants, that they are disappointing the sentiments of thomas jefferson, or disregarding a creed composed in the eighteenth century, will be about as effective as telling them that they are not observing the creed of st. athanasius or keeping the rule of st. benedict. the world cannot keep its own ideals. the secular order cannot make secure any one of its own noble and natural conceptions of secular perfection. that will be found, as time goes on, the ultimate argument for a church independent of the world and the secular order. what has become of all those ideal figures from the wise man of the stoics to the democratic deist of the eighteenth century? what has become of all that purely human hierarchy of chivalry, with its punctilious pattern of the good knight, its ardent ambition in the young squire? the very name of knight has come to represent the petty triumph of a profiteer, and the very word squire the petty tyranny of a landlord. what has become of all that golden liberality of the humanists, who found on the high tablelands of the culture of hellas the very balance of repose in beauty that is most lacking in the modern world? the very greek language that they loved has become a mere label for snuffy and snobbish dons, and a mere cock-shy for cheap and half-educated utilitarians, who make it a symbol of superstition and reaction. we have lived to see a time when the heroic legend of the republic and the citizen, which seemed to jefferson the eternal youth of the world, has begun to grow old in its turn. we cannot recover the earthly estate of knighthood, to which all the colours and complications of heraldry seemed as fresh and natural as flowers. we cannot re-enact the intellectual experiences of the humanists, for whom the greek grammar was like the song of a bird in spring. the more the matter is considered the clearer it will seem that these old experiences are now only alive, where they have found a lodgment in the catholic tradition of christendom, and made themselves friends for ever. st. francis is the only surviving troubadour. st. thomas more is the only surviving humanist. st. louis is the only surviving knight. it would be the worst sort of insincerity, therefore, to conclude even so hazy an outline of so great and majestic a matter as the american democratic experiment, without testifying my belief that to this also the same ultimate test will come. so far as that democracy becomes or remains catholic and christian, that democracy will remain democratic. in so far as it does not, it will become wildly and wickedly undemocratic. its rich will riot with a brutal indifference far beyond the feeble feudalism which retains some shadow of responsibility or at least of patronage. its wage-slaves will either sink into heathen slavery, or seek relief in theories that are destructive not merely in method but in aim; since they are but the negations of the human appetites of property and personality. eighteenth-century ideals, formulated in eighteenth-century language, have no longer in themselves the power to hold all those pagan passions back. even those documents depended upon deism; their real strength will survive in men who are still deists; and the men who are still deists are more than deists. men will more and more realise that there is no meaning in democracy if there is no meaning in anything; and that there is no meaning in anything if the universe has not a centre of significance and an authority that is the author of our rights. there is truth in every ancient fable, and there is here even something of it in the fancy that finds the symbol of the republic in the bird that bore the bolts of jove. owls and bats may wander where they will in darkness, and for them as for the sceptics the universe may have no centre; kites and vultures may linger as they like over carrion, and for them as for the plutocrats existence may have no origin and no end; but it was far back in the land of legends, where instincts find their true images, that the cry went forth that freedom is an eagle, whose glory is gazing at the sun. hero tales from american history by henry cabot lodge and theodore roosevelt hence it is that the fathers of these men and ours also, and they themselves likewise, being nurtured in all freedom and well born, have shown before all men many and glorious deeds in public and private, deeming it their duty to fight for the cause of liberty and the greeks, even against greeks, and against barbarians for all the greeks."--plato: "menexenus." to e. y. r. to you we owe the suggestion of writing this book. its purpose, as you know better than any one else, is to tell in simple fashion the story of some americans who showed that they knew how to live and how to die; who proved their truth by their endeavor; and who joined to the stern and manly qualities which are essential to the well-being of a masterful race the virtues of gentleness, of patriotism, and of lofty adherence to an ideal. it is a good thing for all americans, and it is an especially good thing for young americans, to remember the men who have given their lives in war and peace to the service of their fellow-countrymen, and to keep in mind the feats of daring and personal prowess done in time past by some of the many champions of the nation in the various crises of her history. thrift, industry, obedience to law, and intellectual cultivation are essential qualities in the makeup of any successful people; but no people can be really great unless they possess also the heroic virtues which are as needful in time of peace as in time of war, and as important in civil as in military life. as a civilized people we desire peace, but the only peace worth having is obtained by instant readiness to fight when wronged--not by unwillingness or inability to fight at all. intelligent foresight in preparation and known capacity to stand well in battle are the surest safeguards against war. america will cease to be a great nation whenever her young men cease to possess energy, daring, and endurance, as well as the wish and the power to fight the nation's foes. no citizen of a free state should wrong any man; but it is not enough merely to refrain from infringing on the rights of others; he must also be able and willing to stand up for his own rights and those of his country against all comers, and he must be ready at any time to do his full share in resisting either malice domestic or foreign levy. henry cabot lodge. theodore roosevelt. washington, april , . contents george washington--h. c. lodge. daniel boone and the founding of kentucky--theodore roosevelt. george rogers clark and the conquest of the northwest--theodore roosevelt. the battle of trenton--h. c. lodge. bennington--h. c. lodge. king's mountain--theodore roosevelt. the storming of stony point--theodore roosevelt. gouverneur morris--h. c. lodge. the burning of the "philadelphia"--h. c. lodge. the cruise of the "wasp"--theodore roosevelt. the "general armstrong" privateer--theodore roosevelt. the battle of new orleans--theodore roosevelt. john quincy adams and the right of petition--h. c. lodge. francis parkman--h. c. lodge. "remember the alamo"--theodore roosevelt. hampton roads--theodore roosevelt. the flag-bearer--theodore roosevelt. the death of stonewall jack--theodore roosevelt. the charge at gettysburg--theodore roosevelt. general grant and the vicksburg campaign--h. c. lodge. robert gould shaw--h. c. lodge. charles russell lowell--h. c. lodge. sheridan at cedar creek--h. c. lodge. lieutenant cushing and the ram "albemarle"--theodore roosevelt. farragut at mobile bay--theodore roosevelt. abraham lincoln--h. c. lodge. "hor. i saw him once; he was a goodly king. ham. he was a man, take him for all in all i shall not look upon his like again."--hamlet hero tales from american history washington the brilliant historian of the english people [*] has written of washington, that "no nobler figure ever stood in the fore-front of a nation's life." in any book which undertakes to tell, no matter how slightly, the story of some of the heroic deeds of american history, that noble figure must always stand in the fore-front. but to sketch the life of washington even in the barest outline is to write the history of the events which made the united states independent and gave birth to the american nation. even to give alist of what he did, to name his battles and recount his acts as president, would be beyond the limit and the scope of this book. yet it is always possible to recall the man and to consider what he was and what he meant for us and for mankind he is worthy the study and the remembrance of all men, and to americans he is at once a great glory of their past and an inspiration and an assurance of their future. * john richard green. to understand washington at all we must first strip off all the myths which have gathered about him. we must cast aside into the dust-heaps all the wretched inventions of the cherry-tree variety, which were fastened upon him nearly seventy years after his birth. we must look at him as he looked at life and the facts about him, without any illusion or deception, and no man in history can better stand such a scrutiny. born of a distinguished family in the days when the american colonies were still ruled by an aristocracy, washington started with all that good birth and tradition could give. beyond this, however, he had little. his family was poor, his mother was left early a widow, and he was forced after a very limited education to go out into the world to fight for himself he had strong within him the adventurous spirit of his race. he became a surveyor, and in the pursuit of this profession plunged into the wilderness, where he soon grew to be an expert hunter and backwoodsman. even as a boy the gravity of his character and his mental and physical vigor commended him to those about him, and responsibility and military command were put in his hands at an age when most young men are just leaving college. as the times grew threatening on the frontier, he was sent on a perilous mission to the indians, in which, after passing through many hardships and dangers, he achieved success. when the troubles came with france it was by the soldiers under his command that the first shots were fired in the war which was to determine whether the north american continent should be french or english. in his earliest expedition he was defeated by the enemy. later he was with braddock, and it was he who tried, to rally the broken english army on the stricken field near fort duquesne. on that day of surprise and slaughter he displayed not only cool courage but the reckless daring which was one of his chief characteristics. he so exposed himself that bullets passed through his coat and hat, and the indians and the french who tried to bring him down thought he bore a charmed life. he afterwards served with distinction all through the french war, and when peace came he went back to the estate which he had inherited from his brother, the most admired man in virginia. at that time he married, and during the ensuing years he lived the life of a virginia planter, successful in his private affairs and serving the public effectively but quietly as a member of the house of burgesses. when the troubles with the mother country began to thicken he was slow to take extreme ground, but he never wavered in his belief that all attempts to oppress the colonies should be resisted, and when he once took up his position there was no shadow of turning. he was one of virginia's delegates to the first continental congress, and, although he said but little, he was regarded by all the representatives from the other colonies as the strongest man among them. there was something about him even then which commanded the respect and the confidence of every one who came in contact with him. it was from new england, far removed from his own state, that the demand came for his appointment as commander-in-chief of the american army. silently he accepted the duty, and, leaving philadelphia, took command of the army at cambridge. there is no need to trace him through the events that followed. from the time when he drew his sword under the famous elm tree, he was the embodiment of the american revolution, and without him that revolution would have failed almost at the start. how he carried it to victory through defeat and trial and every possible obstacle is known to all men. when it was all over he found himself facing a new situation. he was the idol of the country and of his soldiers. the army was unpaid, and the veteran troops, with arms in their hands, were eager to have him take control of the disordered country as cromwell had done in england a little more than a century before. with the army at his back, and supported by the great forces which, in every community, desire order before everything else, and are ready to assent to any arrangement which will bring peace and quiet, nothing would have been easier than for washington to have made himself the ruler of the new nation. but that was not his conception of duty, and he not only refused to have anything to do with such a movement himself, but he repressed, by his dominant personal influence, all such intentions on the part of the army. on the d of december, , he met the congress at annapolis, and there resigned his commission. what he then said is one of the two most memorable speeches ever made in the united states, and is also memorable for its meaning and spirit among all speeches ever made by men. he spoke as follows: "mr. president:--the great events on which my resignation depended having at length taken place, i have now the honor of offering my sincere congratulations to congress, and of presenting myself before them, to surrender into their hands the trust committed to me and to claim the indulgence of retiring from the service of my country. happy in the confirmation of our independence and sovereignity and pleased with the opportunity afforded the united states of becoming a respectable nation, i resign with satisfaction the appointment i accepted with diffidence; a diffidence in my abilities to accomplish so arduous a task, which, however, was superseded by a confidence in the rectitude of our cause, the support of the supreme power of the union, and the patronage of heaven. the successful termination of the war has verified the most sanguine expectations, and my gratitude for the interposition of providence and the assistance i have received from my countrymen increases with every review of the momentous contest. while i repeat my obligations to the army in general, i should do injustice to my own feelings not to acknowledge, in this place, the peculiar services and distinguished merits of the gentlemen who have been attached to my person during the war. it was impossible that the choice of confidential officers to compose my family should have been more fortunate. permit me, sir, to recommend in particular those who have continued in service to the present moment as worthy of the favorable notice and patronage of congress. i consider it an indispensable duty to close this last solemn act of my official life by commending the interests of our dearest country to the protection of almighty god, and those who have the superintendence of them to his holy keeping. having now finished the work assigned me, i retire from the great theatre of action, and, bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose orders i have so long acted, i here offer my commission and take my leave of all the employments of public life." the great master of english fiction, writing of this scene at annapolis, says: "which was the most splendid spectacle ever witnessed--the opening feast of prince george in london, or the resignation of washington? which is the noble character for after ages to admire--yon fribble dancing in lace and spangles, or yonder hero who sheathes his sword after a life of spotless honor, a purity unreproached, a courage indomitable and a consummate victory?" washington did not refuse the dictatorship, or, rather, the opportunity to take control of the country, because he feared heavy responsibility, but solely because, as a high-minded and patriotic man, he did not believe in meeting the situation in that way. he was, moreover, entirely devoid of personal ambition, and had no vulgar longing for personal power. after resigning his commission he returned quietly to mount vernon, but he did not hold himself aloof from public affairs. on the contrary, he watched their course with the utmost anxiety. he saw the feeble confederation breaking to pieces, and he soon realized that that form of government was an utter failure. in a time when no american statesman except hamilton had yet freed himself from the local feelings of the colonial days, washington was thoroughly national in all his views. out of the thirteen jarring colonies he meant that a nation should come, and he saw--what no one else saw--the destiny of the country to the westward. he wished a nation founded which should cross the alleghanies, and, holding the mouths of the mississippi, take possession of all that vast and then unknown region. for these reasons he stood at the head of the national movement, and to him all men turned who desired a better union and sought to bring order out of chaos. with him hamilton and madison consulted in the preliminary stages which were to lead to the formation of a new system. it was his vast personal influence which made that movement a success, and when the convention to form a constitution met at philadelphia, he presided over its deliberations, and it was his commanding will which, more than anything else, brought a constitution through difficulties and conflicting interests which more than once made any result seem well-nigh hopeless. when the constitution formed at philadelphia had been ratified by the states, all men turned to washington to stand at the head of the new government. as he had borne the burden of the revolution, so he now took up the task of bringing the government of the constitution into existence. for eight years he served as president. he came into office with a paper constitution, the heir of a bankrupt, broken-down confederation. he left the united states, when he went out of office, an effective and vigorous government. when he was inaugurated, we had nothing but the clauses of the constitution as agreed to by the convention. when he laid down the presidency, we had an organized government, an established revenue, a funded debt, a high credit, an efficient system of banking, a strong judiciary, and an army. we had a vigorous and well-defined foreign policy; we had recovered the western posts, which, in the hands of the british, had fettered our march to the west; and we had proved our power to maintain order at home, to repress insurrection, to collect the national taxes, and to enforce the laws made by congress. thus washington had shown that rare combination of the leader who could first destroy by revolution, and who, having led his country through a great civil war, was then able to build up a new and lasting fabric upon the ruins of a system which had been overthrown. at the close of his official service he returned again to mount vernon, and, after a few years of quiet retirement, died just as the century in which he had played so great a part was closing. washington stands among the greatest men of human history, and those in the same rank with him are very few. whether measured by what he did, or what he was, or by the effect of his work upon the history of mankind, in every aspect he is entitled to the place he holds among the greatest of his race. few men in all time have such a record of achievement. still fewer can show at the end of a career so crowded with high deeds and memorable victories a life so free from spot, a character so unselfish and so pure, a fame so void of doubtful points demanding either defense or explanation. eulogy of such a life is needless, but it is always important to recall and to freshly remember just what manner of man he was. in the first place he was physically a striking figure. he was very tall, powerfully made, with a strong, handsome face. he was remarkably muscular and powerful. as a boy he was a leader in all outdoor sports. no one could fling the bar further than he, and no one could ride more difficult horses. as a young man he became a woodsman and hunter. day after day he could tramp through the wilderness with his gun and his surveyor's chain, and then sleep at night beneath the stars. he feared no exposure or fatigue, and outdid the hardiest backwoodsman in following a winter trail and swimming icy streams. this habit of vigorous bodily exercise he carried through life. whenever he was at mount vernon he gave a large part of his time to fox-hunting, riding after his hounds through the most difficult country. his physical power and endurance counted for much in his success when he commanded his army, and when the heavy anxieties of general and president weighed upon his mind and heart. he was an educated, but not a learned man. he read well and remembered what he read, but his life was, from the beginning, a life of action, and the world of men was his school. he was not a military genius like hannibal, or caesar, or napoleon, of which the world has had only three or four examples. but he was a great soldier of the type which the english race has produced, like marlborough and cromwell, wellington, grant, and lee. he was patient under defeat, capable of large combinations, a stubborn and often reckless fighter, a winner of battles, but much more, a conclusive winner in a long war of varying fortunes. he was, in addition, what very few great soldiers or commanders have ever been, a great constitutional statesman, able to lead a people along the paths of free government without undertaking himself to play the part of the strong man, the usurper, or the savior of society. he was a very silent man. of no man of equal importance in the world's history have we so few sayings of a personal kind. he was ready enough to talk or to write about the public duties which he had in hand, but he hardly ever talked of himself. yet there can be no greater error than to suppose washington cold and unfeeling, because of his silence and reserve. he was by nature a man of strong desires and stormy passions. now and again he would break out, even as late as the presidency, into a gust of anger that would sweep everything before it. he was always reckless of personal danger, and had a fierce fighting spirit which nothing could check when it was once unchained. but as a rule these fiery impulses and strong passions were under the absolute control of an iron will, and they never clouded his judgment or warped his keen sense of justice. but if he was not of a cold nature, still less was he hard or unfeeling. his pity always went out to the poor, the oppressed, or the unhappy, and he was all that was kind and gentle to those immediately about him. we have to look carefully into his life to learn all these things, for the world saw only a silent, reserved man, of courteous and serious manner, who seemed to stand alone and apart, and who impressed every one who came near him with a sense of awe and reverence. one quality he had which was, perhaps, more characteristic of the man and his greatness than any other. this was his perfect veracity of mind. he was, of course, the soul of truth and honor, but he was even more than that. he never deceived himself he always looked facts squarely in the face and dealt with them as such, dreaming no dreams, cherishing no delusions, asking no impossibilities,--just to others as to himself, and thus winning alike in war and in peace. he gave dignity as well as victory to his country and his cause. he was, in truth, a "character for after ages to admire." daniel boone and the founding of kentucky ... boone lived hunting up to ninety; and, what's still stranger, left behind a name for which men vainly decimate the throng, not only famous, but of that good fame, without which glory's but a tavern song,-- simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wrong; 't is true he shrank from men, even of his nation; when they built up unto his darling trees, he moved some hundred miles off, for a station where there were fewer houses and more ease; * * * but where he met the individual man, he showed himself as kind as mortal can. * * * the freeborn forest found and kept them free, and fresh as is a torrent or a tree. and tall, and strong, and swift of foot were they, beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions, because their thoughts had never been the prey of care or gain; the green woods were their portions * * * simple they were, not savage; and their rifles, though very true, were yet not used for trifles. * * * serene, not sullen, were the solitudes of this unsighing people of the woods. --byron. daniel boone will always occupy a unique place in our history as the archetype of the hunter and wilderness wanderer. he was a true pioneer, and stood at the head of that class of indian-fighters, game-hunters, forest-fellers, and backwoods farmers who, generation after generation, pushed westward the border of civilization from the alleghanies to the pacific. as he himself said, he was "an instrument ordained of god to settle the wilderness." born in pennsylvania, he drifted south into western north carolina, and settled on what was then the extreme frontier. there he married, built a log cabin, and hunted, chopped trees, and tilled the ground like any other frontiersman. the alleghany mountains still marked a boundary beyond which the settlers dared not go; for west of them lay immense reaches of frowning forest, uninhabited save by bands of warlike indians. occasionally some venturesome hunter or trapper penetrated this immense wilderness, and returned with strange stories of what he had seen and done. in boone, excited by these vague and wondrous tales, determined himself to cross the mountains and find out what manner of land it was that lay beyond. with a few chosen companions he set out, making his own trail through the gloomy forest. after weeks of wandering, he at last emerged into the beautiful and fertile country of kentucky, for which, in after years, the red men and the white strove with such obstinate fury that it grew to be called "the dark and bloody ground." but when boone first saw it, it was a fair and smiling land of groves and glades and running waters, where the open forest grew tall and beautiful, and where innumerable herds of game grazed, roaming ceaselessly to and fro along the trails they had trodden during countless generations. kentucky was not owned by any indian tribe, and was visited only by wandering war-parties and hunting-parties who came from among the savage nations living north of the ohio or south of the tennessee. a roving war-party stumbled upon one of boone's companions and killed him, and the others then left boone and journeyed home; but his brother came out to join him, and the two spent the winter together. self-reliant, fearless, and the frowning defiles of cumberland gap, they were attacked by indians, and driven back--two of boone's own sons being slain. in , however, he made another attempt; and this attempt was successful. the indians attacked the newcomers; but by this time the parties of would-be settlers were sufficiently numerous to hold their own. they beat back the indians, and built rough little hamlets, surrounded by log stockades, at boonesborough and harrodsburg; and the permanent settlement of kentucky had begun. the next few years were passed by boone amid unending indian conflicts. he was a leader among the settlers, both in peace and in war. at one time he represented them in the house of burgesses of virginia; at another time he was a member of the first little kentucky parliament itself; and he became a colonel of the frontier militia. he tilled the land, and he chopped the trees himself; he helped to build the cabins and stockades with his own hands, wielding the longhandled, light-headed frontier ax as skilfully as other frontiersmen. his main business was that of surveyor, for his knowledge of the country, and his ability to travel through it, in spite of the danger from indians, created much demand for his services among people who wished to lay off tracts of wild land for their own future use. but whatever he did, and wherever he went, he had to be sleeplessly on the lookout for his indian foes. when he and his fellows tilled the stump-dotted fields of corn, one or more of the party were always on guard, with weapon at the ready, for fear of lurking savages. when he went to the house of burgesses he carried his long rifle, and traversed roads not a mile of which was free from the danger of indian attack. the settlements in the early years depended exclusively upon game for their meat, and boone was the mightiest of all the hunters, so that upon him devolved the task of keeping his people supplied. he killed many buffaloes, and pickled the buffalo beef for use in winter. he killed great numbers of black bear, and made bacon of them, precisely as if they had been hogs. the common game were deer and elk. at that time none of the hunters of kentucky would waste a shot on anything so small as a prairie-chicken or wild duck; but they sometimes killed geese and swans when they came south in winter and lit on the rivers. but whenever boone went into the woods after game, he had perpetually to keep watch lest he himself might be hunted in turn. he never lay in wait at a game-lick, save with ears strained to hear the approach of some crawling red foe. he never crept up to a turkey he heard calling, without exercising the utmost care to see that it was not an indian; for one of the favorite devices of the indians was to imitate the turkey call, and thus allure within range some inexperienced hunter. besides this warfare, which went on in the midst of his usual vocations, boone frequently took the field on set expeditions against the savages. once when he and a party of other men were making salt at a lick, they were surprised and carried off by the indians. the old hunter was a prisoner with them for some months, but finally made his escape and came home through the trackless woods as straight as the wild pigeon flies. he was ever on the watch to ward off the indian inroads, and to follow the warparties, and try to rescue the prisoners. once his own daughter, and two other girls who were with her, were carried off by a band of indians. boone raised some friends and followed the trail steadily for two days and a night; then they came to where the indians had killed a buffalo calf and were camped around it. firing from a little distance, the whites shot two of the indians, and, rushing in, rescued the girls. on another occasion, when boone had gone to visit a salt-lick with his brother, the indians ambushed them and shot the latter. boone himself escaped, but the indians followed him for three miles by the aid of a tracking dog, until boone turned, shot the dog, and then eluded his pursuers. in company with simon kenton and many other noted hunters and wilderness warriors, he once and again took part in expeditions into the indian country, where they killed the braves and drove off the horses. twice bands of indians, accompanied by french, tory, and british partizans from detroit, bearing the flag of great britain, attacked boonesboroug. in each case boone and his fellow-settlers beat them off with loss. at the fatal battle of the blue licks, in which two hundred of the best riflemen of kentucky were beaten with terrible slaughter by a great force of indians from the lakes, boone commanded the left wing. leading his men, rifle in hand, he pushed back and overthrew the force against him; but meanwhile the indians destroyed the right wing and center, and got round in his rear, so that there was nothing left for boone's men except to flee with all possible speed. as kentucky became settled, boone grew restless and ill at ease. he loved the wilderness; he loved the great forests and the great prairie-like glades, and the life in the little lonely cabin, where from the door he could see the deer come out into the clearing at nightfall. the neighborhood of his own kind made him feel cramped and ill at ease. so he moved ever westward with the frontier; and as kentucky filled up he crossed the mississippi and settled on the borders of the prairie country of missouri, where the spaniards, who ruled the territory, made him an alcalde, or judge. he lived to a great age, and died out on the border, a backwoods hunter to the last. george rogers clark and the conquest of the northwest have the elder races halted? do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas? we take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson, pioneers! o pioneers! all the past we leave behind, we debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world; fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, pioneers! o pioneers! we detachments steady throwing, down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, conquering, holding, daring, venturing, as we go the unknown ways, pioneers! o pioneers! * * * * * * * the sachem blowing the smoke first towards the sun and then towards the earth, the drama of the scalp dance enacted with painted faces and guttural exclamations, the setting out of the war-party, the long and stealthy march, the single file, the swinging hatchets, the surprise and slaughter of enemies. --whitman. in , when independence was declared, the united states included only the thirteen original states on the seaboard. with the exception of a few hunters there were no white men west of the alleghany mountains, and there was not even an american hunter in the great country out of which we have since made the states of illinois, indiana, ohio, michigan, and wisconsin. all this region north of the ohio river then formed apart of the province of quebec. it was a wilderness of forests and prairies, teeming with game, and inhabited by many warlike tribes of indians. here and there through it were dotted quaint little towns of french creoles, the most important being detroit, vincennes on the wabash, and kaskaskia and kahokia on the illinois. these french villages were ruled by british officers commanding small bodies of regular soldiers or tory rangers and creole partizans. the towns were completely in the power of the british government; none of the american states had actual possession of a foot of property in the northwestern territory. the northwest was acquired in the midst of the revolution only by armed conquest, and if it had not been so acquired, it would have remained a part of the british dominion of canada. the man to whom this conquest was clue was a famous backwoods leader, a mighty hunter, a noted indian-fighter, george rogers clark. he was a very strong man, with light hair and blue eyes. he was of good virginian family. early in his youth, he embarked on the adventurous career of a backwoods surveyor, exactly as washington and so many other young virginians of spirit did at that period. he traveled out to kentucky soon after it was founded by boone, and lived there for a year, either at the stations or camping by him self in the woods, surveying, hunting, and making war against the indians like any other settler; but all the time his mind was bent on vaster schemes than were dreamed of by the men around him. he had his spies out in the northwestern territory, and became convinced that with a small force of resolute backwoodsmen he could conquer it for the united states. when he went back to virginia, governor patrick henry entered heartily into clark's schemes and gave him authority to fit out a force for his purpose. in , after encountering endless difficulties and delays, he finally raised a hundred and fifty backwoods riflemen. in may they started down the ohio in flatboats to undertake the allotted task. they drifted and rowed downstream to the falls of the ohio, where clark founded a log hamlet, which has since become the great city of louisville. here he halted for some days and was joined by fifty or sixty volunteers; but a number of the men deserted, and when, after an eclipse of the sun, clark again pushed off to go down with the current, his force was but about one hundred and sixty riflemen. all, however, were men on whom he could depend--men well used to frontier warfare. they were tall, stalwart backwoodsmen, clad in the hunting-shirt and leggings that formed the national dress of their kind, and armed with the distinctive weapon of the backwoods, the long-barreled, small-bore rifle. before reaching the mississippi the little flotilla landed, and clark led his men northward against the illinois towns. in one of them, kaskaskia, dwelt the british commander of the entire district up to detroit. the small garrison and the creole militia taken together outnumbered clark's force, and they were in close alliance with the indians roundabout. clark was anxious to take the town by surprise and avoid bloodshed, as he believed he could win over the creoles to the american side. marching cautiously by night and generally hiding by day, he came to the outskirts of the little village on the evening of july , and lay in the woods near by until after nightfall. fortune favored him. that evening the officers of the garrison had given a great ball to the mirth-loving creoles, and almost the entire population of the village had gathered in the fort, where the dance was held. while the revelry was at its height, clark and his tall backwoodsmen, treading silently through the darkness, came into the town, surprised the sentries, and surrounded the fort without causing any alarm. all the british and french capable of bearing arms were gathered in the fort to take part in or look on at the merrymaking. when his men were posted clark walked boldly forward through the open door, and, leaning against the wall, looked at the dancers as they whirled around in the light of the flaring torches. for some moments no one noticed him. then an indian who had been lying with his chin on his hand, looking carefully over the gaunt figure of the stranger, sprang to his feet, and uttered the wild war-whoop. immediately the dancing ceased and the men ran to and fro in confusion; but clark, stepping forward, bade them be at their ease, but to remember that henceforth they danced under the flag of the united states, and not under that of great britain. the surprise was complete, and no resistance was attempted. for twenty-four hours the creoles were in abject terror. then clark summoned their chief men together and explained that he came as their ally, and not as their foe, and that if they would join with him they should be citizens of the american republic, and treated in all respects on an equality with their comrades. the creoles, caring little for the british, and rather fickle of nature, accepted the proposition with joy, and with the most enthusiastic loyalty toward clark. not only that, but sending messengers to their kinsmen on the wabash, they persuaded the people of vincennes likewise to cast off their allegiance to the british king, and to hoist the american flag. so far, clark had conquered with greater ease than he had dared to hope. but when the news reached the british governor, hamilton, at detroit, he at once prepared to reconquer the land. he had much greater forces at his command than clark had; and in the fall of that year he came down to vincennes by stream and portage, in a great fleet of canoes bearing five hundred fighting men-british regulars, french partizans, and indians. the vincennes creoles refused to fight against the british, and the american officer who had been sent thither by clark had no alternative but to surrender. if hamilton had then pushed on and struck clark in illinois, having more than treble clark's force, he could hardly have failed to win the victory; but the season was late and the journey so difficult that he did not believe it could be taken. accordingly he disbanded the indians and sent some of his troops back to detroit, announcing that when spring came he would march against clark in illinois. if clark in turn had awaited the blow he would have surely met defeat; but he was a greater man than his antagonist, and he did what the other deemed impossible. finding that hamilton had sent home some of his troops and dispersed all his indians, clark realized that his chance was to strike before hamilton's soldiers assembled again in the spring. accordingly he gathered together the pick of his men, together with a few creoles, one hundred and seventy all told, and set out for vincennes. at first the journey was easy enough, for they passed across the snowy illinois prairies, broken by great reaches of lofty woods. they killed elk, buffalo, and deer for food, there being no difficulty in getting all they wanted to eat; and at night they built huge fires by which to sleep, and feasted "like indian war-dancers," as clark said in his report. but when, in the middle of february, they reached the drowned lands of the wabash, where the ice had just broken up and everything was flooded, the difficulties seemed almost insuperable, and the march became painful and laborious to a degree. all day long the troops waded in the icy water, and at night they could with difficulty find some little hillock on which to sleep. only clark's indomitable courage and cheerfulness kept the party in heart and enabled them to persevere. however, persevere they did, and at last, on february , they came in sight of the town of vincennes. they captured a creole who was out shooting ducks, and from him learned that their approach was utterly unsuspected, and that there were many indians in town. clark was now in some doubt as to how to make his fight. the british regulars dwelt in a small fort at one end of the town, where they had two light guns; but clark feared lest, if he made a sudden night attack, the townspeople and indians would from sheer fright turn against him. he accordingly arranged, just before he himself marched in, to send in the captured duck-hunter, conveying a warning to the indians and the creoles that he was about to attack the town, but that his only quarrel was with the british, and that if the other inhabitants would stay in their own homes they would not be molested. sending the duck-hunter ahead, clark took up his march and entered the town just after nightfall. the news conveyed by the released hunter astounded the townspeople, and they talked it over eagerly, and were in doubt what to do. the indians, not knowing how great might be the force that would assail the town, at once took refuge in the neighboring woods, while the creoles retired to their own houses. the british knew nothing of what had happened until the americans had actually entered the streets of the little village. rushing forward, clark's men soon penned the regulars within their fort, where they kept them surrounded all night. the next day a party of indian warriors, who in the british interest had been ravaging the settlements of kentucky, arrived and entered the town, ignorant that the americans had captured it. marching boldly forward to the fort, they suddenly found it beleaguered, and before they could flee they were seized by the backwoodsmen. in their belts they carried the scalps of the slain settlers. the savages were taken redhanded, and the american frontiersmen were in no mood to show mercy. all the indians were tomahawked in sight of the fort. for some time the british defended themselves well; but at length their guns were disabled, all of the gunners being picked off by the backwoods marksmen, and finally the garrison dared not so much as appear at a port-hole, so deadly was the fire from the long rifles. under such circumstances hamilton was forced to surrender. no attempt was afterward made to molest the americans in the land they had won, and upon the conclusion of peace the northwest, which had been conquered by clark, became part of the united states. the battle of trenton and such they are--and such they will be found: not so leonidas and washington, their every battle-field is holy ground which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. how sweetly on the ear such echoes sound! while the mere victor's may appal or stun the servile and the vain, such names will be a watchword till the future shall be free. --byron. in december, , the american revolution was at its lowest ebb. the first burst of enthusiasm, which drove the british back from concord and met them hand to hand at bunker hill, which forced them to abandon boston and repulsed their attack at charleston, had spent its force. the undisciplined american forces called suddenly from the workshop and the farm had given way, under the strain of a prolonged contest, and had been greatly scattered, many of the soldiers returning to their homes. the power of england, on the other hand, with her disciplined army and abundant resources, had begun to tell. washington, fighting stubbornly, had been driven during the summer and autumn from long island up the hudson, and new york had passed into the hands of the british. then forts lee and washington had been lost, and finally the continental army had retreated to new jersey. on the second of december washington was at princeton with some three thousand ragged soldiers, and had escaped destruction only by the rapidity of his movements. by the middle of the month general howe felt that the american army, unable as he believed either to fight or to withstand the winter, must soon dissolve, and, posting strong detachments at various points, he took up his winter quarters in new york. the british general had under his command in his various divisions twenty-five thousand well-disciplined soldiers, and the conclusion he had reached was not an unreasonable one; everything, in fact, seemed to confirm his opinion. thousands of the colonists were coming in and accepting his amnesty. the american militia had left the field, and no more would turn out, despite washington's earnest appeals. all that remained of the american revolution was the little continental army and the man who led it. yet even in this dark hour washington did not despair. he sent in every direction for troops. nothing was forgotten. nothing that he could do was left undone. unceasingly he urged action upon congress, and at the same time with indomitable fighting spirit he planned to attack the british. it was a desperate undertaking in the face of such heavy odds, for in all his divisions he had only some six thousand men, and even these were scattered. the single hope was that by his own skill and courage he could snatch victory from a situation where victory seemed impossible. with the instinct of a great commander he saw that his only chance was to fight the british detachments suddenly, unexpectedly, and separately, and to do this not only required secrecy and perfect judgment, but also the cool, unwavering courage of which, under such circumstances, very few men have proved themselves capable. as christmas approached his plans were ready. he determined to fall upon the british detachment of hessians, under colonel rahl, at trenton, and there strike his first blow. to each division of his little army a part in the attack was assigned with careful forethought. nothing was overlooked and nothing omitted, and then, for some reason good or bad, every one of the division commanders failed to do his part. as the general plan was arranged, gates was to march from bristol with two thousand men; ewing was to cross at trenton; putnam was to come up from philadelphia; and griffin was to make a diversion against donop. when the moment came, gates, who disapproved the plan, was on his way to congress; griffin abandoned new jersey and fled before donop; putnam did not attempt to leave philadelphia; and ewing made no effort to cross at trenton. cadwalader came down from bristol, looked at the river and the floating ice, and then gave it up as desperate. nothing remained except washington himself with the main army, but he neither gave up, nor hesitated, nor stopped on account of the ice, or the river, or the perils which lay beyond. on christmas eve, when all the christian world was feasting and rejoicing, and while the british were enjoying themselves in their comfortable quarters, washington set out. with twenty-four hundred men he crossed the delaware through the floating ice, his boats managed and rowed by the sturdy fishermen of marblehead from glover's regiment. the crossing was successful, and he landed about nine miles from trenton. it was bitter cold, and the sleet and snow drove sharply in the faces of the troops. sullivan, marching by the river, sent word that the arms of his soldiers were wet. "tell your general," was washington's reply to the message, "to use the bayonet, for the town must be taken." when they reached trenton it was broad daylight. washington, at the front and on the right of the line, swept down the pennington road, and, as he drove back the hessian pickets, he heard the shout of sullivan's men as, with stark leading the van, they charged in from the river. a company of jaegers and of light dragoons slipped away. there was some fighting in the streets, but the attack was so strong and well calculated that resistance was useless. colonel rahl, the british commander, aroused from his revels, was killed as he rushed out to rally his men, and in a few moments all was over. a thousand prisoners fell into washington's hands, and this important detachment of the enemy was cut off and destroyed. the news of trenton alarmed the british, and lord cornwallis with seven thousand of the best troops started at once from new york in hot pursuit of the american army. washington, who had now rallied some five thousand men, fell back, skirmishing heavily, behind the assunpink, and when cornwallis reached the river he found the american army awaiting him on the other side of the stream. night was falling, and cornwallis, feeling sure of his prey, decided that he would not risk an assault until the next morning. many lessons had not yet taught him that it was a fatal business to give even twelve hours to the great soldier opposed to him. during the night washington, leaving his fires burning and taking a roundabout road which he had already reconnoitered, marched to princeton. there he struck another british detachment. a sharp fight ensued, the british division was broken and defeated, losing some five hundred men, and washington withdrew after this second victory to the highlands of new jersey to rest and recruit. frederick the great is reported to have said that this was the most brilliant campaign of the century. with a force very much smaller than that of the enemy, washington had succeeded in striking the british at two places with superior forces at each point of contact. at trenton he had the benefit of a surprise, but the second time he was between two hostile armies. he was ready to fight cornwallis when the latter reached the assunpink, trusting to the strength of his position to make up for his inferiority of numbers. but when cornwallis gave him the delay of a night, washington, seeing the advantage offered by his enemy's mistake, at once changed his whole plan, and, turning in his tracks, fell upon the smaller of the two forces opposed to him, wrecking and defeating it before the outgeneraled cornwallis could get up with the main army. washington had thus shown the highest form of military skill, for there is nothing that requires so much judgment and knowledge, so much certainty of movement and quick decision, as to meet a superior enemy at different points, force the fighting, and at each point to outnumber and overwhelm him. but the military part of this great campaign was not all. many great soldiers have not been statesmen, and have failed to realize the political necessities of the situation. washington presented the rare combination of a great soldier and a great statesman as well. he aimed not only to win battles, but by his operations in the field to influence the political situation and affect public opinion. the american revolution was going to pieces. unless some decisive victory could be won immediately, it would have come to an end in the winter of - . this washington knew, and it was this which nerved his arm. the results justified his forethought. the victories of trenton and princeton restored the failing spirits of the people, and, what was hardly less important, produced a deep impression in europe in favor of the colonies. the country, which had lost heart, and become supine and almost hostile, revived. the militia again took the field. outlying parties of the british were attacked and cut off, and recruits once more began to come in to the continental army. the revolution was saved. that the english colonies in north america would have broken away from the mother country sooner or later cannot be doubted, but that particular revolution of would have failed within a year, had it not been for washington. it is not, however, merely the fact that he was a great soldier and statesman which we should remember. the most memorable thing to us, and to all men, is the heroic spirit of the man, which rose in those dreary december days to its greatest height, under conditions so adverse that they had crushed the hope of every one else. let it be remembered, also, that it was not a spirit of desperation or of ignorance, a reckless daring which did not count the cost. no one knew better than washington--no one, indeed, so well--the exact state of affairs; for he, conspicuously among great men, always looked facts fearlessly in the face, and never deceived himself. he was under no illusions, and it was this high quality of mind as much as any other which enabled him to win victories. how he really felt we know from what he wrote to congress on december , when he said: "it may be thought that i am going a good deal out of the line of my duty to adopt these measures or to advise thus freely. a character to lose, an estate to forfeit, the inestimable blessing of liberty at stake, and a life devoted, must be my excuse." these were the thoughts in his mind when he was planning this masterly campaign. these same thoughts, we may readily believe, were with him when his boat was making its way through the ice of the delaware on christmas eve. it was a very solemn moment, and he was the only man in the darkness of that night who fully understood what was at stake; but then, as always, he was calm and serious, with a high courage which nothing could depress. the familiar picture of a later day depicts washington crossing the delaware at the head of his soldiers. he is standing up in the boat, looking forward in the teeth of the storm. it matters little whether the work of the painter is in exact accordance with the real scene or not. the daring courage, the high resolve, the stern look forward and onward, which the artist strove to show in the great leader, are all vitally true. for we may be sure that the man who led that well-planned but desperate assault, surrounded by darker conditions than the storms of nature which gathered about his boat, and carrying with him the fortunes of his country, was at that moment one of the most heroic figures in history. bennington we are but warriors for the working-day; our gayness and our guilt are all besmirch'd with rainy marching in the painful field; there's not a piece of feather in our host (good argument, i hope, we shall not fly), and time hath worn us into slovenry. but, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim, and my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night they'll be in fresher robes. --henry v. the battle of saratoga is included by sir edward creasy among his fifteen decisive battles which have, by their result, affected the history of the world. it is true that the american revolution was saved by washington in the remarkable princeton and trenton campaign, but it is equally true that the surrender of burgoyne at saratoga, in the following autumn, turned the scale decisively in favor of the colonists by the impression which it made in europe. it was the destruction of burgoyne's army which determined france to aid the americans against england. hence came the french alliance, the french troops, and, what was of far more importance, a french fleet by which washington was finally able to get control of the sea, and in this way cut off cornwallis at yorktown and bring the revolution to a successful close. that which led, however, more directly than anything else to the final surrender at saratoga was the fight at bennington, by which burgoyne's army was severely crippled and weakened, and by which also, the hardy militia of the north eastern states were led to turn out in large numbers and join the army of gates. the english ministry had built great hopes upon burgoyne's expedition, and neither expense nor effort had been spared to make it successful. he was amply furnished with money and supplies as well as with english and german troops, the latter of whom were bought from their wretched little princes by the payment of generous subsidies. with an admirably equipped army of over seven thousand men, and accompanied by a large force of indian allies, burgoyne had started in may, , from canada. his plan was to make his way by the lakes to the head waters of the hudson, and thence southward along the river to new york, where he was to unite with sir william howe and the main army; in this way cutting the colonies in two, and separating new england from the rest of the country. at first all went well. the americans were pushed back from their posts on the lakes, and by the end of july burgoyne was at the head waters of the hudson. he had already sent out a force, under st. leger, to take possession of the valley of the mohawk--an expedition which finally resulted in the defeat of the british by herkimer, and the capture of fort stanwix. to aid st. leger by a diversion, and also to capture certain magazines which were reported to be at bennington, burgoyne sent another expedition to the eastward. this force consisted of about five hundred and fifty white troops, chiefly hessians, and one hundred and fifty indians, all under the command of colonel baum. they were within four miles of bennington on august , , and encamped on a hill just within the boundaries of the state of new york. the news of the advance of burgoyne had already roused the people of new york and new hampshire, and the legislature of the latter state had ordered general stark with a brigade of militia to stop the progress of the enemy on the western frontier. stark raised his standard at charlestown on the connecticut river, and the militia poured into his camp. disregarding schuyler's orders to join the main american army, which was falling back before burgoyne, stark, as soon as he heard of the expedition against bennington, marched at once to meet baum. he was within a mile of the british camp on august , and vainly endeavored to draw baum into action. on the th it rained heavily, and the british forces occupied the time in intrenching themselves strongly upon the hill which they held. baum meantime had already sent to burgoyne for reinforcements, and burgoyne had detached colonel breymann with over six hundred regular troops to go to baum's assistance. on the th the weather cleared, and stark, who had been reinforced by militia from western massachusetts, determined to attack. early in the day he sent men, under nichols and herrick, to get into the rear of baum's position. the german officer, ignorant of the country and of the nature of the warfare in which he was engaged, noticed small bodies of men in their shirtsleeves, and carrying guns without bayonets, making their way to the rear of his intrenchments. with singular stupidity he concluded that they were tory inhabitants of the country who were coming to his assistance, and made no attempt to stop them. in this way stark was enabled to mass about five hundred men in the rear of the enemy's position. distracting the attention of the british by a feint, stark also moved about two hundred men to the right, and having thus brought his forces into position he ordered a general assault, and the americans proceeded to storm the british intrenchments on every side. the fight was a very hot one, and lasted some two hours. the indians, at the beginning of the action, slipped away between the american detachments, but the british and german regulars stubbornly stood their ground. it is difficult to get at the exact numbers of the american troops, but stark seems to have had between fifteen hundred and two thousand militia. he thus outnumbered his enemy nearly three to one, but his men were merely country militia, farmers of the new england states, very imperfectly disciplined, and armed only with muskets and fowling-pieces, without bayonets or side-arms. on the other side baum had the most highly disciplined troops of england and germany under his command, well armed and equipped, and he was moreover strongly intrenched with artillery well placed behind the breastworks. the advantage in the fight should have been clearly with baum and his regulars, who merely had to hold an intrenched hill. it was not a battle in which either military strategy or a scientific management of troops was displayed. all that stark did was to place his men so that they could attack the enemy's position on every side, and then the americans went at it, firing as they pressed on. the british and germans stood their ground stubbornly, while the new england farmers rushed up to within eight yards of the cannon, and picked off the men who manned the guns. stark himself was in the midst of the fray, fighting with his soldiers, and came out of the conflict so blackened with powder and smoke that he could hardly be recognized. one desperate assault succeeded another, while the firing on both sides was so incessant as to make, in stark's own words, a "continuous roar." at the end of two hours the americans finally swarmed over the intrenchments, beating down the soldiers with their clubbed muskets. baum ordered his infantry with the bayonet and the dragoons with their sabers to force their way through, but the americans repulsed this final charge, and baum himself fell mortally wounded. all was then over, and the british forces surrendered. it was only just in time, for breymann, who had taken thirty hours to march some twenty-four miles, came up just after baum's men had laid down their arms. it seemed for a moment as if all that had been gained might be lost. the americans, attacked by this fresh foe, wavered; but stark rallied his line, and putting in warner, with one hundred and fifty vermont men who had just come on the field, stopped breymann's advance, and finally forced him to retreat with a loss of nearly one half his men. the americans lost in killed and wounded some seventy men, and the germans and british about twice as many, but the americans took about seven hundred prisoners, and completely wrecked the forces of baum and breymann. the blow was a severe one, and burgoyne's army never recovered from it. not only had he lost nearly a thousand of his best troops, besides cannon, arms, and munitions of war, but the defeat affected the spirits of his army and destroyed his hold over his indian allies, who began to desert in large numbers. bennington, in fact, was one of the most important fights of the revolution, contributing as it did so largely to the final surrender of burgoyne's whole army at saratoga, and the utter ruin of the british invasion from the north. it is also interesting as an extremely gallant bit of fighting. as has been said, there was no strategy displayed, and there were no military operations of the higher kind. there stood the enemy strongly intrenched on a hill, and stark, calling his undisciplined levies about him, went at them. he himself was a man of the highest courage and a reckless fighter. it was stark who held the railfence at bunker hill, and who led the van when sullivan's division poured into trenton from the river road. he was admirably adapted for the precise work which was necessary at bennington, and he and his men fought well their hand-to-hand fight on that hot august day, and carried the intrenchments filled with regular troops and defended by artillery. it was a daring feat of arms, as well as a battle which had an important effect upon the course of history and upon the fate of the british empire in america. king's mountain our fortress is the good greenwood, our tent the cypress tree; we know the forest round us as seamen know the sea. we know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. --bryant. the close of the year was, in the southern states, the darkest time of the revolutionary struggle. cornwallis had just destroyed the army of gates at camden, and his two formidable lieutenants, tarlton the light horseman, and ferguson the skilled rifleman, had destroyed or scattered all the smaller bands that had been fighting for the patriot cause. the red dragoons rode hither and thither, and all through georgia and south carolina none dared lift their heads to oppose them, while north carolina lay at the feet of cornwallis, as he started through it with his army to march into virginia. there was no organized force against him, and the cause of the patriots seemed hopeless. it was at this hour that the wild backwoodsmen of the western border gathered to strike a blow for liberty. when cornwallis invaded north carolina he sent ferguson into the western part of the state to crush out any of the patriot forces that might still be lingering among the foot-hills. ferguson was a very gallant and able officer, and a man of much influence with the people wherever he went, so that he was peculiarly fitted for this scrambling border warfare. he had under him a battalion of regular troops and several other battalions of tory militia, in all eleven or twelve hundred men. he shattered and drove the small bands of whigs that were yet in arms, and finally pushed to the foot of the mountain wall, till he could see in his front the high ranges of the great smokies. here he learned for the first time that beyond the mountains there lay a few hamlets of frontiersmen, whose homes were on what were then called the western waters, that is, the waters which flowed into the mississippi. to these he sent word that if they did not prove loyal to the king, he would cross their mountains, hang their leaders, and burn their villages. beyond the, mountains, in the valleys of the holston and watauga, dwelt men who were stout of heart and mighty in battle, and when they heard the threats of ferguson they burned with a sullen flame of anger. hitherto the foes against whom they had warred had been not the british, but the indian allies of the british, creek, and cherokee, and shawnee. now that the army of the king had come to their thresholds, they turned to meet it as fiercely as they had met his indian allies. among the backwoodsmen of this region there were at that time three men of special note: sevier, who afterward became governor of tennessee; shelby, who afterward became governor of kentucky; and campbell, the virginian, who died in the revolutionary war. sevier had given a great barbecue, where oxen and deer were roasted whole, while horseraces were run, and the backwoodsmen tried their skill as marksmen and wrestlers. in the midst of the feasting shelby appeared, hot with hard riding, to tell of the approach of ferguson and the british. immediately the feasting was stopped, and the feasters made ready for war. sevier and shelby sent word to campbell to rouse the men of his own district and come without delay, and they sent messengers to and fro in their own neighborhood to summon the settlers from their log huts on the stump-dotted clearings and the hunters from their smoky cabins in the deep woods. the meeting-place was at the sycamore shoals. on the appointed day the backwoodsmen gathered sixteen hundred strong, each man carrying a long rifle, and mounted on a tough, shaggy horse. they were a wild and fierce people, accustomed to the chase and to warfare with the indians. their hunting-shirts of buckskin or homespun were girded in by bead-worked belts, and the trappings of their horses were stained red and yellow. at the gathering there was a black-frocked presbyterian preacher, and before they started he addressed the tall riflemen in words of burning zeal, urging them to stand stoutly in the battle, and to smite with the sword of the lord and of gideon. then the army started, the backwoods colonels riding in front. two or three days later, word was brought to ferguson that the back-water men had come over the mountains; that the indian-fighters of the frontier, leaving unguarded their homes on the western waters, had crossed by wooded and precipitous defiles to the help of the beaten men of the plains. ferguson at once fell back, sending out messengers for help. when he came to king's mountain, a wooded, hog-back hill on the border line between north and south carolina, he camped on its top, deeming that there he was safe, for he supposed that before the backwoodsmen could come near enough to attack him help would reach him. but the backwoods leaders felt as keenly as he the need of haste, and choosing out nine hundred picked men, the best warriors of their force, and the best mounted and armed, they made a long forced march to assail ferguson before help could come to him. all night long they rode the dim forest trails and splashed across the fords of the rushing rivers. all the next day, october , they rode, until in mid-afternoon, just as a heavy shower cleared away, they came in sight of king's mountain. the little armies were about equal in numbers. ferguson's regulars were armed with the bayonet, and so were some of his tory militia, whereas the americans had not a bayonet among them; but they were picked men, confident in their skill as riflemen, and they were so sure of victory that their aim was not only to defeat the british but to capture their whole force. the backwoods colonels, counseling together as they rode at the head of the column, decided to surround the mountain and assail it on all sides. accordingly the bands of frontiersmen split one from the other, and soon circled the craggy hill where ferguson's forces were encamped. they left their horses in the rear and immediately began the battle, swarming forward on foot, their commanders leading the attack. the march had been so quick and the attack so sudden that ferguson had barely time to marshal his men before the assault was made. most of his militia he scattered around the top of the hill to fire down at the americans as they came up, while with his regulars and with a few picked militia he charged with the bayonet in person, first down one side of the mountain and then down the other. sevier, shelby, campbell, and the other colonels of the frontiersmen, led each his force of riflemen straight toward the summit. each body in turn when charged by the regulars was forced to give way, for there were no bayonets wherewith to meet the foe; but the backwoodsmen retreated only so long as the charge lasted, and the minute that it stopped they stopped too, and came back ever closer to the ridge and ever with a deadlier fire. ferguson, blowing a silver whistle as a signal to his men, led these charges, sword in hand, on horseback. at last, just as he was once again rallying his men, the riflemen of sevier and shelby crowned the top of the ridge. the gallant british commander became a fair target for the backwoodsmen, and as for the last time he led his men against them, seven bullets entered his body and he fell dead. with his fall resistance ceased. the regulars and tories huddled together in a confused mass, while the exultant americans rushed forward. a flag of truce was hoisted, and all the british who were not dead surrendered. the victory was complete, and the backwoodsmen at once started to return to their log hamlets and rough, lonely farms. they could not stay, for they dared not leave their homes at the mercy of the indians. they had rendered a great service; for cornwallis, when he heard of the disaster to his trusted lieutenant, abandoned his march northward, and retired to south carolina. when he again resumed the offensive, he found his path barred by stubborn general greene and his troops of the continental line. the storming of stony point in their ragged regimentals stood the old continentals, yielding not, when the grenadiers were lunging, and like hail fell the plunging cannon-shot; when the files of the isles from the smoky night encampment bore the banner of the rampant unicorn, and grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drummer, through the morn! then with eyes to the front all, and with guns horizontal, stood our sires; and the balls whistled deadly, and in streams flashing redly blazed the fires; as the roar on the shore swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres of the plain; and louder, louder, louder cracked the black gunpowder, cracked amain! --guy humphrey mcmaster. one of the heroic figures of the revolution was anthony wayne, major-general of the continental line. with the exception of washington, and perhaps greene, he was the best general the americans developed in the contest; and without exception he showed himself to be the hardest fighter produced on either side. he belongs, as regards this latter characteristic, with the men like winfield scott, phil kearney, hancock, and forrest, who reveled in the danger and the actual shock of arms. indeed, his eager love of battle, and splendid disregard of peril, have made many writers forget his really great qualities as a general. soldiers are always prompt to recognize the prime virtue of physical courage, and wayne's followers christened their daring commander "mad anthony," in loving allusion to his reckless bravery. it is perfectly true that wayne had this courage, and that he was a born fighter; otherwise, he never would have been a great commander. a man who lacks the fondness for fighting, the eager desire to punish his adversary, and the willingness to suffer punishment in return, may be a great organizer, like mcclellan, but can never become a great general or win great victories. there are, however, plenty of men who, though they possess these fine manly traits, yet lack the head to command an army; but wayne had not only the heart and the hand but the head likewise. no man could dare as greatly as he did without incurring the risk of an occasional check; but he was an able and bold tactician, a vigilant and cautious leader, well fitted to bear the terrible burden of responsibility which rests upon a commander-in-chief. of course, at times he had some rather severe lessons. quite early in his career, just after the battle of the brandywine, when he was set to watch the enemy, he was surprised at night by the british general grey, a redoubtable fighter, who attacked him with the bayonet, killed a number of his men, and forced him to fall back some distance from the field of action. this mortifying experience had no effect whatever on wayne's courage or self-reliance, but it did give him a valuable lesson in caution. he showed what he had learned by the skill with which, many years later, he conducted the famous campaign in which he overthrew the northwestern indians at the fight of the fallen timbers. wayne's favorite weapon was the bayonet, and, like scott he taught his troops, until they were able in the shock of hand-to-hand conflict to overthrow the renowned british infantry, who have always justly prided themselves on their prowess with cold steel. at the battle of germantown it was wayne's troops who, falling on with the bayonet, drove the hessians and the british light infantry, and only retreated under orders when the attack had failed elsewhere. at monmouth it was wayne and his continentals who first checked the british advance by repulsing the bayonet charge of the guards and grenadiers. washington, a true leader of men, was prompt to recognize in wayne a soldier to whom could be intrusted any especially difficult enterprise which called for the exercise alike of intelligence and of cool daring. in the summer of he was very anxious to capture the british fort at stony point, which commanded the hudson. it was impracticable to attack it by regular siege while the british frigates lay in the river, and the defenses ere so strong that open assault by daylight was equally out of the question. accordingly washington suggested to wayne that he try a night attack. wayne eagerly caught at the idea. it was exactly the kind of enterprise in which he delighted. the fort was on a rocky promontory, surrounded on three sides by water, and on the fourth by a neck of land, which was for the most part mere morass. it was across this neck of land that any attacking column had to move. the garrison was six hundred strong. to deliver the assault wayne took nine hundred men. the american army was camped about fourteen miles from stony point. one july afternoon wayne started, and led his troops in single file along the narrow rocky roads, reaching the hills on the mainland near the fort after nightfall. he divided his force into two columns, to advance one along each side of the neck, detaching two companies of north carolina troops to move in between the two columns and make a false attack. the rest of the force consisted of new englanders, pennsylvanians, and virginians. each attacking column was divided into three parts, a forlorn hope of twenty men leading, which was followed by an advance guard of one hundred and twenty, and then by the main body. at the time commanding officers still carried spontoons, and other old-time weapons, and wayne, who himself led the right column, directed its movements spear in hand. it was nearly midnight when the americans began to press along the causeways toward the fort. before they were near the walls they were discovered, and the british opened a heavy fire of great guns and musketry, to which the carolinians, who were advancing between the two columns, responded in their turn, according to orders; but the men in the columns were forbidden to fire. wayne had warned them that their work must be done with the bayonet, and their muskets were not even loaded. moreover, so strict was the discipline that no one was allowed to leave the ranks, and when one of the men did so an officer promptly ran him through the body. no sooner had the british opened fire than the charging columns broke into a run, and in a moment the forlorn hopes plunged into the abattis of fallen timber which the british had constructed just without the walls. on the left, the forlorn hope was very roughly handled, no less than seventeen of the twenty men being either killed or wounded, but as the columns came up both burst through the down timber and swarmed up the long, sloping embankments of the fort. the british fought well, cheering loudly as their volley's rang, but the americans would not be denied, and pushed silently on to end the contest with the bayonet. a bullet struck wayne in the head. he fell, but struggled to his feet and forward, two of his officers supporting him. a rumor went among the men that he was dead, but it only impelled them to charge home, more fiercely than ever. with a rush the troops swept to the top of the wall. a fierce but short fight followed in the intense darkness, which was lit only by the flashes from the british muskets. the americans did not fire, trusting solely to the bayonet. the two columns had kept almost equal pace, and they swept into the fort from opposite sides at the same moment. the three men who first got over the walls were all wounded, but one of them hauled down the british flag. the americans had the advantage which always comes from delivering an attack that is thrust home. their muskets were unloaded and they could not hesitate; so, running boldly into close quarters, they fought hand to hand with their foes and speedily overthrew them. for a moment the bayonets flashed and played; then the british lines broke as their assailants thronged against them, and the struggle was over. the americans had lost a hundred in killed and wounded. of the british sixty-three had been slain and very many wounded, every one of the dead or disabled having suffered from the bayonet. a curious coincidence was that the number of the dead happened to be exactly equal to the number of wayne's men who had been killed in the night attack by the english general, grey. there was great rejoicing among the americans over the successful issue of the attack. wayne speedily recovered from his wound, and in the joy of his victory it weighed but slightly. he had performed a most notable feat. no night attack of the kind was ever delivered with greater boldness, skill, and success. when the revolutionary war broke out the american armies were composed merely of armed yeomen, stalwart men, of good courage, and fairly proficient in the use of their weapons, but entirely without the training which alone could enable them to withstand the attack of the british regulars in the open, or to deliver an attack themselves. washington's victory at trenton was the first encounter which showed that the americans were to be feared when they took the offensive. with the exception of the battle of trenton, and perhaps of greene's fight at eutaw springs, wayne's feat was the most successful illustration of daring and victorious attack by an american army that occurred during the war; and, unlike greene, who was only able to fight a drawn battle, wayne's triumph was complete. at monmouth he had shown, as he afterward showed against cornwallis, that his troops could meet the renowned british regulars on even terms in the open. at stony point he showed that he could lead them to a triumphant assault with the bayonet against regulars who held a fortified place of strength. no american commander has ever displayed greater energy and daring, a more resolute courage, or readier resource, than the chief of the hard-fighting revolutionary generals, mad anthony wayne. gouverneur morris gouverneur morris. paris. august , . justum et tenacem propositi virum non civium ardor prava jubentium, non vultus instantis tyranni mente quatit solida, neque auster dux inquieti turbidus hadriae, nec fulminantis magna manus jovis: si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinae. --hor., lib. iii. carm. iii. the th of august, , was one of the most memorable days of the french revolution. it was the day on which the french monarchy received its death-blow, and was accompanied by fighting and bloodshed which filled paris with terror. in the morning before daybreak the tocsin had sounded, and not long after the mob of paris, headed by the marseillais, "six hundred men not afraid to die," who had been summoned there by barbaroux, were marching upon the tuileries. the king, or rather the queen, had at last determined to make a stand and to defend the throne. the swiss guards were there at the palace, well posted to protect the inner court; and there, too, were the national guards, who were expected to uphold the government and guard the king. the tide of people poured on through the streets, gathering strength as they went the marseillais, the armed bands, the sections, and a vast floating mob. the crowd drew nearer and nearer, but the squadrons of the national guards, who were to check the advance, did not stir. it is not apparent, indeed, that they made any resistance, and the king and his family at eight o'clock lost heart and deserted the tuileries, to take refuge with the national convention. the multitude then passed into the court of the carrousel, unchecked by the national guards, and were face to face with the swiss. deserted by their king, the swiss knew not how to act, but still stood their ground. there was some parleying, and at last the marseillais fired a cannon. then the swiss fired. they were disciplined troops, and their fire was effective. there was a heavy slaughter and the mob recoiled, leaving their cannon, which the swiss seized. the revolutionists, however, returned to the charge, and the fight raged on both sides, the swiss holding their ground firmly. suddenly, from the legislative hall, came an order from the king to the swiss to cease firing. it was their death warrant. paralyzed by the order, they knew not what to do. the mob poured in, and most of the gallant swiss were slaughtered where they stood. others escaped from the tuileries only to meet their death in the street. the palace was sacked and the raging mob was in possession of the city. no man's life was safe, least of all those who were known to be friends of the king, who were nobles, or who had any connection with the court. some of these people whose lives were thus in peril at the hands of the bloodstained and furious mob had been the allies of the united states, and had fought under washington in the war for american independence. in their anguish and distress their thoughts recurred to the country which they had served in its hour of trial, three thousand miles away. they sought the legation of the united states and turned to the american minister for protection. such an exercise of humanity at that moment was not a duty that any man craved. in those terrible days in paris, the representatives of foreign governments were hardly safer than any one else. many of the ambassadors and ministers had already left the country, and others were even then abandoning their posts, which it seemed impossible to hold at such a time. but the american minister stood his ground. gouverneur morris was not a man to shrink from what he knew to be his duty. he had been a leading patriot in our revolution; he had served in the continental congress, and with robert morris in the difficult work of the treasury, when all our resources seemed to be at their lowest ebb. in he had gone abroad on private business, and had been much in paris, where he had witnessed the beginning of the french revolution and had been consulted by men on both sides. in , by washington's direction, he had gone to london and had consulted the ministry there as to whether they would receive an american minister. thence he had returned to paris, and at the beginning of washington appointed him minister of the united states to france. as an american, morris's sympathies had run strongly in favor of the movement to relieve france from the despotism under which she was sinking, and to give her a better and more liberal government. but, as the revolution progressed, he became outraged and disgusted by the methods employed. he felt a profound contempt for both sides. the inability of those who were conducting the revolution to carry out intelligent plans or maintain order, and the feebleness of the king and his advisers, were alike odious to the man with american conceptions of ordered liberty. he was especially revolted by the bloodshed and cruelty, constantly gathering in strength, which were displayed by the revolutionists, and he had gone to the very verge of diplomatic propriety in advising the ministers of the king in regard to the policies to be pursued, and, as he foresaw what was coming, in urging the king himself to leave france. all his efforts and all his advice, like those of other intelligent men who kept their heads during the whirl of the revolution, were alike vain. on august the gathering storm broke with full force, and the populace rose in arms to sweep away the tottering throne. then it was that these people, fleeing for their lives, came to the representative of the country for which many of them had fought, and on both public and private grounds besought the protection of the american minister. let me tell what happened in the words of an eye-witness, an american gentleman who was in paris at that time, and who published the following account of his experiences: on the ever memorable th of august, after viewing the destruction of the royal swiss guards and the dispersion of the paris militia by a band of foreign and native incendiaries, the writer thought it his duty to visit the minister, who had not been out of his hotel since the insurrection began, and, as was to be expected, would be anxious to learn what was passing without doors. he was surrounded by the old count d'estaing, and about a dozen other persons of distinction, of different sexes, who had, from their connection with the united states, been his most intimate acquaintances at paris, and who had taken refuge with him for protection from the bloodhounds which, in the forms of men and women, were prowling in the streets at the time. all was silence here, except that silence was occasionally interrupted by the crying of the women and children. as i retired, the minister took me aside, and observed: "i have no doubt, sir, but there are persons on the watch who would find fault with my conduct as minister in receiving and protecting these people, but i call on you to witness the declaration which i now make, and that is that they were not invited to my house, but came of their own accord. whether my house will be a protection to them or to me, god only knows, but i will not turn them out of it, let what will happen to me," to which he added, "you see, sir, they are all persons to whom our country is more or less indebted, and it would be inhuman to force them into the hands of the assassins, had they no such claim upon me." nothing can be added to this simple account, and no american can read it or repeat the words of mr. morris without feeling even now, a hundred years after the event, a glow of pride that such words were uttered at such a time by the man who represented the united states. after august , when matters in paris became still worse, mr. morris still stayed at his post. let me give, in his own words, what he did and his reasons for it: the different ambassadors and ministers are all taking their flight, and if i stay i shall be alone. i mean, however, to stay, unless circumstances should command me away, because, in the admitted case that my letters of credence are to the monarchy, and not to the republic of france, it becomes a matter of indifference whether i remain in this country or go to england during the time which may be needful to obtain your orders, or to produce a settlement of affairs here. going hence, however, would look like taking part against the late revolution, and i am not only unauthorized in this respect, but i am bound to suppose that if the great majority of the nation adhere to the new form, the united states will approve thereof; because, in the first place, we have no right to prescribe to this country the government they shall adopt, and next, because the basis of our own constitution is the indefeasible right of the people to establish it. among those who are leaving paris is the venetian ambassador. he was furnished with passports from the office of foreign affairs, but he was, nevertheless, stopped at the barrier, was conducted to the hotel de ville, was there questioned for hours, and his carriages examined and searched. this violation of the rights of ambassadors could not fail, as you may suppose, to make an impression. it has been broadly hinted to me that the honor of my country and my own require that i should go away. but i am of a different opinion, and rather think that those who give such hints are somewhat influenced by fear. it is true that the position is not without danger, but i presume that when the president did me the honor of naming me to this embassy, it was not for my personal pleasure or safety, but to promote the interests of my country. these, therefore, i shall continue to pursue to the best of my judgment, and as to consequences, they are in the hand of god. he remained there until his successor arrived. when all others fled, he was faithful, and such conduct should never be forgotten. mr. morris not only risked his life, but he took a heavy responsibility, and laid himself open to severe attack for having protected defenseless people against the assaults of the mob. but his courageous humanity is something which should ever be remembered, and ought always to be characteristic of the men who represent the united states in foreign countries. when we recall the french revolution, it is cheering to think of that fearless figure of the american minister, standing firm and calm in the midst of those awful scenes, with sacked palaces, slaughtered soldiers, and a bloodstained mob about him, regardless of danger to himself, determined to do his duty to his country, and to those to whom his country was indebted. the burning of the "philadelphia" and say besides, that in aleppo once, where a malignant and a turban'd turk beat a venetian and traduced the state, i took by the throat the circumcised dog and smote him, thus. --othello. it is difficult to conceive that there ever was a time when the united states paid a money tribute to anybody. it is even more difficult to imagine the united states paying blackmail to a set of small piratical tribes on the coast of africa. yet this is precisely what we once did with the barbary powers, as they were called the states of morocco, tunis, tripoli, and algiers, lying along the northern coast of africa. the only excuse to be made for such action was that we merely followed the example of christendom. the civilized people of the world were then in the habit of paying sums of money to these miserable pirates, in order to secure immunity for their merchant vessels in the mediterranean. for this purpose congress appropriated money, and treaties were made by the president and ratified by the senate. on one occasion, at least, congress actually revoked the authorization of some new ships for the navy, and appropriated more money than was required to build the men-of-war in order to buy off the barbary powers. the fund for this disgraceful purpose was known as the "mediterranean fund," and was intrusted to the secretary of state to be disbursed by him in his discretion. after we had our brush with france, however, in , and after truxtun's brilliant victory over the french frigate l'insurgente in the following year, it occurred to our government that perhaps there was a more direct as well as a more manly way of dealing with the barbary pirates than by feebly paying them tribute, and in a small squadron, under commodore dale, proceeded to the mediterranean. at the same time events occurred which showed strikingly the absurdity as well as the weakness of this policy of paying blackmail to pirates. the bashaw of tripoli, complaining that we had given more money to some of the algerian ministers than we had to him, and also that we had presented algiers with a frigate, declared war upon us, and cut down the flag-staff in front of the residence of the american consul. at the same time, and for the same reason, morocco and tunis began to grumble at the treatment which they had received. the fact was that, with nations as with individuals, when the payment of blackmail is once begun there is no end to it. the appearance, however, of our little squadron in the mediterranean showed at once the superiority of a policy of force over one of cowardly submission. morocco and tunis immediately stopped their grumbling and came to terms with the united states, and this left us free to deal with tripoli. commodore dale had sailed before the declaration of war by tripoli was known, and he was therefore hampered by his orders, which permitted him only to protect our commerce, and which forbade actual hostilities. nevertheless, even under these limited orders, the enterprise, of twelve guns, commanded by lieutenant sterrett, fought an action with the tripolitan ship tripoli, of fourteen guns. the engagement lasted three hours, when the tripoli struck, having lost her mizzenmast, and with twenty of her crew killed and thirty wounded. sterrett, having no orders to make captures, threw all the guns and ammunition of the tripoli overboard, cut away her remaining masts, and left her with only one spar and a single sail to drift back to tripoli, as a hint to the bashaw of the new american policy. in the command of our fleet in the mediterranean was taken by commodore preble, who had just succeeded in forcing satisfaction from morocco for an attack made upon our merchantmen by a vessel from tangier. he also proclaimed a blockade of tripoli and was preparing to enforce it when the news reached him that the frigate philadelphia, forty-four guns, commanded by captain bainbridge, and one of the best ships in our navy, had gone upon a reef in the harbor of tripoli, while pursuing a vessel there, and had been surrounded and captured, with all her crew, by the tripolitan gunboats, when she was entirely helpless either to fight or sail. this was a very serious blow to our navy and to our operations against tripoli. it not only weakened our forces, but it was also a great help to the enemy. the tripolitans got the philadelphia off the rocks, towed her into the harbor, and anchored her close under the guns of their forts. they also replaced her batteries, and prepared to make her ready for sea, where she would have been a most formidable danger to our shipping. under these circumstances stephen decatur, a young lieutenant in command of the enterprise, offered to commodore preble to go into the harbor and destroy the philadelphia. some delay ensued, as our squadron was driven by severe gales from the tripolitan coast; but at last, in january, , preble gave orders to decatur to undertake the work for which he had volunteered. a small vessel known as a ketch had been recently captured from the tripolitans by decatur, and this prize was now named the intrepid, and assigned to him for the work he had in hand. he took seventy men from his own ship, the enterprise, and put them on the intrepid, and then, accompanied by lieutenant stewart in the siren, who was to support him, he set sail for tripoli. he and his crew were very much cramped as well as badly fed on the little vessel which had been given to them, but they succeeded, nevertheless, in reaching tripoli in safety, accompanied by the siren. for nearly a week they were unable to approach the harbor, owing to severe gales which threatened the loss of their vessel; but on february the weather moderated and decatur determined to go in. it is well to recall, briefly, the extreme peril of the attack which he was about to make. the philadelphia, with forty guns mounted, double-shotted, and ready for firing, and manned by a full complement of men, was moored within half a gunshot of the bashaw's castle, the mole and crown batteries, and within range of ten other batteries, mounting, altogether, one hundred and fifteen guns. some tripolitan cruisers, two galleys, and nineteen gunboats also lay between the philadelphia and the shore. into the midst of this powerful armament decatur had to go with his little vessel of sixty tons, carrying four small guns and having a crew of seventy-five men. the americans, however, were entirely undismayed by the odds against them, and at seven o'clock decatur went into the harbor between the reef and shoal which formed its mouth. he steered on steadily toward the philadelphia, the breeze getting constantly lighter, and by half-past nine was within two hundred yards of the frigate. as they approached decatur stood at the helm with the pilot, only two or three men showing on deck and the rest of the crew lying hidden under the bulwarks. in this way he drifted to within nearly twenty yards of the philadelphia. the suspicions of the tripolitans, however, were not aroused, and when they hailed the intrepid, the pilot answered that they had lost their anchors in a gale, and asked that they might run a warp to the frigate and ride by her. while the talk went on the intrepid's boat shoved off with the rope, and pulling to the fore-chains of the philadelphia, made the line fast. a few of the crew then began to haul on the lines, and thus the intrepid was drawn gradually toward the frigate. the suspicions of the tripolitans were now at last awakened. they raised the cry of "americanos!" and ordered off the intrepid, but it was too late. as the vessels came in contact, decatur sprang up the main chains of the philadelphia, calling out the order to board. he was rapidly followed by his officers and men, and as they swarmed over the rails and came upon the deck, the tripolitan crew gathered, panic-stricken, in a confused mass on the forecastle. decatur waited a moment until his men were behind him, and then, placing himself at their head, drew his sword and rushed upon the tripolitans. there was a very short struggle, and the tripolitans, crowded together, terrified and surprised, were cut down or driven overboard. in five minutes the ship was cleared of the enemy. decatur would have liked to have taken the philadelphia out of the harbor, but that was impossible. he therefore gave orders to burn the ship, and his men, who had been thoroughly instructed in what they were to do, dispersed into all parts of the frigate with the combustibles which had been prepared, and in a few minutes, so well and quickly was the work done, the flames broke out in all parts of the philadelphia. as soon as this was effected the order was given to return to the intrepid. without confusion the men obeyed. it was a moment of great danger, for fire was breaking out on all sides, and the intrepid herself, filled as she was with powder and combustibles, was in great peril of sudden destruction. the rapidity of decatur's movements, however, saved everything. the cables were cut, the sweeps got out, and the intrepid drew rapidly away from the burning frigate. it was a magnificent sight as the flames burst out over the philadephia and ran rapidly and fiercely up the masts and rigging. as her guns became heated they were discharged, one battery pouring its shots into the town. finally the cables parted, and then the philadelphia, a mass of flames, drifted across the harbor, and blew up. meantime the batteries of the shipping and the castle had been turned upon the intrepid, but although the shot struck all around her, she escaped successfully with only one shot through her mainsail, and, joining the siren, bore away. this successful attack was carried through by the cool courage of decatur and the admirable discipline of his men. the hazard was very great, the odds were very heavy, and everything depended on the nerve with which the attack was made and the completeness of the surprise. nothing miscarried, and no success could have been more complete. nelson, at that time in the mediterranean, and the best judge of a naval exploit as well as the greatest naval commander who has ever lived, pronounced it "the most bold and daring act of the age." we meet no single feat exactly like it in our own naval history, brilliant as that has been, until we come to cushing's destruction of the albemarle in the war of the rebellion. in the years that have elapsed, and among the great events that have occurred since that time, decatur's burning of the philadephia has been well-nigh forgotten; but it is one of those feats of arms which illustrate the high courage of american seamen, and which ought always to be remembered. the cruise of the "wasp" a crash as when some swollen cloud cracks o'er the tangled trees! with side to side, and spar to spar, whose smoking decks are these? i know st. george's blood-red cross, thou mistress of the seas, but what is she whose streaming bars roll out before the breeze? ah, well her iron ribs are knit, whose thunders strive to quell the bellowing throats, the blazing lips, that pealed the armada's knell! the mist was cleared,--a wreath of stars rose o'er the crimsoned swell, and, wavering from its haughty peak, the cross of england fell! --holmes. in the war of the little american navy, including only a dozen frigates and sloops of war, won a series of victories against the english, the hitherto undoubted masters of the sea, that attracted an attention altogether out of proportion to the force of the combatants or the actual damage done. for one hundred and fifty years the english ships of war had failed to find fit rivals in those of any other european power, although they had been matched against each in turn; and when the unknown navy of the new nation growing up across the atlantic did what no european navy had ever been able to do, not only the english and americans, but the people of continental europe as well, regarded the feat as important out of all proportion to the material aspects of the case. the americans first proved that the english could be beaten at their own game on the sea. they did what the huge fleets of france, spain, and holland had failed to do, and the great modern writers on naval warfare in continental europe--men like jurien de la graviere--have paid the same attention to these contests of frigates and sloops that they give to whole fleet actions of other wars. among the famous ships of the americans in this war were two named the wasp. the first was an eighteen-gun ship-sloop, which at the very outset of the war captured a british brig-sloop of twenty guns, after an engagement in which the british fought with great gallantry, but were knocked to pieces, while the americans escaped comparatively unscathed. immediately afterward a british seventy-four captured the victor. in memory of her the americans gave the same name to one of the new sloops they were building. these sloops were stoutly made, speedy vessels which in strength and swiftness compared favorably with any ships of their class in any other navy of the day, for the american shipwrights were already as famous as the american gunners and seamen. the new wasp, like her sister ships, carried twenty-two guns and a crew of one hundred and seventy men, and was ship-rigged. twenty of her guns were -pound carronades, while for bow-chasers she had two "long toms." it was in the year that the wasp sailed from the united states to prey on the navy and commerce of great britain. her commander was a gallant south carolinian named captain johnson blakeley. her crew were nearly all native americans, and were an exceptionally fine set of men. instead of staying near the american coasts or of sailing the high seas, the wasp at once headed boldly for the english channel, to carry the war to the very doors of the enemy. at that time the english fleets had destroyed the navies of every other power of europe, and had obtained such complete supremacy over the french that the french fleets were kept in port. off these ports lay the great squadrons of the english ships of the line, never, in gale or in calm, relaxing their watch upon the rival war-ships of the french emperor. so close was the blockade of the french ports, and so hopeless were the french of making headway in battle with their antagonists, that not only the great french three-deckers and two-deckers, but their frigates and sloops as well, lay harmless in their harbors, and the english ships patroled the seas unchecked in every direction. a few french privateers still slipped out now and then, and the far bolder and more formidable american privateersmen drove hither and thither across the ocean in their swift schooners and brigantines, and harried the english commerce without mercy. the wasp proceeded at once to cruise in the english channel and off the coasts of england, france, and spain. here the water was traversed continually by english fleets and squadrons and single ships of war, which were sometimes covoying detachments of troops for wellington's peninsular army, sometimes guarding fleets of merchant vessels bound homeward, and sometimes merely cruising for foes. it was this spot, right in the teeth of the british naval power, that the wasp chose for her cruising ground. hither and thither she sailed through the narrow seas, capturing and destroying the merchantmen, and by the seamanship of her crew and the skill and vigilance of her commander, escaping the pursuit of frigate and ship of the line. before she had been long on the ground, one june morning, while in chase of a couple of merchant ships, she spied a sloop of war, the british brig reindeer, of eighteen guns and a hundred and twenty men. the reindeer was a weaker ship than the wasp, her guns were lighter, and her men fewer; but her commander, captain manners, was one of the most gallant men in the splendid british navy, and he promptly took up the gage of battle which the wasp threw down. the day was calm and nearly still; only a light wind stirred across the sea. at one o'clock the wasp's drum beat to quarters, and the sailors and marines gathered at their appointed posts. the drum of the reindeer responded to the challenge, and with her sails reduced to fighting trim, her guns run out, and every man ready, she came down upon the yankee ship. on her forecastle she had rigged a light carronade, and coming up from behind, she five times discharged this pointblank into the american sloop; then in the light air the latter luffed round, firing her guns as they bore, and the two ships engaged yard-arm to yard-arm. the guns leaped and thundered as the grimy gunners hurled them out to fire and back again to load, working like demons. for a few minutes the cannonade was tremendous, and the men in the tops could hardly see the decks for the wreck of flying splinters. then the vessels ground together, and through the open ports the rival gunners hewed, hacked, and thrust at one another, while the black smoke curled up from between the hulls. the english were suffering terribly. captain manners himself was wounded, and realizing that he was doomed to defeat unless by some desperate effort he could avert it, he gave the signal to board. at the call the boarders gathered, naked to the waist, black with powder and spattered with blood, cutlas and pistol in hand. but the americans were ready. their marines were drawn up on deck, the pikemen stood behind the bulwarks, and the officers watched, cool and alert, every movement of the foe. then the british sea-dogs tumbled aboard, only to perish by shot or steel. the combatants slashed and stabbed with savage fury, and the assailants were driven back. manners sprang to their head to lead them again himself, when a ball fired by one of the sailors in the american tops crashed through his skull, and he fell, sword in hand, with his face to the foe, dying as honorable a death as ever a brave man died in fighting against odds for the flag of his country. as he fell the american officers passed the word to board. with wild cheers the fighting sailormen sprang forward, sweeping the wreck of the british force before them, and in a minute the reindeer was in their possession. all of her officers, and nearly two thirds of the crew, were killed or wounded; but they had proved themselves as skilful as they were brave, and twenty-six of the americans had been killed or wounded. the wasp set fire to her prize, and after retiring to a french port to refit, came out again to cruise. for some time she met no antagonist of her own size with which to wage war, and she had to exercise the sharpest vigilance to escape capture. late one september afternoon, when she could see ships of war all around her, she selected one which was isolated from the others, and decided to run alongside her and try to sink her after nightfall. accordingly she set her sails in pursuit, and drew steadily toward her antagonist, a big eighteen-gun brig, the avon, a ship more powerful than the reindeer. the avon kept signaling to two other british war vessels which were in sight--one an eighteen-gun brig and the other a twenty-gun ship; they were so close that the wasp was afraid they would interfere before the combat could be ended. nevertheless, blakeley persevered, and made his attack with equal skill and daring. it was after dark when he ran alongside his opponent, and they began forthwith to exchange furious broadsides. as the ships plunged and wallowed in the seas, the americans could see the clusters of topmen in the rigging of their opponent, but they knew nothing of the vessel's name or of her force, save only so far as they felt it. the firing was fast and furious, but the british shot with bad aim, while the skilled american gunners hulled their opponent at almost every discharge. in a very few minutes the avon was in a sinking condition, and she struck her flag and cried for quarter, having lost forty or fifty men, while but three of the americans had fallen. before the wasp could take possession of her opponent, however, the two war vessels to which the avon had been signaling came up. one of them fired at the wasp, and as the latter could not fight two new foes, she ran off easily before the wind. neither of her new antagonists followed her, devoting themselves to picking up the crew of the sinking avon. it would be hard to find a braver feat more skilfully performed than this; for captain blakeley, with hostile foes all round him, had closed with and sunk one antagonist not greatly his inferior in force, suffering hardly any loss himself, while two of her friends were coming to her help. both before and after this the wasp cruised hither and thither making prizes. once she came across a convoy of ships bearing arms and munitions to wellington's army, under the care of a great two-decker. hovering about, the swift sloop evaded the two-decker's movements, and actually cut out and captured one of the transports she was guarding, making her escape unharmed. then she sailed for the high seas. she made several other prizes, and on october spoke a swedish brig. this was the last that was ever heard of the gallant wasp. she never again appeared, and no trace of any of those aboard her was ever found. whether she was wrecked on some desert coast, whether she foundered in some furious gale, or what befell her none ever knew. all that is certain is that she perished, and that all on board her met death in some one of the myriad forms in which it must always be faced by those who go down to the sea in ships; and when she sank there sank one of the most gallant ships of the american navy, with as brave a captain and crew as ever sailed from any port of the new world. the "general armstrong" privateer we have fought such a fight for a day and a night as may never be fought again! we have won great glory, my men! and a day less or more at sea or ashore, we die--does it matter when? --tennyson. in the revolution, and again in the war of , the seas were covered by swift-sailing american privateers, which preyed on the british trade. the hardy seamen of the new england coast, and of new york, philadelphia, and baltimore, turned readily from their adventurous careers in the whalers that followed the giants of the ocean in every sea and every clime, and from trading voyages to the uttermost parts of the earth, to go into the business of privateering, which was more remunerative, and not so very much more dangerous, than their ordinary pursuits. by the end of the war of , in particular, the american privateers had won for themselves a formidable position on the ocean. the schooners, brigs, and brigantines in which the privateersmen sailed were beautifully modeled, and were among the fastest craft afloat. they were usually armed with one heavy gun, the "long tom," as it was called, arranged on a pivot forward or amidships, and with a few lighter pieces of cannon. they carried strong crews of well-armed men, and their commanders were veteran seamen, used to brave every danger from the elements or from man. so boldly did they prey on the british commerce, that they infested even the irish sea and the british channel, and increased many times the rate of insurance on vessels passing across those waters. they also often did battle with the regular men-of-war of the british, being favorite objects for attack by cutting-out parties from the british frigates and ships of the line, and also frequently encountering in fight the smaller sloops-of-war. usually, in these contests, the privateersmen were worsted, for they had not the training which is obtained only in a regular service, and they were in no way to be compared to the little fleet of regular vessels which in this same war so gloriously upheld the honor of the american flag. nevertheless, here and there a privateer commanded by an exceptionally brave and able captain, and manned by an unusually well-trained crew, performed some feat of arms which deserves to rank with anything ever performed by the regular navy. such a feat was the defense of the brig general armstrong, in the portuguese port of fayal, of the azores, against an overwhelming british force. the general armstrong hailed from new york, and her captain was named reid. she had a crew of ninety men, and was armed with one heavy pounder and six lighter guns. in december, , she was lying in fayal, a neutral port, when four british war-vessels, a ship of the line, a frigate and two brigs, hove into sight, and anchored off the mouth of the harbor. the port was neutral, but portugal was friendly to england, and reid knew well that the british would pay no respect to the neutrality laws if they thought that at the cost of their violation they could destroy the privateer. he immediately made every preparation to resist an attack, the privateer was anchored close to the shore. the boarding-nettings were got ready, and were stretched to booms thrust outward from the brig's side, so as to check the boarders as they tried to climb over the bulwarks. the guns were loaded and cast loose, and the men went to quarters armed with muskets, boarding-pikes, and cutlases. on their side the british made ready to carry the privateer by boarding. the shoals rendered it impossible for the heavy ships to approach, and the lack of wind and the baffling currents also interfered for the moment with the movements of the sloops-of-war. accordingly recourse was had to a cutting-out party, always a favorite device with the british seamen of that age, who were accustomed to carry french frigates by boarding, and to capture in their boats the heavy privateers and armed merchantmen, as well as the lighter war-vessels of france and spain. the british first attempted to get possession of the brig by surprise, sending out but four boats. these worked down near to the brig, under pretense of sounding, trying to get close enough to make a rush and board her. the privateersmen were on their guard, and warned the boats off, and after the warning had been repeated once or twice unheeded, they fired into them, killing and wounding several men. upon this the boats promptly returned to the ships. this first check greatly irritated the british captains, and they decided to repeat the experiment that night with a force which would render resistance vain. accordingly, after it became dark, a dozen boats were sent from the liner and the frigate, manned by four hundred stalwart british seamen, and commanded by the captain of one of the brigs of war. through the night they rowed straight toward the little privateer lying dark and motionless in the gloom. as before, the privateersmen were ready for their foe, and when they came within range opened fire upon them, first with the long gun and then with the lighter cannon; but the british rowed on with steady strokes, for they were seamen accustomed to victory over every european foe, and danger had no terrors for them. with fierce hurrahs they dashed through the shot-riven smoke and grappled the brig; and the boarders rose, cutlas in hand, ready to spring over the bulwarks. a terrible struggle followed. the british hacked at the boarding-nets and strove to force their way through to the decks of the privateer, while the americans stabbed the assailants with their long pikes and slashed at them with their cutlases. the darkness was lit by the flashes of flame from the muskets and the cannon, and the air was rent by the oaths and shouts of the combatants, the heavy trampling on the decks, the groans of the wounded, the din of weapon meeting weapon, and all the savage tumult of a hand-to-hand fight. at the bow the british burst through the boarding-netting, and forced their way to the deck, killing or wounding all three of the lieutenants of the privateer; but when this had happened the boats had elsewhere been beaten back, and reid, rallying his grim sea-dogs, led them forward with a rush, and the boarding party were all killed or tumbled into the sea. this put an end to the fight. in some of the boats none but killed and wounded men were left. the others drew slowly off, like crippled wild-fowl, and disappeared in the darkness toward the british squadron. half of the attacking force had been killed or wounded, while of the americans but nine had fallen. the british commodore and all his officers were maddened with anger and shame over the repulse, and were bent upon destroying the privateer at all costs. next day, after much exertion, one of the war-brigs was warped into position to attack the american, but she first took her station at long range, so that her carronades were not as effective as the pivot gun of the privateer; and so well was the latter handled, that the british brig was repeatedly hulled, and finally was actually driven off. a second attempt was made, however, and this time the sloop-of-war got so close that she could use her heavy carronades, which put the privateer completely at her mercy. then captain reid abandoned his brig and sank her, first carrying ashore the guns, and marched inland with his men. they were not further molested; and, if they had lost their brig, they had at least made their foes pay dear for her destruction, for the british had lost twice as many men as there were in the whole hard-fighting crew of the american privateer. the battle of new orleans the heavy fog of morning still hid the plain from sight, when came a thread of scarlet marked faintly in the white. we fired a single cannon, and as its thunders rolled, the mist before us lifted in many a heavy fold. the mist before us lifted, and in their bravery fine came rushing to their ruin the fearless british line. --thomas dunn english. when, in , napoleon was overthrown and forced to retire to elba, the british troops that had followed wellington into southern france were left free for use against the americans. a great expedition was organized to attack and capture new orleans, and at its head was placed general pakenham, the brilliant commander of the column that delivered the fatal blow at salamanca. in december a fleet of british war-ships and transports, carrying thousands of victorious veterans from the peninsula, and manned by sailors who had grown old in a quarter of a century's triumphant ocean warfare, anchored off the broad lagoons of the mississippi delta. the few american gunboats were carried after a desperate hand-to-hand struggle, the troops were landed, and on december the advance-guard of two thousand men reached the banks of the mississippi, but ten miles below new orleans, and there camped for the night. it seemed as if nothing could save the creole city from foes who had shown, in the storming of many a spanish walled town, that they were as ruthless in victory as they were terrible in battle. there were no forts to protect the place, and the militia were ill armed and ill trained. but the hour found the man. on the afternoon of the very day when the british reached the banks of the river the vanguard of andrew jackson's tennesseeans marched into new orleans. clad in hunting-shirts of buckskin or homespun, wearing wolfskin and coonskin caps, and carrying their long rifles on their shoulders, the wild soldiery of the backwoods tramped into the little french town. they were tall men, with sinewy frames and piercing eyes. under "old hickory's" lead they had won the bloody battle of the horseshoe bend against the creeks; they had driven the spaniards from pensacola; and now they were eager to pit themselves against the most renowned troops of all europe. jackson acted with his usual fiery, hasty decision. it was absolutely necessary to get time in which to throw up some kind of breastworks or defenses for the city, and he at once resolved on a night attack against the british. as for the british, they had no thought of being molested. they did not dream of an assault from inferior numbers of undisciplined and ill-armed militia, who did not possess so much as bayonets to their guns. they kindled fires along the levees, ate their supper, and then, as the evening fell, noticed a big schooner drop down the river in ghostly silence and bring up opposite to them. the soldiers flocked to the shore, challenging the stranger, and finally fired one or two shots at her. then suddenly a rough voice was heard, "now give it to them, for the honor of america!" and a shower of shell and grape fell on the british, driving them off the levee. the stranger was an american man-of-war schooner. the british brought up artillery to drive her off, but before they succeeded jackson's land troops burst upon them, and a fierce, indecisive struggle followed. in the night all order was speedily lost, and the two sides fought singly or in groups in the utmost confusion. finally a fog came up and the combatants separated. jackson drew off four or five miles and camped. the british had been so roughly handled that they were unable to advance for three or four days, until the entire army came up. when they did advance, it was only to find that jackson had made good use of the time he had gained by his daring assault. he had thrown up breastworks of mud and logs from the swamp to the river. at first the british tried to batter down these breastworks with their cannon, for they had many more guns than the americans. a terrible artillery duel followed. for an hour or two the result seemed in doubt; but the american gunners showed themselves to be far more skilful than their antagonists, and gradually getting the upper hand, they finally silenced every piece of british artillery. the americans had used cotton bales in the embrasures, and the british hogsheads of sugar; but neither worked well, for the cotton caught fire and the sugar hogsheads were ripped and splintered by the roundshot, so that both were abandoned. by the use of red-hot shot the british succeeded in setting on fire the american schooner which had caused them such annoyance on the evening of the night attack; but she had served her purpose, and her destruction caused little anxiety to jackson. having failed in his effort to batter down the american breastworks, and the british artillery having been fairly worsted by the american, pakenham decided to try open assault. he had ten thousand regular troops, while jackson had under him but little over five thousand men, who were trained only as he had himself trained them in his indian campaigns. not a fourth of them carried bayonets. both pakenham and the troops under him were fresh from victories won over the most renowned marshals of napoleon, andover soldiers that had proved themselves on a hundred stricken fields the masters of all others in continental europe. at toulouse they had driven marshal soult from a position infinitely stronger than that held by jackson, and yet soult had under him a veteran army. at badajoz, ciudad rodrigo, and san sebastian they had carried by open assault fortified towns whose strength made the intrenchments of the americans seem like the mud walls built by children, though these towns were held by the best soldiers of france. with such troops to follow him, and with such victories behind him in the past, it did not seem possible to pakenham that the assault of the terrible british infantry could be successfully met by rough backwoods riflemen fighting under a general as wild and untrained as themselves. he decreed that the assault should take place on the morning of the eighth. throughout the previous night the american officers were on the alert, for they could hear the rumbling of artillery in the british camp, the muffled tread of the battalions as they were marched to their points in the line, and all the smothered din of the preparation for assault. long before dawn the riflemen were awake and drawn up behind the mud walls, where they lolled at ease, or, leaning on their long rifles, peered out through the fog toward the camp of their foes. at last the sun rose and the fog lifted, showing the scarlet array of the splendid british infantry. as soon as the air was clear pakenham gave the word, and the heavy columns of redcoated grenadiers and kilted highlanders moved steadily forward. from the american breastworks the great guns opened, but not a rifle cracked. three fourths of the distance were covered, and the eager soldiers broke into a run; then sheets of flame burst from the breastworks in their front as the wild riflemen of the backwoods rose and fired, line upon line. under the sweeping hail the head of the british advance was shattered, and the whole column stopped. then it surged forward again, almost to the foot of the breastworks; but not a man lived to reach them, and in a moment more the troops broke and ran back. mad with shame and rage, pakenham rode among them to rally and lead them forward, and the officers sprang around him, smiting the fugitives with their swords and cheering on the men who stood. for a moment the troops halted, and again came forward to the charge; but again they were met by a hail of bullets from the backwoods rifles. one shot struck pakenham himself. he reeled and fell from the saddle, and was carried off the field. the second and third in command fell also, and then all attempts at further advance were abandoned, and the british troops ran back to their lines. another assault had meanwhile been made by a column close to the river, the charging soldiers rushing to the top of the breastworks; but they were all killed or driven back. a body of troops had also been sent across the river, where they routed a small detachment of kentucky militia; but they were, of course, recalled when the main assault failed. at last the men who had conquered the conquerors of europe had themselves met defeat. andrew jackson and his rough riflemen had worsted, in fair fight, a far larger force of the best of wellington's veterans, and had accomplished what no french marshal and no french troops had been able to accomplish throughout the long war in the spanish peninsula. for a week the sullen british lay in their lines; then, abandoning their heavy artillery, they marched back to the ships and sailed for europe. john quincy adams and the right of petition he rests with the immortals; his journey has been long: for him no wail of sorrow, but a paean full and strong! so well and bravely has he done the work be found to do, to justice, freedom, duty, god, and man forever true. --whittier. the lot of ex-presidents of the united states, as a rule, has been a life of extreme retirement, but to this rule there is one marked exception. when john quincy adams left the white house in march, , it must have seemed as if public life could hold nothing more for him. he had had everything apparently that an american statesman could hope for. he had been minister to holland and prussia, to russia and england. he had been a senator of the united states, secretary of state for eight years, and finally president. yet, notwithstanding all this, the greatest part of his career, and his noblest service to his country, were still before him when he gave up the presidency. in the following year ( ) he was told that he might be elected to the house of representatives, and the gentleman who made the proposition ventured to say that he thought an ex-president, by taking such a position, "instead of degrading the individual would elevate the representative character." mr. adams replied that he had "in that respect no scruples whatever. no person can be degraded by serving the people as representative in congress, nor, in my opinion, would an ex-president of the united states be degraded by serving as a selectman of his town if elected thereto by the people." a few weeks later he was chosen to the house, and the district continued to send him every two years from that time until his death. he did much excellent work in the house, and was conspicuous in more than one memorable scene; but here it is possible to touch on only a single point, where he came forward as the champion of a great principle, and fought a battle for the right which will always be remembered among the great deeds of american public men. soon after mr. adams took his seat in congress, the movement for the abolition of slavery was begun by a few obscure agitators. it did not at first attract much attention, but as it went on it gradually exasperated the overbearing temper of the southern slaveholders. one fruit of this agitation was the appearance of petitions for the abolition of slavery in the house of representatives. a few were presented by mr. adams without attracting much notice; but as the petitions multiplied, the southern representatives became aroused. they assailed mr. adams for presenting them, and finally passed what was known as the gag rule, which prevented the reception of these petitions by the house. against this rule mr. adams protested, in the midst of the loud shouts of the southerners, as a violation of his constitutional rights. but the tyranny of slavery at that time was so complete that the rule was adopted and enforced, and the slaveholders, undertook in this way to suppress free speech in the house, just as they also undertook to prevent the transmission through the mails of any writings adverse to slavery. with the wisdom of a statesman and a man of affairs, mr. adams addressed himself to the one practical point of the contest. he did not enter upon a discussion of slavery or of its abolition, but turned his whole force toward the vindication of the right of petition. on every petition day he would offer, in constantly increasing numbers, petitions which came to him from all parts of the country for the abolition of slavery, in this way driving the southern representatives almost to madness, despite their rule which prevented the reception of such documents when offered. their hatred of mr. adams is something difficult to conceive, and they were burning to break him down, and, if possible, drive him from the house. on february , , after presenting the usual petitions, mr. adams offered one upon which he said he should like the judgment of the speaker as to its propriety, inasmuch as it was a petition from slaves. in a moment the house was in a tumult, and loud cries of "expel him!" "expel him!" rose in all directions. one resolution after another was offered looking toward his expulsion or censure, and it was not until february , three days later, that he was able to take the floor in his own defense. his speech was a masterpiece of argument, invective, and sarcasm. he showed, among other things, that he had not offered the petition, but had only asked the opinion of the speaker upon it, and that the petition itself prayed that slavery should not be abolished. when he closed his speech, which was quite as savage as any made against him, and infinitely abler, no one desired to reply, and the idea of censuring him was dropped. the greatest struggle, however, came five years later, when, on january , , mr. adams presented the petition of certain citizens of haverhill, massachusetts, praying for the dissolution of the union on account of slavery. his enemies felt that now, at last, he had delivered himself into their hands. again arose the cry for his expulsion, and again vituperation was poured out upon him, and resolutions to expel him freely introduced. when he got the floor to speak in his own defense, he faced an excited house, almost unanimously hostile to him, and possessing, as he well knew, both the will and the power to drive him from its walls. but there was no wavering in mr. adams. "if they say they will try me," he said, "they must try me. if they say they will punish me, they must punish me. but if they say that in peace and mercy they will spare me expulsion, i disdain and cast away their mercy, and i ask if they will come to such a trial and expel me. i defy them. i have constituents to go to, and they will have something to say if this house expels me, nor will it be long before the gentlemen will see me here again." the fight went on for nearly a fortnight, and on february the whole subject was finally laid on the table. the sturdy, dogged fighter, single-handed and alone, had beaten all the forces of the south and of slavery. no more memorable fight has ever been made by one man in a parliamentary body, and after this decisive struggle the tide began to turn. every year mr. adams renewed his motion to strike out the gag rule, and forced it to a vote. gradually the majority against it dwindled, until at last, on december , , his motion prevailed. freedom of speech had been vindicated in the american house of representatives, the right of petition had been won, and the first great blow against the slave power had been struck. four years later mr. adams fell, stricken with paralysis, at his place in the house, and a few hours afterward, with the words, "this is the last of earth; i am content," upon his lips, he sank into unconsciousness and died. it was a fit end to a great public career. his fight for the right of petition is one to be studied and remembered, and mr. adams made it practically alone. the slaveholders of the south and the representatives of the north were alike against him. against him, too, as his biographer, mr. morse, says, was the class in boston to which he naturally belonged by birth and education. he had to encounter the bitter resistance in his own set of the "conscienceless respectability of wealth," but the great body of the new england people were with him, as were the voters of his own district. he was an old man, with the physical infirmities of age. his eyes were weak and streaming; his hands were trembling; his voice cracked in moments of excitement; yet in that age of oratory, in the days of webster and clay, he was known as the "old man eloquent." it was what he said, more than the way he said it, which told. his vigorous mind never worked more surely and clearly than when he stood alone in the midst of an angry house, the target of their hatred and abuse. his arguments were strong, and his large knowledge and wide experience supplied him with every weapon for defense and attack. beneath the lash of his invective and his sarcasm the hottest of the slaveholders cowered away. he set his back against a great principle. he never retreated an inch, he never yielded, he never conciliated, he was always an assailant, and no man and no body of men had the power to turn him. he had his dark hours, he felt bitterly the isolation of his position, but he never swerved. he had good right to set down in his diary, when the gag rule was repealed, "blessed, forever blessed, be the name of god." francis parkman ( - ) he told the red man's story; far and wide he searched the unwritten annals of his race; he sat a listener at the sachem's side, he tracked the hunter through his wild-wood chase. high o'er his head the soaring eagle screamed; the wolfs long howl rang nightly; through the vale tramped the lone bear; the panther's eyeballs gleamed; the bison's gallop thundered on the gale. soon o'er the horizon rose the cloud of strife, two proud, strong nations battling for the prize: which swarming host should mould a nation's life; which royal banner flout the western skies. long raged the conflict; on the crimson sod native and alien joined their hosts in vain; the lilies withered where the lion trod, till peace lay panting on the ravaged plain. a nobler task was theirs who strove to win the blood-stained heathen to the christian fold; to free from satan's clutch the slaves of sin; these labors, too, with loving grace he told. halting with feeble step, or bending o'er the sweet-breathed roses which he loved so well, while through long years his burdening cross he bore, from those firm lips no coward accents fell. a brave bright memory! his the stainless shield no shame defaces and no envy mars! when our far future's record is unsealed, his name will shine among its morning stars. --holmes. the stories in this volume deal, for the most part, with single actions, generally with deeds of war and feats of arms. in this one i desire to give if possible the impression, for it can be no more than an impression, of a life which in its conflicts and its victories manifested throughout heroic qualities. such qualities can be shown in many ways, and the field of battle is only one of the fields of human endeavor where heroism can be displayed. francis parkman was born in boston on september , . he came of a well-known family, and was of a good puritan stock. he was rather a delicate boy, with an extremely active mind and of a highly sensitive, nervous organization. into everything that attracted him he threw himself with feverish energy. his first passion, when he was only about twelve years old, was for chemistry, and his eager boyish experiments in this direction were undoubtedly injurious to his health. the interest in chemistry was succeeded by a passion for the woods and the wilderness, and out of this came the longing to write the history of the men of the wilderness, and of the great struggle between france and england for the control of the north american continent. all through his college career this desire was with him, and while in secret he was reading widely to prepare himself for his task, he also spent a great deal of time in the forests and on the mountains. to quote his own words, he was "fond of hardships, and he was vain of enduring them, cherishing a sovereign scorn for every physical weakness or defect; but deceived, moreover, by the rapid development of frame and sinew, which flattered him into the belief that discipline sufficiently unsparing would harden him into an athlete, he slighted the precautions of a more reasonable woodcraft, tired old foresters with long marches, stopped neither for heat nor for rain, and slept on the earth without blankets." the result was that his intense energy carried him beyond his strength, and while his muscles strengthened and hardened, his sensitive nervous organization began to give way. it was not merely because he led an active outdoor life. he himself protests against any such conclusion, and says that "if any pale student glued to his desk here seek an apology for a way of life whose natural fruit is that pallid and emasculate scholarship, of which new england has had too many examples, it will be far better that this sketch had not been written. for the student there is, in its season, no better place than the saddle, and no better companion than the rifle or the oar." the evil that was done was due to parkman's highly irritable organism, which spurred him to excess in everything he undertook. the first special sign of the mischief he was doing to himself and his health appeared in a weakness of sight. it was essential to his plan of historical work to study not only books and records but indian life from the inside. therefore, having graduated from college and the law-school, he felt that the time had come for this investigation, which would enable him to gather material for his history and at the same time to rest his eyes. he went to the rocky mountains, and after great hardships, living in the saddle, as he said, with weakness and pain, he joined a band of ogallalla indians. with them he remained despite his physical suffering, and from them he learned, as he could not have learned in any other way, what indian life really was. the immediate result of the journey was his first book, instinct with the freshness and wildness of the mountains and the prairies, and called by him "the oregon trail." unfortunately, the book was not the only outcome. the illness incurred during his journey from fatigue and exposure was followed by other disorders. the light of the sun became insupportable, and his nervous system was entirely deranged. his sight was now so impaired that he was almost blind, and could neither read nor write. it was a terrible prospect for a brilliant and ambitious man, but parkman faced it unflinchingly. he devised a frame by which he could write with closed eyes, and books and manuscripts were read to him. in this way he began the history of "the conspiracy of pontiac," and for the first half-year the rate of composition covered about six lines a day. his courage was rewarded by an improvement in his health, and a little more quiet in nerves and brain. in two and a half years he managed to complete the book. he then entered upon his great subject of "france in the new world." the material was mostly in manuscript, and had to be examined, gathered, and selected in europe and in canada. he could not read, he could write only a very little and that with difficulty, and yet he pressed on. he slowly collected his material and digested and arranged it, using the eyes of others to do that which he could not do himself, and always on the verge of a complete breakdown of mind and body. in he had an effusion of water on the left knee, which stopped his outdoor exercise, on which he had always largely depended. all the irritability of the system then centered in the head, resulting in intense pain and in a restless and devouring activity of thought. he himself says: "the whirl, the confusion, and strange, undefined tortures attending this condition are only to be conceived by one who has felt them." the resources of surgery and medicine were exhausted in vain. the trouble in the head and eyes constantly recurred. in there came a period when for four years he was incapable of the slightest mental application, and the attacks varied in duration from four hours to as many months. when the pressure was lightened a little he went back to his work. when work was impossible, he turned to horticulture, grew roses, and wrote a book about the cultivation of those flowers which is a standard authority. as he grew older the attacks moderated, although they never departed. sleeplessness pursued him always, the slightest excitement would deprive him of the power of exertion, his sight was always sensitive, and at times he was bordering on blindness. in this hard-pressed way he fought the battle of life. he says himself that his books took four times as long to prepare and write as if he had been strong and able to use his faculties. that this should have been the case is little wonder, for those books came into being with failing sight and shattered nerves, with sleeplessness and pain, and the menace of insanity ever hanging over the brave man who, nevertheless, carried them through to an end. yet the result of those fifty years, even in amount, is a noble one, and would have been great achievement for a man who had never known a sick day. in quality, and subject, and method of narration, they leave little to be desired. there, in parkman's volumes, is told vividly, strongly, and truthfully, the history of the great struggle between france and england for the mastery of the north american continent, one of the most important events of modern times. this is not the place to give any critical estimate of mr. parkman's work. it is enough to say that it stands in the front rank. it is a great contribution to history, and a still greater gift to the literature of this country. all americans certainly should read the volumes in which parkman has told that wonderful story of hardship and adventure, of fighting and of statesmanship, which gave this great continent to the english race and the english speech. but better than the literature or the history is the heroic spirit of the man, which triumphed over pain and all other physical obstacles, and brought a work of such value to his country and his time into existence. there is a great lesson as well as a lofty example in such a career, and in the service which such a man rendered by his life and work to literature and to his country. on the tomb of the conqueror of quebec it is written: "here lies wolfe victorious." the same epitaph might with entire justice be carved above the grave of wolfe's historian. "remember the alamo" the muffled drum's sad roll has beat the soldier's last tattoo; no more on life's parade shall meet that brave and fallen few. on fame's eternal camping-ground their silent tents are spread, and glory guards with solemn round the bivouac of the dead. * * * the neighing troop, the flashing blade, the bugle's stirring blast, the charge, the dreadful cannonade, the din and shout are past; nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal shall thrill with fierce delight those breasts that never more may feel the rapture of the fight. --theodore o'hara. "thermopylae had its messengers of death, but the alamo had none." these were the words with which a united states senator referred to one of the most resolute and effective fights ever waged by brave men against overwhelming odds in the face of certain death. soon after the close of the second war with great britain, parties of american settlers began to press forward into the rich, sparsely settled territory of texas, then a portion of mexico. at first these immigrants were well received, but the mexicans speedily grew jealous of them, and oppressed them in various ways. in consequence, when the settlers felt themselves strong enough, they revolted against mexican rule, and declared texas to be an independent republic. immediately santa anna, the dictator of mexico, gathered a large army, and invaded texas. the slender forces of the settlers were unable to meet his hosts. they were pressed back by the mexicans, and dreadful atrocities were committed by santa anna and his lieutenants. in the united states there was great enthusiasm for the struggling texans, and many bold backwoodsmen and indian-fighters swarmed to their help. among them the two most famous were sam houston and david crockett. houston was the younger man, and had already led an extraordinary and varied career. when a mere lad he had run away from home and joined the cherokees, living among them for some years; then he returned home. he had fought under andrew jackson in his campaigns against the creeks, and had been severely wounded at the battle of the horse-shoe bend. he had risen to the highest political honors in his state, becoming governor of tennessee; and then suddenly, in a fit of moody longing for the life of the wilderness, he gave up his governorship, left the state, and crossed the mississippi, going to join his old comrades, the cherokees, in their new home along the waters of the arkansas. here he dressed, lived, fought, hunted, and drank precisely like any indian, becoming one of the chiefs. david crockett was born soon after the revolutionary war. he, too, had taken part under jackson in the campaigns against the creeks, and had afterward become a man of mark in tennessee, and gone to congress as a whig; but he had quarreled with jackson, and been beaten for congress, and in his disgust he left the state and decided to join the texans. he was the most famous rifle-shot in all the united states, and the most successful hunter, so that his skill was a proverb all along the border. david crockett journeyed south, by boat and horse, making his way steadily toward the distant plains where the texans were waging their life-and-death fight. texas was a wild place in those days, and the old hunter had more than one hairbreadth escape from indians, desperadoes, and savage beasts, ere he got to the neighborhood of san antonio, and joined another adventurer, a bee-hunter, bent on the same errand as himself. the two had been in ignorance of exactly what the situation in texas was; but they soon found that the mexican army was marching toward san antonio, whither they were going. near the town was an old spanish fort, the alamo, in which the hundred and fifty american defenders of the place had gathered. santa anna had four thousand troops with him. the alamo was a mere shell, utterly unable to withstand either a bombardment or a regular assault. it was evident, therefore, that those within it would be in the utmost jeopardy if the place were seriously assaulted, but old crockett and his companion never wavered. they were fearless and resolute, and masters of woodcraft, and they managed to slip through the mexican lines and join the defenders within the walls. the bravest, the hardiest, the most reckless men of the border were there; among them were colonel travis, the commander of the fort, and bowie, the inventor of the famous bowie-knife. they were a wild and ill-disciplined band, little used to restraint or control, but they were men of iron courage and great bodily powers, skilled in the use of their weapons, and ready to meet with stern and uncomplaining indifference whatever doom fate might have in store for them. soon santa anna approached with his army, took possession of the town, and besieged the fort. the defenders knew there was scarcely a chance of rescue, and that it was hopeless to expect that one hundred and fifty men, behind defenses so weak, could beat off four thousand trained soldiers, well armed and provided with heavy artillery; but they had no idea of flinching, and made a desperate defense. the days went by, and no help came, while santa anna got ready his lines, and began a furious cannonade. his gunners were unskilled, however, and he had to serve the guns from a distance; for when they were pushed nearer, the american riflemen crept forward under cover, and picked off the artillerymen. old crockett thus killed five men at one gun. but, by degrees, the bombardment told. the walls of the alamo were battered and riddled; and when they had been breached so as to afford no obstacle to the rush of his soldiers, santa anna commanded that they be stormed. the storm took place on march , . the mexican troops came on well and steadily, breaking through the outer defenses at every point, for the lines were too long to be manned by the few americans. the frontiersmen then retreated to the inner building, and a desperate hand-to-hand conflict followed, the mexicans thronging in, shooting the americans with their muskets, and thrusting at them with lance and bayonet, while the americans, after firing their long rifles, clubbed them, and fought desperately, one against many; and they also used their bowie-knives and revolvers with deadly effect. the fight reeled to and fro between the shattered walls, each american the center of a group of foes; but, for all their strength and their wild fighting courage, the defenders were too few, and the struggle could have but one end. one by one the tall riflemen succumbed, after repeated thrusts with bayonet and lance, until but three or four were left. colonel travis, the commander, was among them; and so was bowie, who was sick and weak from a wasting disease, but who rallied all his strength to die fighting, and who, in the final struggle, slew several mexicans with his revolver, and with his big knife of the kind to which he had given his name. then these fell too, and the last man stood at bay. it was old davy crockett. wounded in a dozen places, he faced his foes with his back to the wall, ringed around by the bodies of the men he had slain. so desperate was the fight he waged, that the mexicans who thronged round about him were beaten back for the moment, and no one dared to run in upon him. accordingly, while the lancers held him where he was, for, weakened by wounds and loss of blood, he could not break through them, the musketeers loaded their carbines and shot him down. santa anna declined to give him mercy. some say that when crockett fell from his wounds, he was taken alive, and was then shot by santa anna's order; but his fate cannot be told with certainty, for not a single american was left alive. at any rate, after crockett fell the fight was over. every one of the hardy men who had held the alamo lay still in death. yet they died well avenged, for four times their number fell at their hands in the battle. santa anna had but a short while in which to exult over his bloody and hard-won victory. already a rider from the rolling texas plains, going north through the indian territory, had told houston that the texans were up and were striving for their liberty. at once in houston's mind there kindled a longing to return to the men of his race at the time of their need. mounting his horse, he rode south by night and day, and was hailed by the texans as a heaven-sent leader. he took command of their forces, eleven hundred stark riflemen, and at the battle of san jacinto, he and his men charged the mexican hosts with the cry of "remember the alamo." almost immediately, the mexicans were overthrown with terrible slaughter; santa anna himself was captured, and the freedom of texas was won at a blow. hampton roads then far away to the south uprose a little feather of snow-white smoke, and we knew that the iron ship of our foes was steadily steering its course to try the force of our ribs of oak. down upon us heavily runs, silent and sullen, the floating fort; then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, and leaps the terrible death, with fiery breath, from her open port. * * * ho! brave hearts, that went down in the seas! ye are at peace in the troubled stream; ho! brave land! with hearts like these, thy flag, that is rent in twain, shall be one again, and without a seam! --longfellow the naval battles of the civil war possess an immense importance, because they mark the line of cleavage between naval warfare under the old, and naval warfare under the new, conditions. the ships with which hull and decatur and mcdonough won glory in the war of were essentially like those with which drake and hawkins and frobisher had harried the spanish armadas two centuries and a half earlier. they were wooden sailing-vessels, carrying many guns mounted in broadside, like those of de ruyter and tromp, of blake and nelson. throughout this period all the great admirals, all the famous single-ship fighters,--whose skill reached its highest expression in our own navy during the war of ,--commanded craft built and armed in a substantially similar manner, and fought with the same weapons and under much the same conditions. but in the civil war weapons and methods were introduced which caused a revolution greater even than that which divided the sailing-ship from the galley. the use of steam, the casing of ships in iron armor, and the employment of the torpedo, the ram, and the gun of high power, produced such radically new types that the old ships of the line became at one stroke as antiquated as the galleys of hamilcar or alcibiades. some of these new engines of destruction were invented, and all were for the first time tried in actual combat, during our own civil war. the first occasion on which any of the new methods were thoroughly tested was attended by incidents which made it one of the most striking of naval battles. in chesapeake bay, near hampton roads, the united states had collected a fleet of wooden ships; some of them old-style sailing-vessels, others steamers. the confederates were known to be building a great iron-clad ram, and the wooden vessels were eagerly watching for her appearance when she should come out of gosport harbor. her powers and capacity were utterly unknown. she was made out of the former united states steam-frigate merrimac, cut down so as to make her fore and aft decks nearly flat, and not much above the water, while the guns were mounted in a covered central battery, with sloping flanks. her sides, deck, and battery were coated with iron, and she was armed with formidable rifle-guns, and, most important of all, with a steel ram thrust out under water forward from her bow. she was commanded by a gallant and efficient officer, captain buchanan. it was march , , when the ram at last made her appearance within sight of the union fleet. the day was calm and very clear, so that the throngs of spectators on shore could see every feature of the battle. with the great ram came three light gunboats, all of which took part in the action, harassing the vessels which she assailed; but they were not factors of importance in the fight. on the union side the vessels nearest were the sailing-ships cumberland and congress, and the steam-frigate minnesota. the congress and cumberland were anchored not far from each other; the minnesota got aground, and was some distance off. owing to the currents and shoals and the lack of wind, no other vessel was able to get up in time to take a part in the fight. as soon as the ram appeared, out of the harbor, she turned and steamed toward the congress and the cumberland, the black smoke rising from her funnels, and the great ripples running from each side of her iron prow as she drove steadily through the still waters. on board of the congress and cumberland there was eager anticipation, but not a particle of fear. the officers in command, captain smith and lieutenant morris, were two of the most gallant men in a service where gallantry has always been too common to need special comment. the crews were composed of veterans, well trained, self-confident, and proud beyond measure of the flag whose honor they upheld. the guns were run out, and the men stood at quarters, while the officers eagerly conned the approaching ironclad. the congress was the first to open fire; and, as her volleys flew, the men on the cumberland were astounded to see the cannon-shot bound off the sloping sides of the ram as hailstones bound from a windowpane. the ram answered, and her rifle-shells tore the sides of the congress; but for her first victim she aimed at the cumberland, and, firing her bow guns, came straight as an arrow at the little sloop-of-war, which lay broadside to her. it was an absolutely hopeless struggle. the cumberland was a sailing-ship, at anchor, with wooden sides, and a battery of light guns. against the formidable steam ironclad, with her heavy rifles and steel ram, she was as powerless as if she had been a rowboat; and from the moment the men saw the cannon-shot bound from the ram's sides they knew they were doomed. but none of them flinched. once and again they fired their guns full against the approaching ram, and in response received a few shells from the great bow-rifles of the latter. then, forging ahead, the merrimac struck her antagonist with her steel prow, and the sloop-of-war reeled and shuddered, and through the great rent in her side the black water rushed. she foundered in a few minutes; but her crew fought her to the last, cheering as they ran out the guns, and sending shot after shot against the ram as the latter backed off after delivering her blow. the rush of the water soon swamped the lower decks, but the men above continued to serve their guns until the upper deck also was awash, and the vessel had not ten seconds of life left. then, with her flags flying, her men cheering, and her guns firing, the cumberland sank. it was shallow where she settled down, so that her masts remained above the water. the glorious flag for which the brave men aboard her had died flew proudly in the wind all that day, while the fight went on, and throughout the night; and next morning it was still streaming over the beautiful bay, to mark the resting-place of as gallant a vessel as ever sailed or fought on the high seas. after the cumberland sank, the ram turned her attention to the congress. finding it difficult to get to her in the shoal water, she began to knock her to pieces with her great rifle-guns. the unequal fight between the ironclad and the wooden ship lasted for perhaps half an hour. by that time the commander of the congress had been killed, and her decks looked like a slaughterhouse. she was utterly unable to make any impression on her foe, and finally she took fire and blew up. the minnesota was the third victim marked for destruction, and the merrimac began the attack upon her at once; but it was getting very late, and as the water was shoal and she could not get close, the rain finally drew back to her anchorage, to wait until next day before renewing and completing her work of destruction. all that night there was the wildest exultation among the confederates, while the gloom and panic of the union men cannot be described. it was evident that the united states ships-of-war were as helpless as cockle-shells against their iron-clad foe, and there was no question but that she could destroy the whole fleet with ease and with absolute impunity. this meant not only the breaking of the blockade; but the sweeping away at one blow of the north's naval supremacy, which was indispensable to the success of the war for the union. it is small wonder that during that night the wisest and bravest should have almost despaired. but in the hour of the nation's greatest need a champion suddenly appeared, in time to play the last scene in this great drama of sea warfare. the north, too, had been trying its hand at building ironclads. the most successful of them was the little monitor, a flat-decked, low, turreted, ironclad, armed with a couple of heavy guns. she was the first experiment of her kind, and her absolutely flat surface, nearly level with the water, her revolving turret, and her utter unlikeness to any pre-existing naval type, had made her an object of mirth among most practical seamen; but her inventor, ericsson, was not disheartened in the least by the jeers. under the command of a gallant naval officer, captain worden, she was sent south from new york, and though she almost foundered in a gale she managed to weather it, and reached the scene of the battle at hampton roads at the moment when her presence was all-important. early the following morning the merrimac, now under captain jones (for buchanan had been wounded), again steamed forth to take up the work she had so well begun and to destroy the union fleet. she steered straight for the minnesota; but when she was almost there, to her astonishment a strange-looking little craft advanced from the side of the big wooden frigate and boldly barred the merrimac's path. for a moment the confederates could hardly believe their eyes. the monitor was tiny, compared to their ship, for she was not one fifth the size, and her queer appearance made them look at their new foe with contempt; but the first shock of battle did away with this feeling. the merrimac turned on her foe her rifleguns, intending to blow her out of the water, but the shot glanced from the thick iron turret of the monitor. then the monitors guns opened fire, and as the great balls struck the sides of the ram her plates started and her timbers gave. had the monitor been such a vessel as those of her type produced later in the war, the ram would have been sunk then and there; but as it was her shot were not quite heavy enough to pierce the iron walls. around and around the two strange combatants hovered, their guns bellowing without cessation, while the men on the frigates and on shore watched the result with breathless interest. neither the merrimac nor the monitor could dispose of its antagonist. the ram's guns could not damage the turret, and the monitor was able dexterously to avoid the stroke of the formidable prow. on the other hand, the shot of the monitor could not penetrate the merrimac's tough sides. accordingly, fierce though the struggle was, and much though there was that hinged on it, it was not bloody in character. the merrimac could neither destroy nor evade the monitor. she could not sink her when she tried to, and when she abandoned her and turned to attack one of the other wooden vessels, the little turreted ship was thrown across her path, so that the fight had to be renewed. both sides grew thoroughly exhausted, and finally the battle ceased by mutual consent. nothing more could be done. the ram was badly damaged, and there was no help for her save to put back to the port whence she had come. twice afterward she came out, but neither time did she come near enough to the monitor to attack her, and the latter could not move off where she would cease to protect the wooden vessels. the ram was ultimately blown up by the confederates on the advance of the union army. tactically, the fight was a drawn battle--neither ship being able to damage the other, and both ships, being fought to a standstill; but the moral and material effects were wholly in favor of the monitor. her victory was hailed with exultant joy throughout the whole union, and exercised a correspondingly depressing effect in the confederacy; while every naval man throughout the world, who possessed eyes to see, saw that the fight in hampton roads had inaugurated a new era in ocean warfare, and that the monitor and merrimac, which had waged so gallant and so terrible a battle, were the first ships of the new era, and that as such their names would be forever famous. the flag-bearer mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord; he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; he hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; his truth is marching on. i have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; they have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; i can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; his day is marching on. he has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never beat retreat; he is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat; oh! be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant, my feet! our god is marching on. --julia ward howe. in no war since the close of the great napoleonic struggles has the fighting been so obstinate and bloody as in the civil war. much has been said in song and story of the resolute courage of the guards at inkerman, of the charge of the light brigade, and of the terrible fighting and loss of the german armies at mars la tour and gravelotte. the praise bestowed, upon the british and germans for their valor, and for the loss that proved their valor, was well deserved; but there were over one hundred and twenty regiments, union and confederate, each of which, in some one battle of the civil war, suffered a greater loss than any english regiment at inkerman or at any other battle in the crimea, a greater loss than was suffered by any german regiment at gravelotte or at any other battle of the franco-prussian war. no european regiment in any recent struggle has suffered such losses as at gettysburg befell the st minnesota, when per cent. of the officers and men were killed and wounded; or the st pennsylvania, which lost per cent.; or the th north carolina, which lost per cent.; such as at the second battle of manassas befell the st new york, which lost per cent., and the st georgia, which lost per cent. at cold harbor the th massachusetts lost per cent., and the th tennessee at chickamauga per cent.; while at shiloh the th illinois lost per cent., and the th mississippi per cent.; and at antietam the st texas lost percent. the loss of the light brigade in killed and wounded in its famous charge at balaklava was but per cent. these figures show the terrible punishment endured by these regiments, chosen at random from the head of the list which shows the slaughter-roll of the civil war. yet the shattered remnants of each regiment preserved their organization, and many of the severest losses were incurred in the hour of triumph, and not of disaster. thus, the st minnesota, at gettysburg, suffered its appalling loss while charging a greatly superior force, which it drove before it; and the little huddle of wounded and unwounded men who survived their victorious charge actually kept both the flag they had captured and the ground from which they had driven their foes. a number of the continental regiments under washington, greene, and wayne did valiant fighting and endured heavy punishment. several of the regiments raised on the northern frontier in showed, under brown and scott, that they were able to meet the best troops of britain on equal terms in the open, and even to overmatch them in fair fight with the bayonet. the regiments which, in the mexican war, under the lead of taylor, captured monterey, and beat back santa anna at buena vista, or which, with scott as commander, stormed molino del rey and chapultepec, proved their ability to bear terrible loss, to wrest victory from overwhelming numbers, and to carry by open assault positions of formidable strength held by a veteran army. but in none of these three wars was the fighting so resolute and bloody as in the civil war. countless deeds of heroism were performed by northerner and by southerner, by officer and by private, in every year of the great struggle. the immense majority of these deeds went unrecorded, and were known to few beyond the immediate participants. of those that were noticed it would be impossible even to make a dry catalogue in ten such volumes as this. all that can be done is to choose out two or three acts of heroism, not as exceptions, but as examples of hundreds of others. the times of war are iron times, and bring out all that is best as well as all that is basest in the human heart. in a full recital of the civil war, as of every other great conflict, there would stand out in naked relief feats of wonderful daring and self-devotion, and, mixed among them, deeds of cowardice, of treachery, of barbarous brutality. sadder still, such a recital would show strange contrasts in the careers of individual men, men who at one time acted well and nobly, and at another time ill and basely. the ugly truths must not be blinked, and the lessons they teach should be set forth by every historian, and learned by every statesman and soldier; but, for our good fortune, the lessons best worth learning in the nation's past are lessons of heroism. from immemorial time the armies of every warlike people have set the highest value upon the standards they bore to battle. to guard one's own flag against capture is the pride, to capture the flag of one's enemy the ambition, of every valiant soldier. in consequence, in every war between peoples of good military record, feats of daring performed by color-bearers are honorably common. the civil war was full of such incidents. out of very many two or three may be mentioned as noteworthy. one occurred at fredericksburg on the day when half the brigades of meagher and caldwell lay on the bloody slope leading up to the confederate entrenchments. among the assaulting regiments was the th new hampshire, and it lost one hundred and eighty-six out of three hundred men who made the charge. the survivors fell sullenly back behind a fence, within easy range of the confederate rifle-pits. just before reaching it the last of the color guard was shot, and the flag fell in the open. a captain perry instantly ran out to rescue it, and as he reached it was shot through the heart; another, captain murray, made the same attempt and was also killed; and so was a third, moore. several private soldiers met a like fate. they were all killed close to the flag, and their dead bodies fell across one another. taking advantage of this breastwork, lieutenant nettleton crawled from behind the fence to the colors, seized them, and bore back the blood-won trophy. another took place at gaines' mill, where gregg's st south carolina formed part of the attacking force. the resistance was desperate, and the fury of the assault unsurpassed. at one point it fell to the lot of this regiment to bear the brunt of carrying a certain strong position. moving forward at a run, the south carolinians were swept by a fierce and searching fire. young james taylor, a lad of sixteen, was carrying the flag, and was killed after being shot down three times, twice rising and struggling onward with the colors. the third time he fell the flag was seized by george cotchet, and when he, in turn, fell, by shubrick hayne. hayne was also struck down almost immediately, and the fourth lad, for none of them were over twenty years old, grasped the colors, and fell mortally wounded across the body of his friend. the fifth, gadsden holmes, was pierced with no less than seven balls. the sixth man, dominick spellman, more fortunate, but not less brave, bore the flag throughout the rest of the battle. yet another occurred at antietam. the th maine, then under the command of major t. w. hyde, was one of the hundreds of regiments that on many hard-fought fields established a reputation for dash and unyielding endurance. toward the early part of the day at antietam it merely took its share in the charging and long-range firing, together with the new york and vermont regiments which were its immediate neighbors in the line. the fighting was very heavy. in one of the charges, the maine men passed over what had been a confederate regiment. the gray-clad soldiers were lying, both ranks, privates and officers, as they fell, for so many had been killed or disabled that it seemed as if the whole regiment was prone in death. much of the time the maine men lay on the battle-field, hugging the ground, under a heavy artillery fire, but beyond the reach of ordinary musketry. one of the privates, named knox, was a wonderful shot, and had received permission to use his own special rifle, a weapon accurately sighted for very long range. while the regiment thus lay under the storm of shot and shell, he asked leave to go to the front; and for an hour afterward his companions heard his rifle crack every few minutes. major hyde finally, from curiosity, crept forward to see what he was doing, and found that he had driven every man away from one section of a confederate battery, tumbling over gunner after gunner as they came forward to fire. one of his victims was a general officer, whose horse he killed. at the end of an hour or so, a piece of shell took off the breech of his pet rifle, and he returned disconsolate; but after a few minutes he gathered three rifles that were left by wounded men, and went back again to his work. at five o'clock in the afternoon the regiment was suddenly called upon to undertake a hopeless charge, owing to the blunder of the brigade commander, who was a gallant veteran of the mexican war, but who was also given to drink. opposite the union lines at this point were some haystacks, near a group of farm buildings. they were right in the center of the confederate position, and sharpshooters stationed among them were picking off the union gunners. the brigadier, thinking that they were held by but a few skirmishers, rode to where the th maine was lying on the ground, and said: "major hyde, take your regiment and drive the enemy from those trees and buildings." hyde saluted, and said that he had seen a large force of rebels go in among the buildings, probably two brigades in all. the brigadier answered, "are you afraid to go, sir?" and repeated the order emphatically. "give the order, so the regiment can hear it, and we are ready, sir," said hyde. this was done, and "attention" brought every man to his feet. with the regiment were two young boys who carried the marking guidons, and hyde ordered these to the rear. they pretended to go, but as soon as the regiment charged came along with it. one of them lost his arm, and the other was killed on the field. the colors were carried by the color corporal, harry campbell. hyde gave the orders to left face and forward and the maine men marched out in front of a vermont regiment which lay beside them; then, facing to the front, they crossed a sunken road, which was so filled with dead and wounded confederates that hyde's horse had to step on them to get over. once across, they stopped for a moment in the trampled corn to straighten the line, and then charged toward the right of the barns. on they went at the double-quick, fifteen skirmishers ahead under lieutenant butler, major hyde on the right on his virginia thoroughbred, and adjutant haskell to the left on a big white horse. the latter was shot down at once, as was his horse, and hyde rode round in front of the regiment just in time to see a long line of men in gray rise from behind the stone wall of the hagerstown pike, which was to their right, and pour in a volley; but it mostly went too high. he then ordered his men to left oblique. just as they were abreast a hill to the right of the barns, hyde, being some twenty feet ahead, looked over its top and saw several regiments of confederates, jammed close together and waiting at the ready; so he gave the order left flank, and, still at the double quick, took his column past the barns and buildings toward an orchard on the hither side, hoping that he could get them back before they were cut off, for they were faced by ten times their number. by going through the orchard he expected to be able to take advantage of a hollow, and partially escape the destructive flank fire on his return. to hope to keep the barns from which they had driven the sharpshooters was vain, for the single maine regiment found itself opposed to portions of no less than four confederate brigades, at least a dozen regiments all told. when the men got to the orchard fence, sergeant benson wrenched apart the tall pickets to let through hyde's horse. while he was doing this, a shot struck his haversack, and the men all laughed at the sight of the flying hardtack. going into the orchard there was a rise of ground, and the confederates fired several volleys at the maine men, and then charged them. hyde's horse was twice wounded, but was still able to go on. no sooner were the men in blue beyond the fence than they got into line and met the confederates, as they came crowding behind, with a slaughtering fire, and then charged, driving them back. the color corporal was still carrying the colors, though one of his arms had been broken; but when half way through the orchard, hyde heard him call out as he fell, and turned back to save the colors, if possible. the apple-trees were short and thick, and he could not see much, and the confederates speedily got between him and his men. immediately, with the cry of "rally, boys, to save the major," back surged the regiment, and a volley at arm's length again destroyed all the foremost of their pursuers; so they rescued both their commander and the flag, which was carried off by corporal ring. hyde then formed the regiment on the colors, sixty-eight men all told, out of two hundred and forty who had begun the charge, and they slowly marched back toward their place in the union line, while the new yorkers and vermonters rose from the ground cheering and waving their hats. next day, when the confederates had retired a little from the field, the color corporal, campbell, was found in the orchard, dead, propped up against a tree, with his half-smoked pipe beside him. the death of stonewall jackson like a servant of the lord, with his bible and his sword, our general rode along us, to form us for the fight. --macaulay. the civil war has left, as all wars of brother against brother must leave, terrible and heartrending memories; but there remains as an offset the glory which has accrued to the nation by the countless deeds of heroism performed by both sides in the struggle. the captains and the armies that, after long years of dreary campaigning and bloody, stubborn fighting, brought the war to a close, have left us more than a reunited realm. north and south, all americans, now have a common fund of glorious memories. we are the richer for each grim campaign, for each hard-fought battle. we are the richer for valor displayed alike by those who fought so valiantly for the right, and by those who, no less valiantly, fought for what they deemed the right. we have in us nobler capacities for what is great and good because of the infinite woe and suffering, and because of the splendid ultimate triumph. we hold that it was vital to the welfare, not only of our people on this continent, but of the whole human race, that the union should be preserved and slavery abolished; that one flag should fly from the great lakes to the rio grande; that we should all be free in fact as well as in name, and that the united states should stand as one nation--the greatest nation on the earth. but we recognize gladly that, south as well as north, when the fight was once on, the leaders of the armies, and the soldiers whom they led, displayed the same qualities of daring and steadfast courage, of disinterested loyalty and enthusiasm, and of high devotion to an ideal. the greatest general of the south was lee, and his greatest lieutenant was jackson. both were virginians, and both were strongly opposed to disunion. lee went so far as to deny the right of secession, while jackson insisted that the south ought to try to get its rights inside the union, and not outside. but when virginia joined the southern confederacy, and the war had actually begun, both men cast their lot with the south. it is often said that the civil war was in one sense a repetition of the old struggle between the puritan and the cavalier; but puritan and cavalier types were common to the two armies. in dash and light-hearted daring, custer and kearney stood as conspicuous as stuart and morgan; and, on the other hand, no northern general approached the roundhead type--the type of the stern, religious warriors who fought under cromwell--so closely as stonewall jackson. he was a man of intense religious conviction, who carried into every thought and deed of his daily life the precepts of the faith he cherished. he was a tender and loving husband and father, kindhearted and gentle to all with whom he was brought in contact; yet in the times that tried men's souls, he proved not only a commander of genius, but a fighter of iron will and temper, who joyed in the battle, and always showed at his best when the danger was greatest. the vein of fanaticism that ran through his character helped to render him a terrible opponent. he knew no such word as falter, and when he had once put his hand to a piece of work, he did it thoroughly and with all his heart. it was quite in keeping with his character that this gentle, high-minded, and religious man should, early in the contest, have proposed to hoist the black flag, neither take nor give quarter, and make the war one of extermination. no such policy was practical in the nineteenth century and in the american republic; but it would have seemed quite natural and proper to jackson's ancestors, the grim scotch-irish, who defended londonderry against the forces of the stuart king, or to their forefathers, the covenanters of scotland, and the puritans who in england rejoiced at the beheading of king charles i. in the first battle in which jackson took part, the confused struggle at bull run, he gained his name of stonewall from the firmness with which he kept his men to their work and repulsed the attack of the union troops. from that time until his death, less than two years afterward, his career was one of brilliant and almost uninterrupted success; whether serving with an independent command in the valley, or acting under lee as his right arm in the pitched battles with mcclellan, pope, and burnside. few generals as great as lee have ever had as great a lieutenant as jackson. he was a master of strategy and tactics, fearless of responsibility, able to instil into his men his own intense ardor in battle, and so quick in his movements, so ready to march as well as fight, that his troops were known to the rest of the army as the "foot cavalry." in the spring of hooker had command of the army of the potomac. like mcclellan, he was able to perfect the discipline of his forces and to organize them, and as a division commander he was better than mcclellan, but he failed even more signally when given a great independent command. he had under him , men when, toward the end of april, he prepared to attack lee's army, which was but half as strong. the union army lay opposite fredericksburg, looking at the fortified heights where they had received so bloody a repulse at the beginning of the winter. hooker decided to distract the attention of the confederates by letting a small portion of his force, under general sedgwick, attack fredericksburg, while he himself took the bulk of the army across the river to the right hand so as to crush lee by an assault on his flank. all went well at the beginning, and on the first of may hooker found himself at chancellorsville, face-to-face with the bulk of lee's forces; and sedgwick, crossing the river and charging with the utmost determination, had driven out of fredericksburg the confederate division of early; but when hooker found himself in front of lee he hesitated, faltered instead of pushing on, and allowed the consummate general to whom he was opposed to take the initiative. lee fully realized his danger, and saw that his only chance was, first to beat back hooker, and then to turn and overwhelm sedgwick, who was in his rear. he consulted with jackson, and jackson begged to be allowed to make one of his favorite flank attacks upon the union army; attacks which could have been successfully delivered only by a skilled and resolute general, and by troops equally able to march and to fight. lee consented, and jackson at once made off. the country was thickly covered with a forest of rather small growth, for it was a wild region, in which there was still plenty of game. shielded by the forest, jackson marched his gray columns rapidly to the left along the narrow country roads until he was square on the flank of the union right wing, which was held by the eleventh corps, under howard. the union scouts got track of the movement and reported it at headquarters, but the union generals thought the confederates were retreating; and when finally the scouts brought word to howard that he was menaced by a flank attack he paid no heed to the information, and actually let his whole corps be surprised in broad daylight. yet all the while the battle was going on elsewhere, and berdan's sharpshooters had surrounded and captured a georgia regiment, from which information was received showing definitely that jackson was not retreating, and must be preparing to strike a heavy blow. the eleventh corps had not the slightest idea that it was about to be assailed. the men were not even in line. many of them had stacked their muskets and were lounging about, some playing cards, others cooking supper, intermingled with the pack-mules and beef cattle. while they were thus utterly unprepared jackson's gray-clad veterans pushed straight through the forest and rushed fiercely to the attack. the first notice the troops of the eleventh corps received did not come from the pickets, but from the deer, rabbits and foxes which, fleeing from their coverts at the approach of the confederates, suddenly came running over and into the union lines. in another minute the frightened pickets came tumbling back, and right behind them came the long files of charging, yelling confederates; with one fierce rush jackson's men swept over the union lines, and at a blow the eleventh corps became a horde of panicstruck fugitives. some of the regiments resisted for a few moments, and then they too were carried away in the flight. for a while it seemed as if the whole army would be swept off; but hooker and his subordinates exerted every effort to restore order. it was imperative to gain time so that the untouched portions of the army could form across the line of the confederate advance. keenan's regiment of pennsylvania cavalry, but four hundred sabers strong, was accordingly sent full against the front of the ten thousand victorious confederates. keenan himself fell, pierced by bayonets, and the charge was repulsed at once; but a few priceless moments had been saved, and pleasanton had been given time to post twenty-two guns, loaded with double canister, where they would bear upon the enemy. the confederates advanced in a dense mass, yelling and cheering, and the discharge of the guns fairly blew them back across the work's they had just taken. again they charged, and again were driven back; and when the battle once more began the union reinforcements had arrived. it was about this time that jackson himself was mortally wounded. he had been leading and urging on the advance of his men, cheering them with voice and gesture, his pale face flushed with joy and excitement, while from time to time as he sat on his horse he took off his hat and, looking upward, thanked heaven for the victory it had vouchsafed him. as darkness drew near he was in the front, where friend and foe were mingled in almost inextricable confusion. he and his staff were fired at, at close range, by the union troops, and, as they turned, were fired at again, through a mistake, by the confederates behind them. jackson fell, struck in several places. he was put in a litter and carried back; but he never lost consciousness, and when one of his generals complained of the terrible effect of the union cannonade he answered: "you must hold your ground." for several days he lingered, hearing how lee beat hooker, in detail, and forced him back across the river. then the old puritan died. at the end his mind wandered, and he thought he was again commanding in battle, and his last words were. "let us cross over the river and rest in the shade." thus perished stonewall jackson, one of the ablest of soldiers and one of the most upright of men, in the last of his many triumphs. the charge at gettysburg for the lord on the whirlwind is abroad; in the earthquake he has spoken; he has smitten with his thunder the iron walls asunder, and the gates of brass are broken! --whittier with bray of the trumpet, and roll of the drum, and keen ring of bugle the cavalry come: sharp clank the steel scabbards, the bridle-chains ring, and foam from red nostrils the wild chargers fling! tramp, tramp o'er the greensward that quivers below, scarce held by the curb bit the fierce horses go! and the grim-visaged colonel, with ear-rending shout, peals forth to the squadrons the order, "trot out"! --francis a. durivage. the battle of chancellorsville marked the zenith of confederate good fortune. immediately afterward, in june, , lee led the victorious army of northern virginia into pennsylvania. the south was now the invader, not the invaded, and its heart beat proudly with hopes of success; but these hopes went down in bloody wreck on july , when word was sent to the world that the high valor of virginia had failed at last on the field of gettysburg, and that in the far west vicksburg had been taken by the army of the "silent soldier." at gettysburg lee had under him some seventy thousand men, and his opponent, meade, about ninety thousand. both armies were composed mainly of seasoned veterans, trained to the highest point by campaign after campaign and battle after battle; and there was nothing to choose between them as to the fighting power of the rank and file. the union army was the larger, yet most of the time it stood on the defensive; for the difference between the generals, lee and meade, was greater than could be bridged by twenty thousand men. for three days the battle raged. no other battle of recent time has been so obstinate and so bloody. the victorious union army lost a greater percentage in killed and wounded than the allied armies of england, germany, and the netherlands lost at waterloo. four of its seven corps suffered each a greater relative loss than befell the world-renowned british infantry on the day that saw the doom of the french emperor. the defeated confederates at gettysburg lost, relatively, as many men as the defeated french at waterloo; but whereas the french army became a mere rabble, lee withdrew his formidable soldiery with their courage unbroken, and their fighting power only diminished by their actual losses in the field. the decisive moment of the battle, and perhaps of the whole war, was in the afternoon of the third day, when lee sent forward his choicest troops in a last effort to break the middle of the union line. the center of the attacking force was pickett's division, the flower of the virginia infantry; but many other brigades took part in the assault, and the column, all told, numbered over fifteen thousand men. at the same time, the confederates attacked the union left to create a diversion. the attack was preceded by a terrific cannonade, lee gathering one hundred and fifteen guns, and opening a fire on the center of the union line. in response, hunt, the union chief of artillery, and tyler, of the artillery reserves, gathered eighty guns on the crest of the gently sloping hill, where attack was threatened. for two hours, from one till three, the cannonade lasted, and the batteries on both sides suffered severely. in both the union and confederate lines caissons were blown up by the fire, riderless horses dashed hither and thither, the dead lay in heaps, and throngs of wounded streamed to the rear. every man lay down and sought what cover he could. it was evident that the confederate cannonade was but a prelude to a great infantry attack, and at three o'clock hunt ordered the fire to stop, that the guns might cool, to be ready for the coming assault. the confederates thought that they had silenced the hostile artillery, and for a few minutes their firing continued; then, suddenly, it ceased, and there was a lull. the men on the union side who were not at the point directly menaced peered anxiously across the space between the lines to watch the next move, while the men in the divisions which it was certain were about to be assaulted, lay hugging the ground and gripping their muskets, excited, but confident and resolute. they saw the smoke clouds rise slowly from the opposite crest, where the confederate army lay, and the sunlight glinted again on the long line of brass and iron guns which had been hidden from view during the cannonade. in another moment, out of the lifting smoke there appeared, beautiful and terrible, the picked thousands of the southern army coming on to the assault. they advanced in three lines, each over a mile long, and in perfect order. pickett's virginians held the center, with on their left the north carolinians of pender and pettigrew, and on their right the alabama regiments of wilcox; and there were also georgian and tennessee regiments in the attacking force. pickett's division, however, was the only one able to press its charge home. after leaving the woods where they started, the confederates had nearly a mile and a half to go in their charge. as the virginians moved, they bent slightly to the left, so as to leave a gap between them and the alabamians on the right. the confederate lines came on magnificently. as they crossed the emmetsburg pike the eighty guns on the union crest, now cool and in good shape, opened upon them, first with shot and then with shell. great gaps were made every second in the ranks, but the gray-clad soldiers closed up to the center, and the color-bearers leaped to the front, shaking and waving the flags. the union infantry reserved their fire until the confederates were within easy range, when the musketry crashed out with a roar, and the big guns began to fire grape and canister. on came the confederates, the men falling by hundreds, the colors fluttering in front like a little forest; for as fast as a color-bearer was shot some one else seized the flag from his hand before it fell. the north carolinians were more exposed to the fire than any other portion of the attacking force, and they were broken before they reached the line. there was a gap between the virginians and the alabama troops, and this was taken advantage of by stannard's vermont brigade and a demi-brigade under gates, of the th new york, who were thrust forward into it. stannard changed front with his regiments and fell on pickett's forces in flank, and gates continued the attack. when thus struck in the flank, the virginians could not defend themselves, and they crowded off toward the center to avoid the pressure. many of them were killed or captured; many were driven back; but two of the brigades, headed by general armistead, forced their way forward to the stone wall on the crest, where the pennsylvania regiments were posted under gibbon and webb. the union guns fired to the last moment, until of the two batteries immediately in front of the charging virginians every officer but one had been struck. one of the mortally wounded officers was young cushing, a brother of the hero of the albemarle fight. he was almost cut in two, but holding his body together with one hand, with the other he fired his last gun, and fell dead, just as armistead, pressing forward at the head of his men, leaped the wall, waving his hat on his sword. immediately afterward the battle-flags of the foremost confederate regiments crowned the crest; but their strength was spent. the union troops moved forward with the bayonet, and the remnant of pickett's division, attacked on all sides, either surrendered or retreated down the hill again. armistead fell, dying, by the body of the dead cushing. both gibbon and webb were wounded. of pickett's command two thirds were killed, wounded or captured, and every brigade commander and every field officer, save one, fell. the virginians tried to rally, but were broken and driven again by gates, while stannard repeated, at the expense of the alabamians, the movement he had made against the virginians, and, reversing his front, attacked them in flank. their lines were torn by the batteries in front, and they fell back before the vermonter's attack, and stannard reaped a rich harvest of prisoners and of battle-flags. the charge was over. it was the greatest charge in any battle of modern times, and it had failed. it would be impossible to surpass the gallantry of those that made it, or the gallantry of those that withstood it. had there been in command of the union army a general like grant, it would have been followed by a counter-charge, and in all probability the war would have been shortened by nearly two years; but no countercharge was made. as the afternoon waned, a fierce cavalry fight took place on the union right. stuart, the famous confederate cavalry commander, had moved forward to turn the union right, but he was met by gregg's cavalry, and there followed a contest, at close quarters, with "the white arm." it closed with a desperate melee, in which the confederates, charged under generals wade hampton and fitz lee, were met in mid career by the union generals custer and mcintosh. all four fought, saber in hand, at the head of their troopers, and every man on each side was put into the struggle. custer, his yellow hair flowing, his face aflame with the eager joy of battle, was in the thick of the fight, rising in his stirrups as he called to his famous michigan swordsmen: "come on, you wolverines, come on!" all that the union infantry, watching eagerly from their lines, could see, was a vast dust-cloud where flakes of light shimmered as the sun shone upon the swinging sabers. at last the confederate horsemen were beaten back, and they did not come forward again or seek to renew the combat; for pickett's charge had failed, and there was no longer hope of confederate victory. when night fell, the union flags waved in triumph on the field of gettysburg; but over thirty thousand men lay dead or wounded, strewn through wood and meadow, on field and hill, where the three days' fight had surged. general grant and the vicksburg campaign what flag is this you carry along the sea and shore? the same our grandsires lifted up-- the same our fathers bore. in many a battle's tempest it shed the crimson rain-- what god has woven in his loom let no man rend in twain. to canaan, to canaan, the lord has led us forth, to plant upon the rebel towers the banners of the north. --holmes. on january , , general grant took command of the army intended to operate against vicksburg, the last place held by the rebels on the mississippi, and the only point at which they could cross the river and keep up communication with their armies and territory in the southwest. it was the first high ground below memphis, was very strongly fortified, and was held by a large army under general pemberton. the complete possession of the mississippi was absolutely essential to the national government, because the control of that great river would cut the confederacy in two, and do more, probably, than anything else, to make the overthrow of the rebellion both speedy and certain. the natural way to invest and capture so strong a place, defended and fortified as vicksburg was, would have been, if the axioms of the art of war had been adhered to, by a system of gradual approaches. a strong base should have been established at memphis, and then the army and the fleet moved gradually forward, building storehouses and taking strong positions as they went. to do this, however, it first would have been necessary to withdraw the army from the positions it then held not far above vicksburg, on the western bank of the river. but such a movement, at that time, would not have been understood by the country, and would have had a discouraging effect on the public mind, which it was most essential to avoid. the elections of had gone against the government, and there was great discouragement throughout the north. voluntary enlistments had fallen off, a draft had been ordered, and the peace party was apparently gaining rapidly in strength. general grant, looking at this grave political situation with the eye of a statesman, decided, as a soldier, that under no circumstances would he withdraw the army, but that, whatever happened, he would "press forward to a decisive victory." in this determination he never faltered, but drove straight at his object until, five months later, the great mississippi stronghold fell before him. efforts were made through the winter to reach vicksburg from the north by cutting canals, and by attempts to get in through the bayous and tributary streams of the great river. all these expedients failed, however, one after another, as grant, from the beginning, had feared that they would. he, therefore, took another and widely different line, and determined to cross the river from the western to the eastern bank below vicksburg, to the south. with the aid of the fleet, which ran the batteries successfully, he moved his army down the west bank until he reached a point beyond the possibility of attack, while a diversion by sherman at haines' bluff, above vicksburg, kept pemberton in his fortifications. on april , grant began to move his men over the river and landed them at bruinsburg. "when this was effected," he writes, "i felt a degree of relief scarcely ever equaled since. vicksburg was not yet taken, it is true, nor were its defenders demoralized by any of our previous movements. i was now in the enemy's country, with a vast river and the stronghold of vicksburg between me and my base of supplies, but i was on dry ground, on the same side of the river with the enemy." the situation was this: the enemy had about sixty thousand men at vicksburg, haines' bluff, and at jackson, mississippi, about fifty miles east of vicksburg. grant, when he started, had about thirty-three thousand men. it was absolutely necessary for success that grant, with inferior numbers, should succeed in destroying the smaller forces to the eastward, and thus prevent their union with pemberton and the main army at vicksburg. his plan, in brief; was to fight and defeat a superior enemy separately and in detail. he lost no time in putting his plan into action, and pressing forward quickly, met a detachment of the enemy at port gibson and defeated them. thence he marched to grand gulf, on the mississippi, which he took, and which he had planned to make a base of supply. when he reached grand gulf, however, he found that he would be obliged to wait a month, in order to obtain the reinforcements which he expected from general banks at port hudson. he, therefore, gave up the idea of making grand gulf a base, and sherman having now joined him with his corps, grant struck at once into the interior. he took nothing with him except ammunition, and his army was in the lightest marching order. this enabled him to move with great rapidity, but deprived him of his wagon trains, and of all munitions of war except cartridges. everything, however, in this campaign, depended on quickness, and grant's decision, as well as all his movements, marked the genius of the great soldier, which consists very largely in knowing just when to abandon the accepted military axioms. pressing forward, grant met the enemy, numbering between seven and eight thousand, at raymond, and readily defeated them. he then marched on toward jackson, fighting another action at clinton, and at jackson he struck general joseph johnston, who had arrived at that point to take command of all the rebel forces. johnston had with him, at the moment, about eleven thousand men, and stood his ground. there was a sharp fight, but grant easily defeated the enemy, and took possession of the town. this was an important point, for jackson was the capital of the state of mississippi, and was a base of military supplies. grant destroyed the factories and the munitions of war which were gathered there, and also came into possession of the line of railroad which ran from jackson to vicksburg. while he was thus engaged, an intercepted message revealed to him the fact that pemberton, in accordance with johnston's orders, had come out of vicksburg with twenty-five thousand men, and was moving eastward against him. pemberton, however, instead of holding a straight line against grant, turned at first to the south, with the view of breaking the latter's line of communication. this was not a success, for, as grant says, with grim humor, "i had no line of communication to break"; and, moreover, it delayed pemberton when delay was of value to grant in finishing johnston. after this useless turn to the southward pemberton resumed his march to the east, as he should have done in the beginning, in accordance with johnston's orders; but grant was now more than ready. he did not wait the coming of pemberton. leaving jackson as soon as he heard of the enemy's advance from vicksburg, he marched rapidly westward and struck pemberton at champion hills. the forces were at this time very nearly matched, and the severest battle of the campaign ensued, lasting four hours. grant, however, defeated pemberton completely, and came very near capturing his entire force. with a broken army, pemberton fell back on vicksburg. grant pursued without a moment's delay, and came up with the rear guard at big black river. a sharp engagement followed, and the confederates were again defeated. grant then crossed the big black and the next day was before vicksburg, with his enemy inside the works. when grant crossed the mississippi at bruinsburg and struck into the interior, he, of course, passed out of communication with washington, and he did not hear from there again until may , when, just as his troops were engaging in the battle of black river bridge, an officer appeared from port hudson with an order from general halleck to return to grand gulf and thence cooperate with banks against port hudson. grant replied that the order came too late. "the bearer of the despatch insisted that i ought to obey the order, and was giving arguments to support the position, when i heard a great cheering to the right of our line, and looking in that direction, saw lawler, in his shirt-sleeves, leading a charge on the enemy. i immediately mounted my horse and rode in the direction of the charge, and saw no more of the officer who had delivered the message; i think not even to this day." when grant reached vicksburg, there was no further talk of recalling him to grand gulf or port hudson. the authorities at washington then saw plainly enough what had been done in the interior of mississippi, far from the reach of telegraphs or mail. as soon as the national troops reached vicksburg an assault was attempted, but the place was too strong, and the attack was repulsed, with heavy loss. grant then settled down to a siege, and lincoln and halleck now sent him ample reinforcements. he no longer needed to ask for them. his campaign had explained itself, and in a short time he had seventy thousand men under his command. his lines were soon made so strong that it was impossible for the defenders of vicksburg to break through them, and although johnston had gathered troops again to the eastward, an assault from that quarter on the national army, now so largely reinforced, was practically out of the question. tighter and tighter grant drew his lines about the city, where, every day, the suffering became more intense. it is not necessary to give the details of the siege. on july , , vicksburg surrendered, the mississippi was in control of the national forces from its source to its mouth, and the confederacy was rent in twain. on the same day lee was beaten at gettysburg, and these two great victories really crushed the rebellion, although much hard fighting remained to be done before the end was reached. grant's campaign against vicksburg deserves to be compared with that of napoleon which resulted in the fall of ulm. it was the most brilliant single campaign of the war. with an inferior force, and abandoning his lines of communication, moving with a marvelous rapidity through a difficult country, grant struck the superior forces of the enemy on the line from jackson to vicksburg. he crushed johnston before pemberton could get to him, and he flung pemberton back into vicksburg before johnston could rally from the defeat which had been inflicted. with an inferior force, grant was superior at every point of contest, and he won every fight. measured by the skill displayed and the result achieved, there is no campaign in our history which better deserves study and admiration. robert gould shaw brave, good, and true, i see him stand before me now, and read again on that young brow, where every hope was new, how sweet were life! yet, by the mouth firm-set, and look made up for duty's utmost debt, i could divine he knew that death within the sulphurous hostile lines, in the mere wreck of nobly-pitched designs, plucks hearts-ease, and not rue. right in the van, on the red ramparts slippery swell, with heart that beat a charge, he fell, foeward, as fits a man; but the high soul burns on to light men's feet where death for noble ends makes dying sweet; his life her crescent's span orbs full with share in their undarkening days who ever climbed the battailous steeps of praise since valor's praise began. we bide our chance, unhappy, and make terms with fate a little more to let us wait; he leads for aye the advance, hope's forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good for nobler earths and days of manlier mood; our wall of circumstance cleared at a bound, he flashes o'er the fight, a saintly shape of fame, to cheer the right and steel each wavering glance. i write of one, while with dim eyes i think of three; who weeps not others fair and brave as he? ah, when the fight is won, dear land, whom triflers now make bold to scorn (thee from whose forehead earth awaits her morn), how nobler shall the sun flame in thy sky, how braver breathe thy air, that thou bred'st children who for thee could dare and die as thine have done. --lowell. robert gould shaw was born in boston on october , , the son of francis and sarah sturgis shaw. when he was about nine years old, his parents moved to staten island, and he was educated there, and at school in the neighborhood of new york, until he went to europe in , where he remained traveling and studying for the next three years. he entered harvard college in , and left at the end of his third year, in order to accept an advantageous business offer in new york. even as a boy he took much interest in politics, and especially in the question of slavery. he voted for lincoln in , and at that time enlisted as a private in the new york th regiment, feeling that there was likelihood of trouble, and that there would be a demand for soldiers to defend the country. his foresight was justified only too soon, and on april , , he marched with his regiment to washington. the call for the th regiment was only for thirty days, and at the expiration of that service he applied for and obtained a commission as second lieutenant in the d massachusetts, and left with that regiment for virginia in july, . he threw himself eagerly into his new duties, and soon gained a good position in the regiment. at cedar mountain he was an aid on general gordon's staff, and was greatly exposed in the performance of his duties during the action. he was also with his regiment at antietam, and was in the midst of the heavy fighting of that great battle. early in , the government determined to form negro regiments, and governor andrew offered shaw, who had now risen to the rank of captain, the colonelcy of one to be raised in massachusetts, the first black regiment recruited under state authority. it was a great compliment to receive this offer, but shaw hesitated as to his capacity for such a responsible post. he first wrote a letter declining, on the ground that he did not feel that he had ability enough for the undertaking, and then changed his mind, and telegraphed governor andrew that he would accept. it is not easy to realize it now, but his action then in accepting this command required high moral courage, of a kind quite different from that which he had displayed already on the field of battle. the prejudice against the blacks was still strong even in the north. there was a great deal of feeling among certain classes against enlisting black regiments at all, and the officers who undertook to recruit and lead negroes were. exposed to much attack and criticism. shaw felt, however, that this very opposition made it all the more incumbent on him to undertake the duty. he wrote on february : after i have undertaken this work, i shall feel that what i have to do is to prove that the negro can be made a good soldier... . i am inclined to think that the undertaking will not meet with so much opposition as was at first supposed. all sensible men in the army, of all parties, after a little thought, say that it is the best thing that can be done, and surely those at home who are not brave or patriotic enough to enlist should not ridicule or throw obstacles in the way of men who are going to fight for them. there is a great prejudice against it, but now that it has become a government matter, that will probably wear away. at any rate i sha'n't be frightened out of it by its unpopularity. i feel convinced i shall never regret having taken this step, as far as i myself am concerned; for while i was undecided, i felt ashamed of myself as if i were cowardly. colonel shaw went at once to boston, after accepting his new duty, and began the work of raising and drilling the th regiment. he met with great success, for he and his officers labored heart and soul, and the regiment repaid their efforts. on march , he wrote: "the mustering officer who was here to-day is a virginian, and has always thought it was a great joke to try to make soldiers of 'niggers,' but he tells me now that he has never mustered in so fine a set of men, though about twenty thousand had passed through his hands since september." on may , colonel shaw left boston, and his march through the city was a triumph. the appearance of his regiment made a profound impression, and was one of the events of the war which those who saw it never forgot. the regiment was ordered to south carolina, and when they were off cape hatteras, colonel shaw wrote: the more i think of the passage of the th through boston, the more wonderful it seems to me just remember our own doubts and fears, and other people's sneering and pitying remarks when we began last winter, and then look at the perfect triumph of last thursday. we have gone quietly along, forming the first regiment, and at last left boston amidst greater enthusiasm than has been seen since the first three months' troops left for the war. truly, i ought to be thankful for all my happiness and my success in life so far; and if the raising of colored troops prove such a benefit to the country and to the blacks as many people think it will, i shall thank god a thousand times that i was led to take my share in it. he had, indeed, taken his share in striking one of the most fatal blows to the barbarism of slavery which had yet been struck. the formation of the black regiments did more for the emancipation of the negro and the recognition of his rights, than almost anything else. it was impossible, after that, to say that men who fought and gave their lives for the union and for their own freedom were not entitled to be free. the acceptance of the command of a black regiment by such men as shaw and his fellow-officers was the great act which made all this possible. after reaching south carolina, colonel shaw was with his regiment at port royal and on the islands of that coast for rather more than a month, and on july he was offered the post of honor in an assault upon fort wagner, which was ordered for that night. he had proved that the negroes could be made into a good regiment, and now the second great opportunity had come, to prove their fighting quality. he wanted to demonstrate that his men could fight side by side with white soldiers, and show to somebody beside their officers what stuff they were made of. he, therefore, accepted the dangerous duty with gladness. late in the day the troops were marched across folly and morris islands and formed in line of battle within six hundred yards of fort wagner. at half-past seven the order for the charge was given, and the regiment advanced. when they were within a hundred yards of the fort, the rebel fire opened with such effect that the first battalion hesitated and wavered. colonel shaw sprang to the front, and waving his sword, shouted: "forward, th!" with another cheer, the men rushed through the ditch, and gained a parapet on the right. colonel shaw was one of the first to scale the walls. as he stood erect, a noble figure, ordering his men forward and shouting to them to press on, he was shot dead and fell into the fort. after his fall, the assault was repulsed. general haywood, commanding the rebel forces, said to a union prisoner: "i knew colonel shaw before the war, and then esteemed him. had he been in command of white troops, i should have given him an honorable burial. as it is, i shall bury him in the common trench, with the negroes that fell with him." he little knew that he was giving the dead soldier the most honorable burial that man could have devised, for the savage words told unmistakably that robert shaw's work had not been in vain. the order to bury him with his "niggers," which ran through the north and remained fixed in our history, showed, in a flash of light, the hideous barbarism of a system which made such things and such feelings possible. it also showed that slavery was wounded to the death, and that the brutal phrase was the angry snarl of a dying tiger. such words rank with the action of charles stuart, when he had the bones of oliver cromwell and robert blake torn from their graves and flung on dunghills or fixed on temple bar. robert shaw fell in battle at the head of his men, giving his life to his country, as did many another gallant man during those four years of conflict. but he did something more than this. he faced prejudice and hostility in the north, and confronted the blind and savage rage of the south, in order to demonstrate to the world that the human beings who were held in bondage could vindicate their right to freedom by fighting and dying for it. he helped mightily in the great task of destroying human slavery, and in uplifting an oppressed and down-trodden race. he brought to this work the qualities which were particularly essential for his success. he had all that birth and wealth, breeding, education, and tradition could give. he offered up, in full measure, all those things which make life most worth living. he was handsome and beloved. he had a serene and beautiful nature, and was at once brave and simple. above all things, he was fitted for the task which he performed and for the sacrifice which he made. the call of the country and of the time came to him, and he was ready. he has been singled out for remembrance from among many others of equal sacrifice, and a monument is rising to his memory in boston, because it was his peculiar fortune to live and die for a great principle of humanity, and to stand forth as an ideal and beautiful figure in a struggle where the onward march of civilization was at stake. he lived in those few and crowded years a heroic life, and he met a heroic death. when he fell, sword in hand, on the parapet of wagner, leading his black troops in a desperate assault, we can only say of him as bunyan said of "valiant for truth": "and then he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side." charles russell lowell wut's wurds to them whose faith an' truth on war's red techstone rang true metal, who ventered life an' love an, youth for the gret prize o' death in battle? to him who, deadly hurt, agen flashed on afore the charge's thunder, tippin' with fire the bolt of men thet rived the rebel line asunder? --lowell. charles russell lowell was born in boston, january , . he was the eldest son of charles russell and anna cabot (jackson) lowell, and the nephew of james russell lowell. he bore the name, distinguished in many branches, of a family which was of the best new england stock. educated in the boston public schools, he entered harvard college in . although one of the youngest members of his class, he went rapidly to the front, and graduated not only the first scholar of his year, but the foremost man of his class. he was, however, much more than a fine scholar, for even then he showed unusual intellectual qualities. he read widely and loved letters. he was a student of philosophy and religion, a thinker, and, best of all, a man of ideals--"the glory of youth," as he called them in his valedictory oration. but he was something still better and finer than a mere idealist; he was a man of action, eager to put his ideals into practice and bring them to the test of daily life. with his mind full of plans for raising the condition of workingmen while he made his own career, he entered the iron mills of the ames company, at chicopee. here he remained as a workingman for six months, and then received an important post in the trenton iron works of new jersey. there his health broke down. consumption threatened him, and all his bright hopes and ambitions were overcast and checked. he was obliged to leave his business and go to europe, where he traveled for two years, fighting the dread disease that was upon him. in he returned, and took a position on a western railroad. although the work was new to him, he manifested the same capacity that he had always shown, and more especially his power over other men and his ability in organization. in two years his health was reestablished, and in he took charge of the mount savage iron works, at cumberland, maryland. he was there when news came of the attack made by the mob upon the th massachusetts regiment, in baltimore. two days later he had made his way to washington, one of the first comers from the north, and at once applied for a commission in the regular army. while he was waiting, he employed himself in looking after the massachusetts troops, and also, it is understood, as a scout for the government, dangerous work which suited his bold and adventurous nature. in may he received his commission as captain in the united states cavalry. employed at first in recruiting and then in drill, he gave himself up to the study of tactics and the science of war. the career above all others to which he was suited had come to him. the field, at last, lay open before him, where all his great qualities of mind and heart, his high courage, his power of leadership and of organization, and his intellectual powers could find full play. he moved rapidly forward, just as he had already done in college and in business. his regiment, in , was under stoneman in the peninsula, and was engaged in many actions, where lowell's cool bravery made him constantly conspicuous. at the close of the campaign he was brevetted major, for distinguished services at williamsburg and slatersville. in july, lowell was detailed for duty as an aid to general mcclellan. at malvern hill and south mountain his gallantry and efficiency were strongly shown, but it was at antietam that he distinguished himself most. sent with orders to general sedgwick's division, he found it retreating in confusion, under a hot fire. he did not stop to think of orders, but rode rapidly from point to point of the line, rallying company after company by the mere force and power of his word and look, checking the rout, while the storm of bullets swept all round him. his horse was shot under him, a ball passed through his coat, another broke his sword-hilt, but he came off unscathed, and his service was recognized by his being sent to washington with the captured flags of the enemy. the following winter he was ordered to boston, to recruit a regiment of cavalry, of which he was appointed colonel. while the recruiting was going on, a serious mutiny broke out, but the man who, like cromwell's soldiers, "rejoiced greatly" in the day of battle was entirely capable of meeting this different trial. he shot the ringleader dead, and by the force of his own strong will quelled the outbreak completely and at once. in may, he went to virginia with his regiment, where he was engaged in resisting and following mosby, and the following summer he was opposed to general early in the neighborhood of washington. on july , when on a reconnoissance his advance guard was surprised, and he met them retreating in wild confusion, with the enemy at their heels. riding into the midst of the fugitives, lowell shouted, "dismount!" the sharp word of command, the presence of the man himself, and the magic of discipline prevailed. the men sprang down, drew up in line, received the enemy, with a heavy fire, and as the assailants wavered, lowell advanced at once, and saved the day. in july, he was put in command of the "provisional brigade," and joined the army of the shenandoah, of which in august general sheridan took command. he was so struck with lowell's work during the next month that in september he put him in command of the "reserved brigade," a very fine body of cavalry and artillery. in the fierce and continuous fighting that ensued lowell was everywhere conspicuous, and in thirteen weeks he had as many horses shot under him. but he now had scope to show more than the dashing gallantry which distinguished him always and everywhere. his genuine military ability, which surely would have led him to the front rank of soldiers had his life been spared, his knowledge, vigilance, and nerve all now became apparent. one brilliant action succeeded another, but the end was drawing near. it came at last on the famous day of cedar creek, when sheridan rode down from winchester and saved the battle. lowell had advanced early in the morning on the right, and his attack prevented the disaster on that wing which fell upon the surprised army. he then moved to cover the retreat, and around to the extreme left, where he held his position near middletown against repeated assaults. early in the day his last horse was shot under him, and a little later, in a charge at one o'clock, he was struck in the right breast by a spent ball, which embedded itself in the muscles of the chest. voice and strength left him. "it is only my poor lung," he announced, as they urged him to go to the rear; "you would not have me leave the field without having shed blood." as a matter of fact, the "poor" lung had collapsed, and there was an internal hemorrhage. he lay thus, under a rude shelter, for an hour and a half, and then came the order to advance along the whole line, the victorious advance of sheridan and the rallied army. lowell was helped to his saddle. "i feel well now," he whispered, and, giving his orders through one of his staff, had his brigade ready first. leading the great charge, he dashed forward, and, just when the fight was hottest, a sudden cry went up: "the colonel is hit!" he fell from the saddle, struck in the neck by a ball which severed the spine, and was borne by his officers to a house in the village, where, clear in mind and calm in spirit, he died a few hours afterward. "i do not think there was a quality," said general sheridan, "which i could have added to lowell. he was the perfection of a man and a soldier." on october , the very day on which he fell, his commission was signed to be a brigadier-general. this was a noble life and a noble death, worthy of much thought and admiration from all men. yet this is not all. it is well for us to see how such a man looked upon what he was doing, and what it meant to him. lowell was one of the silent heroes so much commended by carlyle. he never wrote of himself or his own exploits. as some one well said, he had "the impersonality of genius." but in a few remarkable passages in his private letters, we can see how the meaning of life and of that great time unrolled itself before his inner eyes. in june, , he wrote: i cannot say i take any great pleasure in the contemplation of the future. i fancy you feel much as i do about the profitableness of a soldier's life, and would not think of trying it, were it not for a muddled and twisted idea that somehow or other this fight was going to be one in which decent men ought to engage for the sake of humanity,--i use the word in its ordinary sense. it seems to me that within a year the slavery question will again take a prominent place, and that many cases will arise in which we may get fearfully in the wrong if we put our cause wholly in the hands of fighting men and foreign legions. in june, , he wrote: i wonder whether my theories about self-culture, etc., would ever have been modified so much, whether i should ever have seen what a necessary failure they lead to, had it not been for this war. now i feel every day, more and more, that a man has no right to himself at all; that, indeed, he can do nothing useful unless he recognizes this clearly. here again, on july , is a sentence which it is well to take to heart, and for all men to remember when their ears are deafened with the cry that war, no matter what the cause, is the worst thing possible, because it interferes with comfort, trade, and money-making: "wars are bad," lowell writes, "but there are many things far worse. anything immediately comfortable in our affairs i don't see; but comfortable times are not the ones t hat make a nation great." on july , he says: many nations fail, that one may become great; ours will fail, unless we gird up our loins and do humble and honest days' work, without trying to do the thing by the job, or to get a great nation made by a patent process. it is not safe to say that we shall not have victories till we are ready for them. we shall have victories, and whether or no we are ready for them depends upon ourselves; if we are not ready, we shall fail,--voila tout. if you ask, what if we do fail? i have nothing to say; i shouldn't cry over a nation or two, more or less, gone under. finally, on september , a little more than a month before his death, he wrote to a disabled officer: i hope that you are going to live like a plain republican, mindful of the beauty and of the duty of simplicity. nothing fancy now, sir, if you please; it's disreputable to spend money when the government is so hard up, and when there are so many poor officers. i hope that you have outgrown all foolish ambitions, and are now content to become a "useful citizen." don't grow rich; if you once begin, you will find it much more difficult to be a useful citizen. don't seek office, but don't "disremember" that the "useful citizen" always holds his time, his trouble, his money, and his life ready at the hint of his country. the useful citizen is a mighty, unpretending hero; but we are not going to have any country very long, unless such heroism is developed. there, what a stale sermon i'm preaching. but, being a soldier, it does seem to me that i should like nothing so well as being a useful citizen. well, trying to be one, i mean. i shall stay in the service, of course, till the war is over, or till i'm disabled; but then i look forward to a pleasanter career. i believe i have lost all my ambitions. i don't think i would turn my hand to be a distinguished chemist or a famous mathematician. all i now care about is to be a useful citizen, with money enough to buy bread and firewood, and to teach my children to ride on horseback, and look strangers in the face, especially southern strangers. there are profound and lofty lessons of patriotism and conduct in these passages, and a very noble philosophy of life and duty both as a man and as a citizen of a great republic. they throw a flood of light on the great underlying forces which enabled the american people to save themselves in that time of storm and stress. they are the utterances of a very young man, not thirty years old when he died in battle, but much beyond thirty in head and heart, tried and taught as he had been in a great war. what precisely such young men thought they were fighting for is put strikingly by lowell's younger brother james, who was killed at glendale, july , . in , james lowell wrote to his classmates, who had given him a sword: those who died for the cause, not of the constitution and the laws,--a superficial cause, the rebels have now the same,--but of civilization and law, and the self-restrained freedom which is their result. as the greeks at marathon and salamis, charles martel and the franks at tours, and the germans at the danube, saved europe from asiatic barbarism, so we, at places to be famous in future times, shall have saved america from a similar tide of barbarism; and we may hope to be purified and strengthened ourselves by the struggle. this is a remarkable passage and a deep thought. coming from a young fellow of twenty-four, it is amazing. but the fiery trial of the times taught fiercely and fast, and james lowell, just out of college, could see in the red light around him that not merely the freedom of a race and the saving of a nation were at stake, but that behind all this was the forward movement of civilization, brought once again to the arbitrament of the sword. slavery was barbarous and barbarizing. it had dragged down the civilization of the south to a level from which it would take generations to rise up again. was this barbarous force now to prevail in the united states in the nineteenth century? was it to destroy a great nation, and fetter human progress in the new world? that was the great question back of, beyond and above all. should this force of barbarism sweep conquering over the land, wrecking an empire in its onward march, or should it be flung back as miltiades flung back asia at marathon, and charles martel stayed the coming of islam at tours? the brilliant career, the shining courage, best seen always where the dead were lying thickest, the heroic death of charles lowell, are good for us all to know and to remember. yet this imperfect story of his life has not been placed here for these things alone. many thousand others, officers and soldiers alike, in the great civil war gave their lives as freely as he, and brought to the service of their country the best that was in them. he was a fine example of many who, like him, offered up all they had for their country. but lowell was also something more than this. he was a high type of a class, and a proof of certain very important things, and this is a point worthy of much consideration. the name of john hampden stands out in the history of the english-speaking people, admired and unquestioned. he was neither a great statesman, nor a great soldier; he was not a brilliant orator, nor a famous writer. he fell bravely in an unimportant skirmish at chalgrove field, fighting for freedom and what he believed to be right. yet he fills a great place in the past, both for what he did and what he was, and the reason for this is of high importance. john hampden was a gentleman, with all the advantages that the accidents of birth could give. he was rich, educated, well born, of high traditions. english civilization of that day could produce nothing better. the memorable fact is that, when the time came for the test, he did not fail. he was a type of what was best among the english people, and when the call sounded, he was ready. he was brave, honest, high-minded, and he gave all, even his life, to his country. in the hour of need, the representative of what was best and most fortunate in england was put to the touch, and proved to be current gold. all men knew what that meant, and hampden's memory is one of the glories of the english-speaking people. charles lowell has the same meaning for us when rightly understood. he had all that birth, breeding, education, and tradition could give. the resources of our american life and civilization could produce nothing better. how would he and such men as he stand the great ordeal when it came? if wealth, education, and breeding were to result in a class who could only carp and criticize, accumulate money, give way to self-indulgence, and cherish low foreign ideals, then would it have appeared that there was a radical unsoundness in our society, refinement would have been proved to be weakness, and the highest education would have been shown to be a curse, rather than a blessing. but charles lowell, and hundreds of others like him, in greater or less degree, all over the land, met the great test and emerged triumphant. the harvard men may be taken as fairly representing the colleges and universities of america. harvard had, in , living graduates, and students, presumably over eighteen years old. probably of her students and graduates were of military age, and not physically disqualified for military service. of this number, entered the union army or navy. one hundred and fifty-six died in service, and were killed in action. many did not go who might have gone, unquestionably, but the record is a noble one. nearly one man of every two harvard men came forward to serve his country when war was at our gates, and this proportion holds true, no doubt, of the other universities of the north. it is well for the country, well for learning, well for our civilization, that such a record was made at such a time. charles lowell, and those like him, showed, once for all, that the men to whom fortune had been kindest were capable of the noblest patriotism, and shrank from no sacrifices. they taught the lesson which can never be heard too often--that the man to whom the accidents of birth and fortune have given most is the man who owes most to his country. if patriotism should exist anywhere, it should be strongest with such men as these, and their service should be ever ready. how nobly charles lowell in this spirit answered the great question, his life and death, alike victorious, show to all men. sheridan at cedar creek inspired repulsed battalions to engage, and taught the doubtful battle where to rage. --addison. general sheridan took command of the army of the shenandoah in august, . his coming was the signal for aggressive fighting, and for a series of brilliant victories over the rebel army. he defeated early at winchester and again at fisher's hill, while general torbert whipped rosser in a subsequent action, where the rout of the rebels was so complete that the fight was known as the "woodstock races." sheridan's plan after this was to terminate his campaign north of staunton, and, returning thence, to desolate the valley, so as to make it untenable for the confederates, as well as useless as a granary or storehouse, and then move the bulk of his army through washington, and unite them with general grant in front of petersburg. grant, however, and the authorities at washington, were in favor of sheridan's driving early into eastern virginia, and following up that line, which sheri dan himself believed to be a false move. this important matter was in debate until october , when sheridan, having left the main body of his army at cedar creek under general wright, determined to go to washington, and discuss the question personally with general halleck and the secretary of war. he reached washington on the morning of the th about eight o'clock, left there at twelve; and got back to martinsburg the same night about dark. at martinsburg he spent the night, and the next day, with his escort, rode to winchester, reaching that point between three and four o'clock in the afternoon of the th. he there heard that all was quiet at cedar creek and along the front, and went to bed, expecting to reach his headquarters and join the army the next day. about six o'clock, on the morning of the th, it was reported to him that artillery firing could be heard in the direction of cedar creek, but as the sound was stated to be irregular and fitful, he thought it only a skirmish. he, nevertheless, arose at once, and had just finished dressing when another officer came in, and reported that the firing was still going on in the same direction, but that it did not sound like a general battle. still sheridan was uneasy, and, after breakfasting, mounted his horse between eight and nine o'clock, and rode slowly through winchester. when he reached the edge of the town he halted a moment, and then heard the firing of artillery in an unceasing roar. he now felt confident that a general battle was in progress, and, as he rode forward, he was convinced, from the rapid increase of the sound, that his army was failing back. after he had crossed mill creek, just outside winchester, and made the crest of the rise beyond the stream, there burst upon his view the spectacle of a panic-stricken army. hundreds of slightly wounded men, with hundreds more unhurt, but demoralized, together with baggage wagons and trains, were all pressing to the rear, in hopeless confusion. there was no doubt now that a disaster had occurred at the front. a fugitive told sheridan that the army was broken and in full retreat, and that all was lost. sheridan at once sent word to colonel edwards, commanding a brigade at winchester, to stretch his troops across the valley, and stop all fugitives. his first idea was to make a stand there, but, as he rode along, a different plan flashed into his mind. he believed that his troops had great confidence in him, and he determined to try to restore their broken ranks, and, instead of merely holding the ground at winchester, to rally his army, and lead them forward again to cedar creek. he had hardly made up his mind to this course, when news was brought to him that his headquarters at cedar creek were captured, and the troops dispersed. he started at once, with about twenty men as an escort, and rode rapidly to the front. as he passed along, the unhurt men, who thickly lined the road, recognized him, and, as they did so, threw up their hats, shouldered their muskets, and followed him as fast as they could on foot. his officers rode out on either side to tell the stragglers that the general had returned, and, as the news spread the retreating men in every direction rallied, and turned their faces toward the battle-field they had left. in his memoirs, sheridan says, in speaking of his ride through the retreating troops: "i said nothing, except to remark, as i rode among them 'if i had been with you this morning, this disaster would not have happened. we must face the other way. we will go back and recover our camp.'" thus he galloped on over the twenty miles, with the men rallying behind him, and following him in ever increasing numbers. as he went by, the panic of retreat was replaced by the ardor of battle. sheridan had not overestimate the power of enthusiasm or his own ability to rouse it to fighting pitch. he pressed steadily on to the front, until at last he came up to getty's division of the th corps, which, with the cavalry, were the only troops who held their line and were resisting the enemy. getty's division was about a mile north of middletown on some slightly rising ground, and were skirmishing with the enemy's pickets. jumping a rail fence, sheridan rode to the crest of the hill, and, as he took off his hat, the men rose up from behind the barricades with cheers of recognition. it is impossible to follow in detail sheridan's actions from that moment, but he first brought up the th corps and the two divisions of wright to the front. he then communicated with colonel lowell, who was fighting near middletown with his men dismounted, and asked him if he could hold on where he was, to which lowell replied in the affirmative. all this and many similar quickly-given orders consumed a great deal of time, but still the men were getting into line, and at last, seeing that the enemy were about to renew the attack, sheridan rode along the line so that the men could all see him. he was received with the wildest enthusiasm as he rode by, and the spirit of the army was restored. the rebel attack was made shortly after noon, and was repulsed by general emory. this done, sheridan again set to work to getting his line completely restored, while general merritt charged and drove off an exposed battery of the confederates. by halfpast three sheridan was ready to attack. the fugitives of the morning, whom he had rallied as he rode from winchester, were again in their places, and the different divisions were all disposed in their proper positions. with the order to advance, the whole line pressed forward. the confederates at first resisted stubbornly, and then began to retreat. on they went past cedar creek, and there, where the pike made a sharp turn to the west toward fisher's hill, merritt and custer fell on the flank of the retreating columns, and the rebel army fell back, routed and broken, up the valley. the day had begun in route and defeat; it ended in a great victory for the union army. how near we had been to a terrible disaster can be realized by recalling what had happened before the general galloped down from winchester. in sheridan's absence, early, soon after dawn, had made an unexpected attack on our army at cedar creek. surprised by the assault, the national troops had given way in all directions, and a panic had set in. getty's division with lowell's cavalry held on at middletown, but, with this exception, the rout was complete. when sheridan rode out of winchester, he met an already beaten army. his first thought was the natural one to make a stand at winchester and rally his troops about him there. his second thought was the inspiration of the great commander. he believed his men would rally as soon as they saw him. he believed that enthusiasm was one of the great weapons of war, and that this was the moment of all others when it might be used with decisive advantage. with this thought in his mind he abandoned the idea of forming his men at winchester, and rode bareheaded through the fugitives, swinging his hat, straight for the front, and calling on his men as he passed to follow him. as the soldiers saw him, they turned and rushed after him. he had not calculated in vain upon the power of personal enthusiasm, but, at the same time, he did not rely upon any wild rush to save the day. the moment he reached the field of battle, he set to work with the coolness of a great soldier to make all the dispositions, first, to repel the enemy, and then to deliver an attack which could not be resisted. one division after another was rapidly brought into line and placed in position, the thin ranks filling fast with the soldiers who had recovered from their panic, and followed sheridan and the black horse all the way down from winchester. he had been already two hours on the field when, at noon, he rode along the line, again formed for battle. most of the officers and men then thought he had just come, while in reality it was his own rapid work which had put them in the line along which he was riding. once on the field of battle, the rush and hurry of the desperate ride from winchester came to an end. first the line was reformed, then the enemy's assault was repulsed, and it was made impossible for them to again take the offensive. but sheridan, undazzled by his brilliant success up to this point, did not mar his work by overhaste. two hours more passed before he was ready, and then, when all was prepared, with his ranks established and his army ranged in position, he moved his whole line forward, and won one of the most brilliant battles of the war, having, by his personal power over his troops, and his genius in action, snatched a victory from a day which began in surprise, disaster, and defeat. lieutenant cushing and the ram "albemarle" god give us peace! not such as lulls to sleep, but sword on thigh, and brow with purpose knit! and let our ship of state to harbor sweep, her ports all up, her battle-lanterns lit, and her leashed thunders gathering for their leap! --lowell. the great civil war was remarkable in many ways, but in no way more remarkable than for the extraordinary mixture of inventive mechanical genius and of resolute daring shown by the combatants. after the first year, when the contestants had settled down to real fighting, and the preliminary mob work was over, the battles were marked by their extraordinary obstinacy and heavy loss. in no european conflict since the close of the napoleonic wars has the fighting been anything like as obstinate and as bloody as was the fighting in our own civil war. in addition to this fierce and dogged courage, this splendid fighting capacity, the contest also brought out the skilled inventive power of engineer and mechanician in a way that few other contests have ever done. this was especially true of the navy. the fighting under and against farragut and his fellow-admirals revolutionized naval warfare. the civil war marks the break between the old style and the new. terrible encounters took place when the terrible new engines of war were brought into action for the first time; and one of these encounters has given an example which, for heroic daring combined with cool intelligence, is unsurpassed in all time. the confederates showed the same skill and energy in building their great ironclad rams as the men of the union did in building the monitors which were so often pitted against them. both sides, but especially the confederates, also used stationary torpedoes, and, on a number of occasions, torpedo-boats likewise. these torpedo-boats were sometimes built to go under the water. one such, after repeated failures, was employed by the confederates, with equal gallantry and success, in sinking a union sloop of war off charleston harbor, the torpedo-boat itself going down to the bottom with its victim, all on board being drowned. the other type of torpedo-boat was simply a swift, ordinary steam-launch, operated above water. it was this last type of boat which lieutenant w. b. cushing brought down to albemarle sound to use against the great confederate ram albemarle. the ram had been built for the purpose of destroying the union blockading forces. steaming down river, she had twice attacked the federal gunboats, and in each case had sunk or disabled one or more of them, with little injury to herself. she had retired up the river again to lie at her wharf and refit. the gunboats had suffered so severely as to make it a certainty that when she came out again, thoroughly fitted to renew the attack, the wooden vessels would be destroyed; and while she was in existence, the union vessels could not reduce the forts and coast towns. just at this time cushing came down from the north with his swift little torpedo-boat, an open launch, with a spar-rigged out in front, the torpedo being placed at the end. the crew of the launch consisted of fifteen men, cushing being in command. he not only guided his craft, but himself handled the torpedo by means of two small ropes, one of which put it in place, while the other exploded it. the action of the torpedo was complicated, and it could not have been operated in a time of tremendous excitement save by a man of the utmost nerve and self-command; but cushing had both. he possessed precisely that combination of reckless courage, presence of mind, and high mental capacity necessary to the man who leads a forlorn hope under peculiarly difficult circumstances. on the night of october , , cushing slipped away from the blockading fleet, and steamed up river toward the wharf, a dozen miles distant, where the great ram lay. the confederates were watchful to guard against surprise, for they feared lest their foes should try to destroy the ram before she got a chance to come down and attack them again in the sound. she lay under the guns of a fort, with a regiment of troops ready at a moment's notice to turn out and defend her. her own guns were kept always clear for action, and she was protected by a great boom of logs thrown out roundabout; of which last defense the northerners knew nothing. cushing went up-stream with the utmost caution, and by good luck passed, unnoticed, a confederate lookout below the ram. about midnight he made his assault. steaming quietly on through the black water, and feeling his way cautiously toward where he knew the town to be, he finally made out the loom of the albemarle through the night, and at once drove at her. he was almost upon her before he was discovered; then the crew and the soldiers on the wharf opened fire, and, at the same moment, he was brought-to by the boom, the existence of which he had not known. the rifle balls were singing round him as he stood erect, guiding his launch, and he heard the bustle of the men aboard the ram, and the noise of the great guns as they were got ready. backing off, he again went all steam ahead, and actually surged over the slippery logs of the boom. meanwhile, on the albemarle the sailors were running to quarters, and the soldiers were swarming down to aid in her defense; and the droning bullets came always thicker through the dark night. cushing still stood upright in his little craft, guiding and controlling her by voice and signal, while in his hands he kept the ropes which led to the torpedo. as the boat slid forward over the boom, he brought the torpedo full against the somber side of the huge ram, and instantly exploded it, almost at the same time that the pivot-gun of the ram, loaded with grape, was fired point-blank at him not ten yards off. at once the ram settled, the launch sinking at the same moment, while cushing and his men swam for their lives. most of them sank or were captured, but cushing reached mid-stream. hearing something splashing in the darkness, he swam toward it, and found that it was one of his crew. he went to his rescue, and they kept together for some time, but the sailor's strength gave out, and he finally sank. in the pitch darkness cushing could form no idea where he was; and when, chilled through, and too exhausted to rise to his feet, he finally reached shore, shortly before dawn, he found that he had swum back and landed but a few hundred feet below the sunken ram. all that day he remained within easy musket-shot of where his foes were swarming about the fort and the great drowned ironclad. he hardly dared move, and until the afternoon he lay without food, and without protection from the heat or venomous insects. then he managed to slip unobserved into the dense swamp, and began to make his way to the fleet. toward evening he came out on a small stream, near a camp of confederate soldiers. they had moored to the bank a skiff, and, with equal stealth and daring, he managed to steal this and to paddle down-stream. hour after hour he paddled on through the fading light, and then through the darkness. at last, utterly worn out, he found the squadron, and was picked up. at once the ships weighed; and they speedily captured every coast town and fort, for their dreaded enemy was no longer in the way. the fame of cushing's deed went all over the north, and his name will stand forever among the brightest on the honor-roll of the american navy. farragut at mobile bay ha, old ship, do they thrill, the brave two hundred scars you got in the river wars? that were leeched with clamorous skill (surgery savage and hard), at the brooklyn navy yard. * * * * how the guns, as with cheer and shout, our tackle-men hurled them out, brought up in the waterways... as we fired, at the flash 't was lightning and black eclipse with a bellowing sound and crash. * * * * the dahlgrens are dumb, dumb are the mortars; never more shall the drum beat to colors and quarters-- the great guns are silent. --henry howard brownell during the civil war our navy produced, as it has always produced in every war, scores of capable officers, of brilliant single-ship commanders, of men whose daring courage made them fit leaders in any hazardous enterprise. in this respect the union seamen in the civil war merely lived up to the traditions of their service. in a service with such glorious memories it was a difficult thing to establish a new record in feats of personal courage or warlike address. biddle, in the revolutionary war, fighting his little frigate against a ship of the line until she blew up with all on board, after inflicting severe loss on her huge adversary; decatur, heading the rush of the boarders in the night attack when they swept the wild moorish pirates from the decks of their anchored prize; lawrence, dying with the words on his lips, "don't give up the ship"; and perry, triumphantly steering his bloody sloop-of-war to victory with the same words blazoned on his banner--men like these, and like their fellows, who won glory in desperate conflicts with the regular warships and heavy privateers of england and france, or with the corsairs of the barbary states, left behind a reputation which was hardly to be dimmed, though it might be emulated, by later feats of mere daring. but vital though daring is, indispensable though desperate personal prowess and readiness to take chances are to the make-up of a fighting navy, other qualities are needed in addition to fit a man for a place among the great sea-captains of all time. it was the good fortune of the navy in the civil war to produce one admiral of renown, one peer of all the mighty men who have ever waged war on the ocean. farragut was not only the greatest admiral since nelson, but, with the sole exception of nelson, he was as great an admiral as ever sailed the broad or the narrow seas. david glasgow farragut was born in tennessee. he was appointed to the navy while living in louisiana, but when the war came he remained loyal to the union flag. this puts him in the category of those men who deserved best of their country in the civil war; the men who were southern by birth, but who stood loyally by the union; the men like general thomas of virginia, and like farragut's own flag-captain at the battle of mobile bay, drayton of south carolina. it was an easy thing in the north to support the union, and it was a double disgrace to be, like vallandigham and the copperheads, against it; and in the south there were a great multitude of men, as honorable as they were brave, who, from the best of motives, went with their states when they seceded, or even advocated secession. but the highest and loftiest patriots, those who deserved best of the whole country, we re the men from the south who possessed such heroic courage, and such lofty fealty to the high ideal of the union, that they stood by the flag when their fellows deserted it, and unswervingly followed a career devoted to the cause of the whole nation and of the whole people. among all those who fought in this, the greatest struggle for righteousness which the present century has seen, these men stand preeminent; and among them farragut stands first. it was his good fortune that by his life he offered an example, not only of patriotism, but of supreme skill and daring in his profession. he belongs to that class of commanders who possess in the highest degree the qualities of courage and daring, of readiness to assume responsibility, and of willingness to run great risks; the qualities without which no commander, however cautious and able, can ever become really great. he possessed also the unwearied capacity for taking thought in advance, which enabled him to prepare for victory before the day of battle came; and he added to this an inexhaustible fertility of resource and presence of mind under no matter what strain. his whole career should be taught every american schoolboy, for when that schoolboy becomes a voter he should have learned the lesson that the united states, while it ought not to become an overgrown military power, should always have a first-class navy, formidable from the number of its ships, and formidable still more from the excellence of the individual ships and the high character of the officers and men. farragut saw the war of , in which, though our few frigates and sloops fought some glorious actions, our coasts were blockaded and insulted, and the capitol at washington burned, because our statesmen and our people had been too short-sighted to build a big fighting navy; and farragut was able to perform his great feats on the gulf coast because, when the civil war broke out, we had a navy which, though too small in point of numbers, was composed of ships as good as any afloat. another lesson to be learned by a study of his career is that no man in a profession so highly technical as that of the navy can win a great success unless he has been brought up in and specially trained for that profession, and has devoted his life to the work. this fact was made plainly evident in the desperate hurly-burly of the night battle with the confederate flotilla below new orleans--the incidents of this hurly-burly being, perhaps, best described by the officer who, in his report of his own share in it, remarked that "all sorts of things happened." of the confederate rams there were two, commanded by trained officers formerly in the united states navy, lieutenants kennon and warley. both of these men handled their little vessels with remarkable courage, skill, and success, fighting them to the last, and inflicting serious and heavy damage upon the union fleet. the other vessels of the flotilla were commanded by men who had not been in the regular navy, who were merely mississippi river captains, and the like. these men were, doubtless, naturally as brave as any of the regular officers; but, with one or two exceptions, they failed ignobly in the time of trial, and showed a fairly startling contrast with the regular naval officers beside or against whom they fought. this is a fact which may well be pondered by the ignorant or unpatriotic people who believe that the united states does not need a navy, or that it can improvise one, and improvise officers to handle it, whenever the moment of need arises. when a boy, farragut had sailed as a midshipman on the essex in her famous cruise to the south pacific, and lived through the murderous fight in which, after losing three fifths of her crew, she was captured by two british vessels. step by step he rose in his profession, but never had an opportunity of distinguishing himself until, when he was sixty years old, the civil war broke out. he was then made flag officer of the gulf squadron; and the first success which the union forces met with in the southwest was scored by him, when one night he burst the iron chains which the confederates had stretched across the mississippi, and, stemming the swollen flood with his splendidly-handled steam-frigates, swept past the forts, sank the rams and gunboats that sought to bar his path, and captured the city of new orleans. after further exciting service on the mississippi, service in which he turned a new chapter in the history of naval warfare by showing the possibilities of heavy seagoing vessels when used on great rivers, he again went back to the gulf, and, in the last year of the war, was allotted the task of attempting the capture of mobile, the only important port still left open to the confederates. in august, , farragut was lying with his fleet off mobile bay. for months he had been eating out his heart while undergoing the wearing strain of the blockade; sympathizing, too, with every detail of the doubtful struggle on land. "i get right sick, every now and then, at the bad news," he once wrote home; and then again, "the victory of the kearsarge over the alabama raised me up; i would sooner have fought that fight than any ever fought on the ocean." as for himself, all he wished was a chance to fight, for he had the fighting temperament, and he knew that, in the long run, an enemy can only be beaten by being out-fought, as well as out-manoeuvered. he possessed a splendid self-confidence, and scornfully threw aside any idea that he would be defeated, while he utterly refused to be daunted by the rumors of the formidable nature of the defenses against which he was to act. "i mean to be whipped or to whip my enemy, and not to be scared to death," he remarked in speaking of these rumors. the confederates who held mobile used all their skill in preparing for defense, and all their courage in making that defense good. the mouth of the bay was protected by two fine forts, heavily armed, morgan and gaines. the winding channels were filled with torpedoes, and, in addition, there was a flotilla consisting of three gunboats, and, above all, a big ironclad ram, the tennessee, one of the most formidable vessels then afloat. she was not fast, but she carried six high-power rifled guns, and her armor was very powerful, while, being of light draft, she could take a position where farragut's deep-sea ships could not get at her. farragut made his attack with four monitors,--two of them, the tecumseh and manhattan, of large size, carrying -inch guns, and the other two, the winnebago and chickasaw, smaller and lighter, with -inch guns,--and the wooden vessels, fourteen in number. seven of these were big sloops-of-war, of the general type of farragut's own flagship, the hartford. she was a screw steamer, but was a full-rigged ship likewise, with twenty-two -inch shell guns, arranged in broadside, and carrying a crew of three hundred men. the other seven were light gunboats. when farragut prepared for the assault, he arranged to make the attack with his wooden ships in double column. the seven most powerful were formed on the right, in line ahead, to engage fort morgan, the heaviest of the two forts, which had to be passed close inshore to the right. the light vessels were lashed each to the left of one of the heavier ones. by this arrangement each pair of ships was given a double chance to escape, if rendered helpless by a shot in the boiler or other vital part of the machinery. the heaviest ships led in the fighting column, the first place being taken by the brooklyn and her gunboat consort, while the second position was held by farragut himself in the hartford, with the little metacomet lashed alongside. he waited to deliver the attack until the tide and the wind should be favorable, and made all his preparations with the utmost care and thoughtfulness. preeminently a man who could inspire affection in others, both the officers and men of the fleet regarded him with fervent loyalty and absolute trust. the attack was made early on the morning of august . soon after midnight the weather became hot and calm, and at three the admiral learned that a light breeze had sprung up from the quarter he wished, and he at once announced, "then we will go in this morning." at daybreak he was at breakfast when the word was brought that the ships were all lashed in couples. turning quietly to his captain, he said, "well, drayton, we might as well get under way;" and at half-past six the monitors stood down to their stations, while the column of wooden ships was formed, all with the united states flag hoisted, not only at the peak, but also at every masthead. the four monitors, trusting in their iron sides, steamed in between the wooden ships and the fort. every man in every craft was thrilling with the fierce excitement of battle; but in the minds of most there lurked a vague feeling of unrest over one danger. for their foes who fought in sight, for the forts, the gunboats, and, the great ironclad ram, they cared nothing; but all, save the very boldest, were at times awed, and rendered uneasy by the fear of the hidden and the unknown. danger which is great and real, but which is shrouded in mystery, is always very awful; and the ocean veterans dreaded the torpedoes--the mines of death--which lay, they knew not where, thickly scattered through the channels along which they were to thread their way. the tall ships were in fighting trim, with spars housed, and canvas furled. the decks were strewn with sawdust; every man was in his place; the guns were ready, and except for the song of the sounding-lead there was silence in the ships as they moved forward through the glorious morning. it was seven o'clock when the battle began, as the tecumseh, the leading monitor, fired two shots at the fort. in a few minutes fort morgan was ablaze with the flash of her guns, and the leading wooden vessels were sending back broadside after broadside. farragut stood in the port main-rigging, and as the smoke increased he gradually climbed higher, until he was close by the maintop, where the pilot was stationed for the sake of clearer vision. the captain, fearing lest by one of the accidents of battle the great admiral should lose his footing, sent aloft a man with a lasher, and had a turn or two taken around his body in the shrouds, so that he might not fall if wounded; for the shots were flying thick. at first the ships used only their bow guns, and the confederate ram, with her great steel rifles, and her three consorts, taking station where they could rake the advancing fleet, caused much loss. in twenty minutes after the opening of the fight the ships of the van were fairly abreast of the fort, their guns leaping and thundering; and under the weight of their terrific fire that of the fort visibly slackened. all was now uproar and slaughter, the smoke drifting off in clouds. the decks were reddened and ghastly with blood, and the wreck of flying splinters drove across them at each discharge. the monitor tecumseh alone was silent. after firing the first two shots, her commander, captain craven, had loaded his two big guns with steel shot, and, thus prepared, reserved himself for the confederate ironclad, which he had set his heart upon taking or destroying single-handed. the two columns of monitors and the wooden ships lashed in pairs were now approaching the narrowest part of the channel, where the torpedoes lay thickest; and the guns of the vessels fairly overbore and quelled the fire from the fort. all was well, provided only the two columns could push straight on without hesitation; but just at this moment a terrible calamity befell the leader of the monitors. the tecumseh, standing straight for the tennessee, was within two hundred yards of her foe, when a torpedo suddenly exploded beneath her. the monitor was about five hundred yards from the hartford, and from the maintop farragut, looking at her, saw her reel violently from side to side, lurch heavily over, and go down headforemost, her screw revolving wildly in the air as she disappeared. captain craven, one of the gentlest and bravest of men, was in the pilot-house with the pilot at the time. as she sank, both rushed to the narrow door, but there was time for only one to get out. craven was ahead, but drew to one side, saying, "after you, pilot." as the pilot leaped through, the water rushed in, and craven and all his crew, save two men, settled to the bottom in their iron coffin. none of the monitors were awed or daunted by the fate of their consort, but drew steadily onward. in the bigger monitors the captains, like the crews, had remained within the iron walls; but on the two light crafts the commanders had found themselves so harassed by their cramped quarters, that they both stayed outside on the deck. as these two steamed steadily ahead, the men on the flagship saw captain stevens, of the winnebago, pacing calmly, from turret to turret, on his unwieldy iron craft, under the full fire of the fort. the captain of the chickasaw, perkins, was the youngest commander in the fleet, and as he passed the hartford, he stood on top of the turret, waving his hat and dancing about in wildest excitement and delight. but, for a moment, the nerve of the commander of the brooklyn failed him. the awful fate of the tecumseh and the sight of a number of objects in the channel ahead, which seemed to be torpedoes, caused him to hesitate. he stopped his ship, and then backed water, making sternway to the hartford, so as to stop her also. it was the crisis of the fight and the crisis of farragut's career. the column was halted in a narrow channel, right under the fire of the forts. a few moments' delay and confusion, and the golden chance would have been past, and the only question remaining would have been as to the magnitude of the disaster. ahead lay terrible danger, but ahead lay also triumph. it might be that the first ship to go through would be sacrificed to the torpedoes; it might be that others would be sacrificed; but go through the fleet must. farragut signaled to the brooklyn to go ahead, but she still hesitated. immediately, the admiral himself resolved to take the lead. backing hard he got clear of the brooklyn, twisted his ship's prow short round, and then, going ahead fast, he dashed close under the brooklyn's stern, straight at the line of buoys in the channel. as he thus went by the brooklyn, a warning cry came from her that there were torpedoes ahead. "damn the torpedoes!" shouted the admiral; "go ahead, full speed;" and the hartford and her consort steamed forward. as they passed between the buoys, the cases of the torpedoes were heard knocking against the bottom of the ship; but for some reason they failed to explode, and the hartford went safely through the gates of mobile bay, passing the forts. farragut's last and hardest battle was virtually won. after a delay which allowed the flagship to lead nearly a mile, the brooklyn got her head round, and came in, closely followed by all the other ships. the tennessee strove to interfere with the wooden craft as they went in, but they passed, exchanging shots, and one of them striving to ram her, but inflicting only a glancing blow. the ship on the fighting side of the rear couple had been completely disabled by a shot through her boiler. as farragut got into the bay he gave orders to slip the gunboats, which were lashed to each of the union ships of war, against the confederate gunboats, one of which he had already disabled by his fire, so that she was run ashore and burnt. jouett, the captain of the metacomet, had been eagerly waiting this order, and had his men already standing at the hawsers, hatchet in hand. when the signal for the gunboats to chase was hoisted, the order to jouett was given by word of mouth, and as his hearty "aye, aye, sir," came in answer, the hatchets fell, the hawsers parted, and the metacomet leaped forward in pursuit. a thick rainsquall came up, and rendered it impossible for the rear gunboats to know whither the confederate flotilla had fled. when it cleared away, the watchers on the fleet saw that one of the two which were uninjured had slipped off to fort morgan, while the other, the selma, was under the guns of the metacomet, and was promptly carried by the latter. meanwhile the ships anchored in the bay, about four miles from fort morgan, and the crews were piped to breakfast; but almost as soon as it was begun, the lookouts reported that the great confederate ironclad was steaming down, to do battle, single-handed, with the union fleet. she was commanded by buchanan, a very gallant and able officer, who had been on the merrimac, and who trusted implicitly in his invulnerable sides, his heavy rifle guns, and his formidable iron beak. as the ram came on, with splendid courage, the ships got under way, while farragut sent word to the monitors to attack the tennessee at once. the fleet surgeon, palmer, delivered these orders. in his diary he writes: "i came to the chickasaw; happy as my friend perkins habitually is, i thought he would turn a somerset with joy, when i told him, 'the admiral wants you to go at once and fight the tennessee.'" at the same time, the admiral directed the wooden vessels to charge the ram, bow on, at full speed, as well as to attack her with their guns. the monitors were very slow, and the wooden vessels began the attack. the first to reach the hostile ironclad was the monongahela, which struck her square amidships; and five minutes later the lackawanna, going at full speed, delivered another heavy blow. both the union vessels fired such guns as would bear as they swung round, but the shots glanced harmlessly from the armor, and the blows of the ship produced no serious injury to the ram, although their own stems were crushed in several feet above and below the water line. the hartford then struck the tennessee, which met her bows on. the two antagonists scraped by, their port sides touching. as they rasped past, the hartford's guns were discharged against the ram, their muzzles only half a dozen feet distant from her iron-clad sides; but the shot made no impression. while the three ships were circling to repeat the charge, the lackawanna ran square into the flagship, cutting the vessel down to within two feet of the water. for a moment the ship's company thought the vessel sinking, and almost as one man they cried: "save the admiral! get the admiral on board the lackawanna." but farragut, leaping actively into the chains, saw that the ship was in no present danger, and ordered her again to be headed for the tennessee. meanwhile, the monitors had come up, and the battle raged between them and the great ram, like the rest of the union fleet, they carried smooth-bores, and their shot could not break through her iron plates; but by sustained and continuous hammering, her frame could be jarred and her timbers displaced. two of the monitors had been more or less disabled already, but the third, the chickasaw, was in fine trim, and perkins got her into position under the stern of the tennessee, just after the latter was struck by the hartford; and there he stuck to the end, never over fifty yards distant, and keeping up a steady rapping of -inch shot upon the iron walls, which they could not penetrate, but which they racked and shattered. the chickasaw fired fifty-two times at her antagonist, shooting away the exposed rudder-chains and the smokestack, while the commander of the ram, buchanan, was wounded by an iron splinter which broke his leg. under the hammering, the tennessee became helpless. she could not be steered, and was unable to bring a gun to bear, while many of the shutters of the ports were jammed. for twenty minutes she had not fired a shot. the wooden vessels were again bearing down to ram her; and she hoisted the white flag. thus ended the battle of mobile bay, farragut's crowning victory. less than three hours elapsed from the time that fort morgan fired its first gun to the moment when the tennessee hauled down her flag. three hundred and thirty-five men had been killed or wounded in the fleet, and one vessel, the tecumseh, had gone down; but the confederate flotilla was destroyed, the bay had been entered, and the forts around it were helpless to do anything further. one by one they surrendered, and the port of mobile was thus sealed against blockade runners, so that the last source of communication between the confederacy and the outside world was destroyed. farragut had added to the annals of the union the page which tells of the greatest sea-fight in our history. lincoln o captain. my captain. our fearful trip is done; the ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won; the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: but o heart! heart! heart! leave you not the little spot, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. o captain. my captain. rise up and hear the bells; rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding; for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; o captain. dear father. this arm i push beneath you; it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor win: but the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won: exult o shores, and ring, o bells. but i with silent tread, walk the spot the captain lies, fallen cold and dead. --walt whitman. as washington stands to the revolution and the establishment of the government, so lincoln stands as the hero of the mightier struggle by which our union was saved. he was born in , ten years after washington, his work done had been laid to rest at mount vernon. no great man ever came from beginnings which seemed to promise so little. lincoln's family, for more than one generation, had been sinking, instead of rising, in the social scale. his father was one of those men who were found on the frontier in the early days of the western movement, always changing from one place to another, and dropping a little lower at each remove. abraham lincoln was born into a family who were not only poor, but shiftless, and his early days were days of ignorance, and poverty, and hard work. out of such inauspicious surroundings, he slowly and painfully lifted himself. he gave himself an education, he took part in an indian war, he worked in the fields, he kept a country store, he read and studied, and, at last, he became a lawyer. then he entered into the rough politics of the newly-settled state. he grew to be a leader in his county, and went to the legislature. the road was very rough, the struggle was very hard and very bitter, but the movement was always upward. at last he was elected to congress, and served one term in washington as a whig with credit, but without distinction. then he went back to his law and his politics in illinois. he had, at last, made his position. all that was now needed was an opportunity, and that came to him in the great anti-slavery struggle. lincoln was not an early abolitionist. his training had been that of a regular party man, and as a member of a great political organization, but he was a lover of freedom and justice. slavery, in its essence, was hateful to him, and when the conflict between slavery and freedom was fairly joined, his path was clear before him. he took up the antislavery cause in his own state and made himself its champion against douglas, the great leader of the northern democrats. he stumped illinois in opposition to douglas, as a candidate for the senate, debating the question which divided the country in every part of the state. he was beaten at the election, but, by the power and brilliancy of his speeches, his own reputation was made. fighting the anti-slavery battle within constitutional lines, concentrating his whole force against the single point of the extension of slavery to the territories, he had made it clear that a new leader had arisen in the cause of freedom. from illinois his reputation spread to the east, and soon after his great debate he delivered a speech in new york which attracted wide attention. at the republican convention of , his name was one of those proposed for vice-president. when came, he was a candidate for the first place on the national ticket. the leading candidate was william h. seward, of new york, the most conspicuous man of the country on the republican side, but the convention, after a sharp struggle, selected lincoln, and then the great political battle came at the polls. the republicans were victorious, and, as soon as the result of the voting was known, the south set to work to dissolve the union. in february lincoln made his way to washington, at the end coming secretly from harrisburg to escape a threatened attempt at assassination, and on march , assumed the presidency. no public man, no great popular leader, ever faced a more terrible situation. the union was breaking, the southern states were seceding, treason was rampant in washington, and the government was bankrupt. the country knew that lincoln was a man of great capacity in debate, devoted to the cause of antislavery and to the maintenance of the union. but what his ability was to deal with the awful conditions by which he was surrounded, no one knew. to follow him through the four years of civil war which ensued is, of course, impossible here. suffice it to say that no greater, no more difficult, task has ever been faced by any man in modern times, and no one ever met a fierce trial and conflict more successfully. lincoln put to the front the question of the union, and let the question of slavery drop, at first, into the background. he used every exertion to hold the border states by moderate measures, and, in this way, prevented the spread of the rebellion. for this moderation, the antislavery extremists in the north assailed him, but nothing shows more his far-sighted wisdom and strength of purpose than his action at this time. by his policy at the beginning of his administration, he held the border states, and united the people of the north in defense of the union. as the war went on, he went on, too. he had never faltered in his feelings about slavery. he knew, better than any one, that the successful dissolution of the union by the slave power meant, not only the destruction of an empire, but the victory of the forces of barbarism. but he also saw, what very few others at the moment could see, that, if he was to win, he must carry his people with him, step by step. so when he had rallied them to the defense of the union, and checked the spread of secession in the border states, in the autumn of he announced that he would issue a proclamation freeing the slaves. the extremists had doubted him in the beginning, the conservative and the timid doubted him now, but when the emancipation proclamation was issued, on january , , it was found that the people were with him in that, as they had been with him when he staked everything upon the maintenance of the union. the war went on to victory, and in the people showed at the polls that they were with the president, and reelected him by overwhelming majorities. victories in the field went hand in hand with success at the ballot-box, and, in the spring of , all was over. on april , , lee surrendered at appomattox, and five days later, on april , a miserable assassin crept into the box at the theater where the president was listening to a play, and shot him. the blow to the country was terrible beyond words, for then men saw, in one bright flash, how great a man had fallen. lincoln died a martyr to the cause to which he had given his life, and both life and death were heroic. the qualities which enabled him to do his great work are very clear now to all men. his courage and his wisdom, his keen perception and his almost prophetic foresight, enabled him to deal with all the problems of that distracted time as they arose around him. but he had some qualities, apart from those of the intellect, which were of equal importance to his people and to the work he had to do. his character, at once strong and gentle, gave confidence to every one, and dignity to his cause. he had an infinite patience, and a humor that enabled him to turn aside many difficulties which could have been met in no other way. but most important of all was the fact that he personified a great sentiment, which ennobled and uplifted his people, and made them capable of the patriotism which fought the war and saved the union. he carried his people with him, because he knew instinctively, how they felt and what they wanted. he embodied, in his own person, all their highest ideals, and he never erred in his judgment. he is not only a great and commanding figure among the great statesmen and leaders of history, but he personifies, also, all the sadness and the pathos of the war, as well as its triumphs and its glories. no words that any one can use about lincoln can, however, do him such justice as his own, and i will close this volume with two of lincoln's speeches, which show what the war and all the great deeds of that time meant to him, and through which shines, the great soul of the man himself. on november , , he spoke as follows at the dedication of the national cemetery on the battle-field of gettysburg: fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battle-field of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we cannot hallow--this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note or long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who have fought here, have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from the honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. on march , , when he was inaugurated the second time, he made the following address: fellow-countrymen: at this second appearing to take the oath of presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. then a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed proper. now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. the progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself; and it is, i trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. with high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. on the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. all dreaded it--all sought to avert it. while the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissolve the union, and divide effects, by negotiation. both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let it perish. and the war came. one eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the union, but localized in the southern part of it. these slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. all knew that this interest was, somehow, the cause of the war. to strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the union, even by war; while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with, or even before, the conflict itself should cease. each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. both read the same bible, and pray to the same god; and each invokes his aid against the other. it may seem strange that any man should dare to ask a just god's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. the prayers of both could not be answered that of neither has been answered fully. the almighty has his own purposes. "woe unto the world because of offenses, for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." if we shall suppose that american slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of god, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both north and south this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offenses come, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living god always ascribe to him? fondly do we hope-fervently do we pray--that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. yet, if god wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "the judgments of the lord are true and righteous altogether." with malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan-to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, a lasting, peace among ourselves and with all nations. the land of contrasts _a briton's view of his american kin_ by james fullarton muirhead author of _baedeker's handbooks to great britain and the united states_ lamson, wolffe and company boston, new york and london _mdcccxcviii._ copyright, by lamson, wolffe and company _all rights reserved_ press of rockwell and churchill boston, u.s.a. _to the land that has given me what makes life most worth living_ contents chapter page i. introductory ii. the land of contrasts iii. lights and shadows of american society iv. an appreciation of the american woman v. the american child vi. international misapprehensions and national differences vii. sports and amusements viii. the humour of the "man on the cars" ix. american journalism--a mixed blessing x. some literary straws xi. certain features of certain cities xii. baedekeriana xiii. the american note author's note my first visit to the united states of america--a short one--was paid in . the observations on which this book is mainly based were, however, made in - , when i spent nearly three years in the country, engaged in the preparation of "baedeker's handbook to the united states." my work led me into almost every state and territory in the union, and brought me into direct contact with representatives of practically every class. the book was almost wholly written in what leisure i could find for it in and . the foot-notes, added on my third visit to the country ( ), while i was seeing the chapters through the press, have at least this significance, that they show how rapidly things change in the land of contrasts. no part of the book has been previously published, except some ten pages or so, which appeared in the _arena_ for july, . most of the matter in this article has been incorporated in chapter ii. of the present volume. so far as the book has any general intention, my aim has been, while not ignoring the defects of american civilisation, to dwell rather on those features in which, as it seems to me, john bull may learn from brother jonathan. i certainly have not had so much trouble in finding these features as seems to have been the case with many other british critics of america. my sojourn in the united states has been full of benefit and stimulus to myself; and i should like to believe that my american readers will see that this book is substantially a tribute of admiration and gratitude. j.f.m. i introductory it is not everyone's business, nor would it be everyone's pleasure, to visit the united states of america. more, perhaps, than in any other country that i know of will what the traveller finds there depend on what he brings with him. preconception will easily fatten into a perfect mammoth of realisation; but the open mind will add immeasurably to its garner of interests and experiences. it may be "but a colourless crowd of barren life to the dilettante--a poisonous field of clover to the cynic" (martin morris); but he to whom man is more than art will easily find his account in a visit to the american republic. the man whose bent of mind is distinctly conservative, to whom innovation always suggests a presumption of deterioration, will probably be much more irritated than interested by a peregrination of the union. the englishman who is wedded to his own ideas, and whose conception of comfort and pleasure is bounded by the way they do things at home, may be goaded almost to madness by the gnat-stings of american readjustments--and all the more because he cannot adopt the explanation that they are the natural outcome of an alien blood and a foreign tongue. if he expects the same servility from his "inferiors" that he has been accustomed to at home, his relations with them will be a series of electric shocks; nay, his very expectation of it will exasperate the american and make him show his very worst side. the stately english dame must let her amusement outweigh her resentment if she is addressed as "grandma" by some genial railway conductor of the west; she may feel assured that no impertinence is intended. the lover of scenery who expects to see a jungfrau float into his ken before he has lost sight of a mte. rosa; the architect who expects to find the railway time-table punctuated at hourly intervals by a venerable monument of his art; the connoisseur who hopes to visit a pitti palace or a dresden picture gallery in every large city; the student who counts on finding almost every foot of ground soaked with historic gore and every building hallowed by immemorial association; the sociologist who looks for different customs, costumes, and language at every stage of his journey;--each and all of these will do well to refrain his foot from the soil of the united states. on the other hand, the man who is interested in the workings of civilisation under totally new conditions; who can make allowances, and quickly and easily readjust his mental attitude; who has learned to let the new comforts of a new country make up, temporarily at least, for the loss of the old; who finds nothing alien to him that is human, and has a genuine love for mankind; who can appreciate the growth of general comfort at the expense of caste; who delights in promising experiments in politics, sociology, and education; who is not thrown off his balance by the shifting of the centre of gravity of honour and distinction; who, in a word, is not congealed by conventionality, but is ready to accept novelties on their merits,--he, unless i am very grievously mistaken, will find compensations in the united states that will go far to make up for swiss alp and italian lake, for gothic cathedral and palladian palace, for historic charters and time-honoured tombs, for paintings by raphael and statues by phidias. perhaps, in the last analysis, our appreciation of america will depend on whether we are optimistic or pessimistic in regard to the great social problem which is formed of so many smaller problems. if we think that the best we can do is to preserve what we have, america will be but a series of disappointments. if, however, we believe that man's sympathies for others will grow deeper, that his ingenuity will ultimately be equal to at least a partial solution of the social question, we shall watch the seething of the american crucible with intensest interest. the solution of the social problem, speaking broadly, must imply that each man must in some direction, simple or complex, work for his own livelihood. equality will always be a word for fools and doctrinaires to conjure with, but those who believe in man's sympathy for man must have faith that some day relative human justice will be done, which will be as far beyond the justice of to-day as light is from dark.[ ] and it would be hard to say where we are to look for this consummation if not in the united states of america, which "has been the home of the poor and the eccentric from all parts of the world, and has carried their poverty and passions on its stalwart young shoulders." we may visit the united states, like m. bourget, _pour reprendre un peu de foi dans le lendemain de civilisation_. the paragraph on a previous page is not meant to imply that the united states are destitute of scenic, artistic, picturesque, and historic interest. the worst that can be said of american scenery is that its best points are separated by long intervals; the best can hardly be put too strongly. places like the yosemite valley (of which mr. emerson said that it was the only scenery he ever saw where "the reality came up to the brag"), the yellowstone park, niagara, and the stupendous cañon of the colorado river amply make good their worldwide reputation; but there are innumerable other places less known in europe, such as the primeval woods and countless lakes of the adirondacks, the softer beauties of the berkshire hills, the hudson (that grander american rhine), the swiss-like white mountains, the catskills, the mystic ocklawaha of florida, and the black mountains of carolina that would amply repay the easy trouble of an atlantic passage under modern conditions. the historic student, too, will find much that is worthy of his attention, especially in the older eastern states; and will, perhaps, be surprised to realise how relative a term antiquity is. in a short time he will find himself looking at an american building of the seventeenth century with as much reverence as if it had been a contemporary of the plantagenets; and, indeed, if antiquity is to be determined by change and development rather than by mere flight of time, the two centuries of new york will hold their own with a cycle of cathay. it is, as dr. oliver wendell holmes remarked to the present writer, like the different thermometrical scales; it does not take very long to realise that twenty-five degrees of réaumur mean as great a heat as ninety degrees of fahrenheit. such a city as boston amply justifies its inclusion in a "historic towns" series, along with london and oxford; and it is by no means a singular instance. even the lover of art will not find america an absolute sahara. to say nothing of the many masterpieces of european painters that have found a resting-place in america, where there is at least one public picture gallery and several private ones of the first class, the best efforts of american painters, and perhaps still more those of american sculptors, are full of suggestion and charm; while i cannot believe that the student of modern architecture will anywhere find a more interesting field than among the enterprising and original works of the american school of architecture. this book will be grievously misunderstood if it is supposed to be in any way an attempt to cover, even sketchily, the whole ground of american civilisation, or to give anything like a coherent appreciation of it. in the main it is merely a record of personal impressions, a series of notes upon matters which happened to come under my personal observation and to excite my personal interest. not only the conditions under which i visited the country, but also my own disqualifications of taste and knowledge, have prevented me from more than touching on countless topics, such as the phenomena of politics, religion, commerce, and industry, which would naturally find a place in any complete account of america. i have also tried to avoid, so far as possible, describing well-known scenery, or in other ways going over the tracks of my predecessors. the phenomena of the united states are so momentous in themselves that the observation of them from any new standpoint cannot be wholly destitute of value; while they change so rapidly that he would be unobservant indeed who could not find something new to chronicle. it is important, also, to remember that the generalisations of this book apply in very few cases to the whole extent of the united states. i shall be quite contented if any one section of the country thinks that i cannot mean _it_ in such-and-such an assertion, provided it allows that the cap fits some other portion of the great community. as a rule, however, it may be assumed that unqualified references to american civilisation relate to it as crystallised in such older communities as new york or philadelphia, not to the fermenting process of life-in-the-making on the frontier. in the comparisons between great britain and the united states i have tried to oppose only those classes which substantially correspond to each other. thus, in contrasting the lowell manufacturer, the hampshire squire, the virginian planter, and the manchester man, it must not be forgotten that the first and the last have many points of difference from the second and third which are not due to their geographical position. many of the instances on which my remarks are based may undoubtedly be called _extreme_; but even extreme cases are suggestive, if not exactly typical. there is a breed of poultry in japan, in which, by careful cultivation, the tail-feathers of the cock sometimes reach a length of ten or even fifteen feet. this is not precisely typical of the gallinaceous species; but it is none the less a phenomenon which might be mentioned in a comparison with the apteryx. finally, i ought perhaps to say, with mr. e.a. freeman, that i sometimes find it almost impossible to believe that the whole nation can be so good as the people who have been so good to me. footnotes: [ ] i have some suspicion that this ought to be in quotation marks, but cannot now trace the passage. ii the land of contrasts when i first thought of writing about the united states at all, i soon came to the conclusion that no title could better than the above express the general impression left on my mind by my experiences in the great republic. it may well be that a long list of inconsistencies might be made out for any country, just as for any individual; but so far as my knowledge goes the united states stands out as preëminently the "land of contrasts"--the land of stark, staring, and stimulating inconsistency; at once the home of enlightenment and the happy hunting ground of the charlatan and the quack; a land in which nothing happens but the unexpected; the home of hyperion, but no less the haunt of the satyr; always the land of promise, but not invariably the land of performance; a land which may be bounded by the aurora borealis, but which has also undeniable acquaintance with the flames of the bottomless pit; a land which is laved at once by the rivers of paradise and the leaden waters of acheron. if i proceed to enumerate a few of the actual contrasts that struck me, in matters both weighty and trivial, it is not merely as an exercise in antithesis, but because i hope it will show how easy it would be to pass an entirely and even ridiculously untrue judgment upon the united states by having an eye only for one series of the startling opposites. it should show in a very concrete way one of the most fertile sources of those unfair international judgments which led the french academician joüy to the statement: "plus on réfléchit et plus on observe, plus on se convainct de la fausseté de la plupart de ces jugements portés sur un nation entière par quelques ecrivains et adoptés sans examen par les autres." the americans themselves can hardly take umbrage at the label, if mr. howells truly represents them when he makes one of the characters in "a traveller from altruria" assert that they pride themselves even on the size of their inconsistencies. the extraordinary clashes that occur in the united states are doubtless largely due to the extraordinary mixture of youth and age in the character of the country. if ever an old head was set upon young shoulders, it was in this case of the united states--this "strange new world, thet yit was never young." while it is easy, in a study of the united states, to see the essential truth of the analogy between the youth of an individual and the youth of a state, we must also remember that america was in many respects born full-grown, like athena from the brain of zeus, and coördinates in the most extraordinary way the shrewdness of the sage with the naïveté of the child. those who criticise the united states because, with the experience of all the ages behind her, she is in some points vastly defective as compared with the nations of europe are as much mistaken as those who look to her for the fresh ingenuousness of youth unmarred by any trace of age's weakness. it is simply inevitable that she should share the vices as well as the virtues of both. mr. freeman has well pointed out how natural it is that a colony should rush ahead of the mother country in some things and lag behind it in others; and that just as you have to go to french canada if you want to see old france, so, for many things, if you wish to see old england you must go to new england. thus america may easily be abreast or ahead of us in such matters as the latest applications of electricity, while retaining in its legal uses certain cumbersome devices that we have long since discarded. americans still have "courts of oyer and terminer" and still insist on the unanimity of the jury, though their judges wear no robes and their counsel apply to the cuspidor as often as to the code. so, too, the extension of municipal powers accomplished in great britain still seems a formidable innovation in the united states. the general feeling of power and scope is probably another fruitful source of the inconsistencies of american life. emerson has well said that consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds; and no doubt the largeness, the illimitable outlook, of the national mind of the united states makes it disregard surface discrepancies that would grate horribly on a more conventional community. the confident belief that all will come out right in the end, and that harmony can be attained when time is taken to consider it, carries one triumphantly over the roughest places of inconsistency. it is easy to drink our champagne from tin cans, when we know that it is merely a sense of hurry that prevents us fetching the chased silver goblets waiting for our use. this, i fancy, is the explanation of one series of contrasts which strikes an englishman at once. america claims to be the land of liberty _par excellence_, and in a wholesale way this may be true in spite of the gap between the noble sentiments of the declaration of independence and the actual treatment of the negro and the chinaman. but in what may be called the retail traffic of life the american puts up with innumerable restrictions of his personal liberty. max o'rell has expatiated with scarcely an exaggeration on the wondrous sight of a powerful millionaire standing meekly at the door of a hotel dining-room until the consequential head-waiter (very possibly a coloured gentleman) condescends to point out to him the seat he may occupy. so, too, such petty officials as policemen and railway conductors are generally treated rather as the masters than as the servants of the public. the ordinary american citizen accepts a long delay on the railway or an interminable "wait" at the theatre as a direct visitation of providence, against which it would be useless folly to direct cat-calls, grumbles, or letters to the _times_. americans invented the slang word "kicker," but so far as i could see their vocabulary is here miles ahead of their practice; they dream noble deeds, but do not do them; englishmen "kick" much better, without having a name for it. the right of the individual to do as he will is respected to such an extent that an entire company will put up with inconvenience rather than infringe it. a coal-carter will calmly keep a tramway-car waiting several minutes until he finishes his unloading. the conduct of the train-boy, as described in chapter xii., would infallibly lead to assault and battery in england, but hardly elicits an objurgation in america, where the right of one sinner to bang a door outweighs the desire of twenty just persons for a quiet nap. on the other hand, the old puritan spirit of interference with individual liberty sometimes crops out in america in a way that would be impossible in this country. an inscription in one of the large mills at lawrence, mass., informs the employees (or did so some years ago) that "regular attendance at some place of worship and a proper observance of the sabbath will be expected of every person employed." so, too, the young women of certain districts impose on their admirers such restrictions in the use of liquor and tobacco that any less patient animal than the native american would infallibly kick over the traces. in spite of their acknowledged nervous energy and excitability, americans often show a good deal of a quality that rivals the phlegm of the dutch. their above-mentioned patience during railway or other delays is an instance of this. so, in the incident related in chapter xii. the passengers in the inside coach retained their seats throughout the whole experiment. their resemblance in such cases as this to placid domestic kine is enhanced--out west--by the inevitable champing of tobacco or chewing-gum, than which nothing i know of so robs the human countenance of the divine spark of intelligence. boston men of business, after being whisked by the electric car from their suburban residences to the city at the rate of twelve miles an hour, sit stoically still while the congested traffic makes the car take twenty minutes to pass the most crowded section of washington street,--a walk of barely five minutes.[ ] even in the matter of what mr. ambassador bayard has styled "that form of socialism, protection," it seems to me that we can find traces of this contradictory tendency. americans consider their country as emphatically the land of protection, and attribute most of their prosperity to their inhospitable customs barriers. this may be so; but where else in the world will you find such a volume and expanse of free trade as in these same united states? we find here a huge section of the world's surface, , miles long and , miles wide, occupied by about fifty practically independent states, containing seventy millions of inhabitants, producing a very large proportion of all the necessities and many of the luxuries of life, and all enjoying the freest of free trade with each other. few of these states are as small as great britain, and many of them are immensely larger. collectively they contain nearly half the railway mileage of the globe, besides an incomparable series of inland waterways. over all these is continually passing an immense amount of goods. the san francisco _news letter_, a well-known weekly journal, points out that of the , , , tons of goods carried for miles or upwards on the railways of the world in , no less than , , were carried in the united states. even if we add the , , carried by sea-going ships, there remains a balance of , , tons in favor of the united states as against the rest of the world. it is, perhaps, impossible to ascertain whether or not the actual value of the goods carried would be in the same proportion; but it seems probable that the value of the , , tons of the home trade of america must considerably exceed that of the _free_ portion of the trade of the british empire, _i.e._, practically the whole of its import trade and that portion of its export trade carried on with free-trade countries or colonies. the internal commerce of the united states makes it the most wonderful market on the globe; and brother jonathan, the rampant protectionist, stands convicted as the greatest cobdenite of them all! we are all, it is said, apt to "slip up" on our strongest points. perhaps this is why one of the leading writers of the american democracy is able to assert that "there is no country in the world where the separation of the classes is so absolute as ours," and to quote a russian revolutionist, who lived in exile all over europe and nowhere found such want of sympathy between the rich and poor as in america. if this were true it would certainly form a startling contrast to the general kind-heartedness of the american. but i fancy it rather points to the condition of greater relative equality. our russian friend was accustomed to the patronising kindness of the superior to the inferior, of the master to the servant. it is easy, on an empyrean rock, to be "kind" to the mortals toiling helplessly down below. it costs little, to use mr. bellamy's parable, for those securely seated on the top of the coach to subscribe for salve to alleviate the chafed wounds of those who drag it. in america there is less need and less use of this patronising kindness; there is less kindness from class to class simply because the conscious realisation of "class" is non-existent in thousands of cases where it would be to the fore in europe. as for the first statement quoted at the head of this paragraph, i find it very hard of belief. it is true that there are exclusive _circles_, to which, for instance, buffalo bill would not have the entrée, but the principle of exclusion is on the whole analogous to that by which we select our intimate personal friends. no man in america, who is personally fitted to adorn it, need feel that he is _automatically_ shut out (as he might well be in england) from a really congenial social sphere. another of america's strong points is its sense of practical comfort and convenience. it is scarcely open to denial that the laying of too great stress on material comfort is one of the rocks ahead which the american vessel will need careful steering to avoid; and it is certain that americans lead us in countless little points of household comfort and labour-saving ingenuity. but here, too, the exception that proves the rule is not too coy for our discovery. the terrible roads and the atrociously kept streets are amongst the most vociferous instances of this. it is one of the inexplicable mysteries of american civilisation that a young municipality,--or even, sometimes, an old one,--with a million dollars to spend, will choose to spend it in erecting a most unnecessarily gorgeous town-hall rather than in making the street in front of it passable for the ordinarily shod pedestrian. in new york itself the hilarious stockbroker returning at night to his palace often finds the pavement between his house and his carriage more difficult to negotiate than even the hole for his latch-key; and i have more than once been absolutely compelled to make a détour from broadway in order to find a crossing where the icy slush would not come over the tops of my boots.[ ] the american taste for luxury sometimes insists on gratification even at the expense of the ordinary decencies of life. it was an american who said, "give me the luxuries of life and i will not ask for the necessities;" and there is more truth in this epigram, as characteristic of the american point of view, than its author intended or would, perhaps, allow. in private life this is seen in the preference shown for diamond earrings and paris toilettes over neat and effective household service. the contrast between the slatternly, unkempt maid-servant who opens the door to you and the general luxury of the house itself is sometimes of the most startling, not to say appalling, description. it is not a sufficient answer to say that good servants are not so easily obtained in america as in england. this is true; but a slight rearrangement of expenditure would secure much better service than is now seen. to the english eye the cart in this matter often seems put before the horse; and the combination of excellent waiting with a modest table equipage is frequent enough in the united states to prove its perfect feasibility. in american hotels we are often overwhelmed with "all the discomforts that money can procure," while unable to obtain some of those things which we have been brought up to believe among the prime necessaries of existence. it is significant that in the printed directions governing the use of the electric bell in one's bedroom, i never found an instance in which the harmless necessary bath could be ordered with fewer than nine pressures of the button, while the fragrant cocktail or some other equally fascinating but dangerous luxury might often be summoned by three or four. the most elaborate dinner, served in the most gorgeous china, is sometimes spoiled by the draconian regulation that it must be devoured between the unholy hours of twelve and two, or have all its courses brought on the table at once. though the americans invent the most delicate forms of machinery, their hoop-iron knives, silver plated for facility in cleaning, are hardly calculated to tackle anything harder than butter, and compel the beef-eater to return to the tearing methods of his remotest ancestors. the waiter sometimes rivals the hotel clerk himself in the splendour of his attire, but this does not render more appetising the spectacle of his thumb in the soup. the furniture of your bedroom would not have disgraced the tuileries in their palmiest days, but, alas, you are parboiled by a diabolic chevaux-de-frise of steam-pipes which refuse to be turned off, and insist on accompanying your troubled slumbers by an intermittent series of bubbles, squeaks, and hisses. the mirror opposite which you brush your hair is enshrined in the heaviest of gilt frames and is large enough for a brobdignagian, but the basin in which you wash your hands is little larger than a sugar-bowl; and when you emerge from your nine-times-summoned bath you find you have to dry your sacred person with six little towels, none larger than a snuff-taker's handkerchief. there is no carafe of water in the room; and after countless experiments you are reduced to the blood-curdling belief that the american tourist brushes his teeth with ice-water, the musical tinkling of which in the corridors is the most characteristic sound of the american caravanserai. if there is anything the americans pride themselves on--and justly--it is their handsome treatment of woman. you will not meet five americans without hearing ten times that a lone woman can traverse the length and breadth of the united states without fear of insult; every traveller reports that the united states is the paradise of women. special entrances are reserved for them at hotels, so that they need not risk contamination with the tobacco-defiled floors of the public office; they are not expected to join the patient file of room-seekers before the hotel clerk's desk, but wait comfortably in the reception-room while an employee secures their number and key. there is no recorded instance of the justifiable homicide of an american girl in her theatre hat. man meekly submits to be the hewer of wood, the drawer of water, and the beast of burden for the superior sex. but even this gorgeous medal has its reverse side. few things provided for a class well able to pay for comfort are more uncomfortable and indecent than the arrangements for ladies on board the sleeping cars. their dressing accommodation is of the most limited description; their berths are not segregated at one end of the car, but are scattered above and below those of the male passengers; it is considered _tolerable_ that they should lie with the legs of a strange, disrobing man dangling within a foot of their noses. another curious contrast to the practical, material, matter-of-fact side of the american is his intense interest in the supernatural, the spiritualistic, the superstitious. boston, of all places in the world, is, perhaps, the happiest hunting-ground for the spiritualist medium, the faith healer, and the mind curer. you will find there the most advanced emancipation from theological superstition combined in the most extraordinary way with a more than half belief in the incoherences of a spiritualistic séance. the boston christian scientists have just erected a handsome stone church, with chime of bells, organ, and choir of the most approved ecclesiastical cut; and, greatest marvel of all, have actually had to return a surplus of $ , (£ , ) that was subscribed for its building. there are two pulpits, one occupied by a man who expounds the bible, while in the other a woman responds with the grandiloquent platitudes of mrs. eddy. in other parts of the country this desire to pry into the book of fate assumes grosser forms. mr. bryce tells us that western newspapers devote a special column to the advertisements of astrologers and soothsayers, and assures us that this profession is as much recognised in the california of to-day as in the greece of homer. it seems to me that i have met in america the nearest approaches to my ideals of a _bayard sans peur et sans reproche_; and it is in this same america that i have met flagrant examples of the being wittily described as _sans père et sans proche_--utterly without the responsibility of background and entirely unacquainted with the obligation of _noblesse_. the superficial observer in the united states might conceivably imagine the characteristic national trait to be self-sufficiency or vanity (this mistake _has_, i believe, been made), and his opinion might be strengthened should he find, as i did, in an arithmetic published at richmond during the late civil war, such a modest example as the following: "if one confederate soldier can whip seven yankees, how many confederate soldiers will it take to whip forty-nine yankees?" america has been likened to a self-made man, hugging her conditions because she has made them, and considering them divine because they have grown up with the country. another observer might quite as easily come to the conclusion that diffidence and self-distrust are the true american characteristics. certainly americans often show a saving consciousness of their faults, and lash themselves with biting satire. there are even americans whose very attitude is an apology--wholly unnecessary--for the great republic, and who seem to despise any native product until it has received the hall-mark of london or of paris. in the new world that has produced the new book, of the exquisite delicacy and insight of which mr. henry james and mr. howells may be taken as typical exponents, it seems to me that there are more than the usual proportion of critics who prefer to it what colonel higginson has well called "the brutalities of haggard and the garlic-flavors of kipling." while, perhaps, the characteristic charm of the american girl is her thorough-going individuality and the undaunted courage of her opinions, which leads her to say frankly, if she think so, that martin tupper is a greater poet than shakespeare, yet i have, on the other hand, met a young american matron who confessed to me with bated breath that she and her sister, for the first time in their lives, had gone unescorted to a concert the night before last, and, _mirabile dictu_, no harm had come of it! it is in america that i have over and over again heard language to which the calling a spade a spade would seem the most delicate allusiveness; but it is also in america that i have summoned a blush to the cheek of conscious sixty-six by an incautious though innocent reference to the temperature of my morning tub. in that country i have seen the devotion of sir walter raleigh to his queen rivalled again and again by the ordinary american man to the ordinary american woman (if there be an _ordinary_ american woman), and in the same country i have myself been scoffed at and made game of because i opened the window of a railway carriage for a girl in whose delicate veins flowed a few drops of coloured blood. in washington i met miss susan b. anthony, and realised, to some extent at least, all she stands for. in boston and other places i find there is actually an organised opposition on the part of the ladies themselves to the extension of the franchise to women. i have hailed with delight the democratic spirit displayed in the greeting of my friend and myself by the porter of a hotel as "you fellows," and then had the cup of pleasure dashed from my lips by being told by the same porter that "the other _gentleman_ would attend to my baggage!" i have been parboiled with salamanders who seemed to find no inconvenience in a room-temperature of eighty degrees, and have been nigh frozen to death in open-air drives in which the same individuals seemed perfectly comfortable. men appear at the theatre in orthodox evening dress, while the tall and exasperating hats of the ladies who accompany them would seem to indicate a theory of street toilette. from new york to buffalo i am whisked through the air at the rate of fifty or sixty miles an hour; in california i travelled on a train on which the engineer shot rabbits from the locomotive, and the fireman picked them up in time to jump on the baggage-car at the rear end of the train. at santa barbara i visited an old mission church and convent which vied in quaint picturesqueness with anything in europe; but, alas! the old monk who showed us round, though wearing the regulation gown and knotted cord, had replaced his sandals by elastic-sided boots and covered his tonsure with a common chummy.[ ] few things in the united states are more pleasing than the widespread habits of kindness to animals (most american whips are, as far as punishment to the horse is concerned, a mere farce). yet no american seems to have any scruple about adding an extra hundred weight or two to an already villainously overloaded horse-car; and i have seen a score of american ladies sit serenely watching the frantic straining of two poor animals to get a derailed car on to the track again, when i knew that in "brutal" old england every one of them would have been out on the sidewalk to lighten the load. in england that admirable body of men popularly known as quakers are indissolubly associated in the public mind with a pristine simplicity of life and conversation. my amazement, therefore, may easily be imagined, when i found that an entertainment given by a young member of the society of friends in one of the great cities of the eastern states turned out to be the most elaborate and beautiful private ball i ever attended, with about eight hundred guests dressed in the height of fashion, while the daily papers (if i remember rightly) estimated its expense as reaching a total of some thousands of pounds. here the natural expansive liberality of the american man proved stronger than the traditional limitations of a religious society. but the opposite art of cheese-paring is by no means unknown in the united states. perhaps not even canny scotland can parallel the record of certain districts in new england, which actually elected their parish paupers to the state legislature to keep them off the rates. let the opponents of paid members of the house of commons take notice! amid the little band of tourists in whose company i happened to enter the yosemite valley was a san francisco youth with a delightful baritone voice, who entertained the guests in the hotel parlour at wawona by a good-natured series of songs. no one in the room except myself seemed to find it in the least incongruous or funny that he sandwiched "nearer, my god, to thee" between "the man who broke the bank at monte carlo" and "her golden hair was hanging down her back," or that he jumped at once from the pathetic solemnity of "i know that my redeemer liveth" to the jingle of "little annie rooney." the name wawona reminds me how american weather plays its part in the game of contrasts. when we visited the grove of big trees near wawona on may , it was in the midst of a driving snow-storm, with the thermometer standing at degrees fahrenheit. next day, as we drove into raymond, less than forty miles to the west, the sun was beating down on our backs, and the thermometer marked degrees in the shade. there is probably no country in the world where, at times, letters of introduction are more fully honoured than in the united states. the recipient does not content himself with inviting you to call or even to dinner. he invites you to make his house your home; he invites all his friends to meet you; he leaves his business to show you the lions of the town or to drive you about the country; he puts you up at his club; he sends you off provided with letters to ten other men like himself, only more so. on the other hand, there is probably no country in the world where a letter of introduction from a man quite entitled to give it could be wholly ignored as it sometimes is in the united states. the writer has had experience of both results. no more fundamental contrast can well be imagined than that between the noisy, rough, crude, and callous street-life of some western towns and the quiet, reticence, delicacy, spirituality, and refinement of many of the adjacent interiors. the table manners of the less-educated american classes are hardly of the best, but where but in america will you find eleven hundred charity-school boys sit down daily to dinner, each with his own table napkin, as they do at girard college, philadelphia? and where except at that same institute will you find a man leaving millions for a charity, with the stipulation that no parson of any creed shall ever be allowed to enter its precincts? in concluding this chapter, let me say that its object, as indeed the object of this whole book, will have been achieved if it convinces a few britons of the futility of generalising on the complex organism of american society from inductions that would not justify an opinion about the habits of a piece of protoplasm.[ ] footnotes: [ ] the boston subway, opened in , has impaired the truth of this sentence. [ ] it is only fair to say that this was originally written in , and that matters have been greatly improved since then. [ ] this may be paralleled in europe: "the franciscan monks of bosnia wear long black robes, with rope, black 'bowler hats,' and long and heavy military moustachios (by special permission of the pope)."--_daily chronicle_, oct , . [ ] in the just-ended war with spain, the united states did not fail to justify its character as the land of contrasts. from the wealthy and enlightened united states we should certainly have expected all that money and science could afford in the shape of superior weapons and efficiency of commissariat and medical service, while we could have easily pardoned a little unsteadiness in civilians suddenly turned into soldiers. as a matter of fact, the poverty-stricken spaniards had better rifles than the americans; the commissariat and medical departments are alleged to have broken down in the most disgraceful way; the citizen-soldiers behaved like veterans. iii lights and shadows of american society by "society" i do not mean that limited body which, whether as the upper ten thousand of london or as the four hundred of new york, usually arrogates the title. such narrowness of definition seems peculiarly out of place in the vigorous democracy of the west. by society i understand the great body of fairly well-educated and fairly well-mannered people, whose means and inclinations lead them to associate with each other on terms of equality for the ordinary purposes of good fellowship. such people, not being fenced in by conventional barriers and owning no special or obtrusive privileges, represent much more fully and naturally the characteristic national traits of their country; and their ways and customs are the most fruitful field for a comparative study of national character. the daughters of dukes and princes can hardly be taken as typical english girls, since the conditions of their life are so vastly different from those of the huge majority of the species--conditions which deny a really natural or normal development to all but the choicest and strongest souls. so the daughter of a new york multimillionaire, who has been brought up to regard a british duke or an italian prince as her natural partner for life, does not look out on the world through genuinely american spectacles, but is biassed by a point of view which may be somewhat paradoxically termed the "cosmopolitan-exclusive." as mr. henry james puts it: "after all, what one sees on a newport piazza is not america; it is the back of europe." there are, however, reasons special to the united states why we should not regard the "newport set" as typical of american society. illustrious foreign visitors fall not unnaturally into this mistake; even so keen a critic as m. bourget leans this way, though mr. bryce gives another proof of his eminent sanity and good sense by his avoidance of the tempting error. but, as walt whitman says, "the pulse-beats of the nation are never to be found in the sure-to-be-put-forward-on-such-occasions citizens." european fashionable society, however unworthy many of its members may be, and however relaxed its rules of admission have become, has its roots in an honourable past; its theory is fine; not _all_ the big names of the british aristocracy can be traced back to strong ales or weak (lucy) waters. even those who desire the abolition of the house of peers, or look on it, with bagehot, as "a vapid accumulation of torpid comfort," cannot deny that it is an institution that has grown up naturally with the country, and that it is only now (if even now) that it is felt with anything like universality to be an anomaly. the american society which is typified by the four hundred of new york, the society which marries its daughters to english peers, is in a very different position. it is of mushroom growth even according to american standards; it has theoretically no right to exist; it is entirely at variance with the spirit of the country and contradictory of its political system; it is almost solely conditioned by wealth;[ ] it is disregarded if not despised by nine-tenths of the population; it does not really count. however seriously the little cliques of new york, boston, and philadelphia may take themselves, they are not regarded seriously by the rest of the country in any degree comparable to the attitude of the british philistine towards the british barbarian. without the appropriate background of king and nobility, the whole system is ridiculous; it has no _national_ basis. the source of its honour is ineradicably tainted. it is the _reductio ad absurdum_ of the idea of aristocratic society. it is divorced from the real body of democracy. it sets no authoritative standard of taste. if anything could reconcile the british radical to his house of lords, it would be the rankness of taste, the irresponsible freaks of individual caprice, that rule in a country where there is no carefully polished noblesse to set the pattern. george william curtis puts the case well: "fine society is no exotic, does not avoid, but all that does not belong to it drops away like water from a smooth statue. we are still peasants and parvenues, although we call each other princes and build palaces. before we are three centuries old we are endeavouring to surpass, by imitating, the results of all art and civilisation and social genius beyond the sea. by elevating the standard of expense we hope to secure select society, but have only aggravated the necessity of a labour integrally fatal to the kind of society we seek." it would, of course, be a serious mistake to assume that, because there are no titles and no theory of caste in the united states, there are no social distinctions worth the trouble of recognition. besides the crudely obvious elevation of wealth and "smartness" already referred to, there are inner circles of good birth, of culture, and so on, which are none the less practically recognised because they are theoretically ignored. of such are the old dutch clans of new york, which still, i am informed, regard families like the vanderbilts as upstarts and parvenues. in chicago there is said to be an inner circle of forty or fifty families which is recognised as the "best society," though by no means composed of the richest citizens. in boston, though the almighty dollar now plays a much more important rôle than before, it is still a combination of culture and ancestry that sets the most highly prized hall-mark on the social items. and indeed the heredity of such families as the quincys, the lowells, the winthrops, and the adamses, which have maintained their superior position for generations, through sheer force of ability and character, without the external buttresses of primogeniture and entail, may safely measure itself against the stained lineage of many european families of high title. the very absence of titular distinction often causes the lines to be more clearly drawn; as mr. charles dudley warner says: "popular commingling in pleasure resorts is safe enough in aristocratic countries, but it will not answer in a republic." there is, however, no universal theory that holds good from new york to california; and hence the generalising foreigner is apt to see nothing but practical as well as theoretical equality. in spite of anything in the foregoing that may seem incompatible, the fact remains that the distinguishing feature of american society, as contrasted with the societies of europe, is the greater approach to equality that it has made. it is in this sphere, and not in those of industry, law, or politics, that the british observer must feel that the american breathes a distinctly more liberal and democratic air than he. the processes of endosmose and exosmose go on under much freer conditions; the individual particle is much more ready to filtrate up or down to its proper level. mr. w.d. howells writes that "once good society contained only persons of noble or gentle birth; then persons of genteel or sacred callings were admitted; now it welcomes to its level everyone of agreeable manners or cultivated mind;" and this, which may be true of modern society in general, is infinitely more true in america than elsewhere. it might almost be asserted that everyone in america ultimately finds his proper social niche; that while many are excluded from the circles for which they _think_ themselves adapted, practically none are shut off from their really harmonious _milieu_. the process of segregation is deprived to a large extent of the disagreeableness consequent upon a rigid table of precedence. nothing surprises an american more in london society than the uneasy sense of inferiority that many a distinguished man of letters will show in the presence of a noble lord. no amount of philosophy enables one to rise entirely superior to the trammels of early training and hoary association. even when the great novelist feels himself as at least on a level with his ducal interlocutor, he cannot ignore the fact that his fellow-guests do not share his opinion. now, without going the length of asserting that there is absolutely nothing of this kind in the intercourse of the american author with the american railroad magnate, it may be safely stated that the general tone of society in america makes such an attitude rare and unlikely. there social equality has become an instinct, and the ruling note of good society is of pleasant cameraderie, without condescension on the one hand or fawning on the other. "the democratic system deprives people of weapons that everyone does not equally possess. no one is formidable; no one is on stilts; no one has great pretensions or any recognised right to be arrogant." (henry james.) the spirit of goodwill, of a desire to make others happy (especially when it does not incommode you to do so), swings through a much larger arc in american society than in english. one can be surer of one's self, without either an overweening self-conceit or the assumption of brassy self-assertion. the main rock of offence in american society is, perhaps, its tendency to attach undue importance to materialistic effects. plain living with high thinking is not so much of an american formula as one would wish. in the smart set of new york, and in other places _mutatis mutandis_, this shows itself in an appallingly vulgar and ostentatious display of mere purchase power. we are expected to find something grand in the fact that an entertainment costs so much; there is little recognition of the truth that a man who spends $ where $ would meet all the demands of good taste is not only a bad economist, but essentially bourgeois and _torné_ in soul. even roses are vulgarised, if that be possible, by production in the almost obtrusively handsome variety known as the "american beauty," and by being heaped up like hay-stacks in the reception rooms. at a recent fashionable marriage in new york no fewer than , sprays of lily of the valley are reported to have been used. a short time ago a wedding party travelled from chicago to burlington (iowa) on a specially constructed train which cost £ , to build; the fortunes of the heads of the few families represented aggregated £ , , . the private drawing-room cars of millionaires are _too_ handsome; they do not indicate so much a necessity of taste as a craving to spend. many of the best hotels are characterised by a tasteless magnificence which annoys rather than attracts the artistic sense. at one hotel i stayed at in a fashionable watering-place the cheapest bedroom cost £ a night; but i did not find that its costly tapestry hangings, huge japanese vases, and elaborately carved furniture helped me to woo sweet slumber any more successfully than the simple equipments of an english village inn. indeed, they rather suggested insomnia, just as the ominous name of "macbeth," affixed to one of the bedrooms in the shakespeare hotel at stratford-on-avon, immediately suggested the line "macbeth doth murder sleep." this materialistic tendency, however, which its defenders call a higher standard of comfort, is not confined to the circles of the millionaires; it crops out more or less at all the different levels. americans seem a _little_ more dependent on bodily comforts than englishmen, a _little_ more apt to coddle themselves, a _little_ less hardy. they are more susceptible to variations of temperature, and hence the prevalent over-heating of their houses, hotels, and railway-cars. a very slight shower will send an american into his overshoes.[ ] there is more of a self-conscious effort in the encouragement of manly sports. americans seldom walk when they can ride. the girls are apt to be annoyed if a pleasure-party be not carried out so as to provide in the fullest way for their personal comfort. this last sentence suggests a social practice of the united states which, perhaps, may come under the topic we are at present discussing. i mean the custom by which girls allow their young men friends to incur expense in their behalf. i am aware that this custom is on the wane in the older cities, that the most refined girls in all parts of the union dislike it, that it is "bad form" in many circles. in the bowling-club to which i had the pleasure to belong the ladies paid their subscriptions "like a man;" when i drove out on sleigh-parties, the girls insisted on paying their share of the expense. the fact, however, remains that, speaking generally and taking class for class, the american girl allows her admirers to spend their money on her much more freely than the english girl. a man is considered mean if he does not pay the car-fare of his girl companion; a girl will allow a man who is merely a "friend" to take her to the theatre, fetching her and taking her home in a carriage hired at exorbitant rates. the _illustrated american_ (jan. , ) writes: the advanced ideas prevalent in this country regarding the relations of the opposite sexes make it not only proper, but necessary, that a young man with serious intentions shall take his sweetheart out, give her presents, send her flowers, go driving with her, and in numberless little ways incur expense. this is all very delightful for her, but to him it means ruin. and at the end he may find that she was only flirting with him. in fact, whenever a young man and a young woman are associated in any enterprise, it is quite usual for the young man to pay for both. on the whole, this custom seems an undesirable one. it is so much a matter of habit that the american girl usually plays her part in the matter with absolute innocence and unconsciousness; she feels no more obligation than an english girl would for the opening of a door. the young man also takes it as a matter of course, and does not in the least presume on his services. but still, i think, it has a slight tendency to rub the bloom off what ought to be the most delicate and ethereal form of social intercourse. it favours the well-to-do youth by an additional handicap. it throws another obstacle in the track of poverty and thrift. it is contrary to the spirit of democratic equality; the woman who accepts such attentions is tacitly allowing that she is not on the same footing as man. on reflection it must grate a little on the finest feelings. there seems to me little doubt that it will gradually die out in circles to which it would be strange in europe. on the whole, however, even with such drawbacks as the above, the social relationship of the sexes in the united states is one of the many points in which the new surpasses the old. the american girl is thrown into such free and ample relations with the american boy from her earliest youth up that she is very apt to look upon him simply as a girl of a stronger growth. some such word as the german _geschwister_ is needed to embrace the "young creatures" who, in petticoats or trousers, form the genuine democracy of american youth. up to the doors of college, and often even beyond them, the boy and girl have been "co-educated;" at the high school the boy has probably had a woman for his teacher, at least in some branches, up to his sixteenth or seventeenth year. the hours of recreation are often spent in pastimes in which girls may share. in some of the most characteristic of american amusements, such as the "coasting" of winter, girls take a prominent place. there is no effort on the part of elders to play the spy on the meetings of boy or girl, or to place obstacles in their way. they are not thought of as opposite sexes; it is "just all the young people together." the result is a spirit of absolute good comradeship. there is little atmosphere of the unknown or the mysterious about the opposite sex. the love that leads to marriage is thus apt to be the product of a wider experience, and to be based on a more intimate knowledge. the sentimental may cry fie on so clear-sighted a cupid, but the sensible cannot but rejoice over anything that tends to the undoing of the phrase "lottery of marriage." that the ideal attitude towards and in marriage has been attained in average american society i should be the last to assert. the way in which american wives leave their husbands toiling in the sweltering city while they themselves fleet the time in europe would alone give me pause. but i am here concerned with the relative and not the absolute; and my contention is that the average marriage in america is apt to be made under conditions which, compared with those of other nations, increase the chances of happiness. a great deal has been said and written about the inconsistency of the marriage laws of the different states, and much cheap wit has been fired off at the fatal facility of divorce in the united states; but i could not ascertain from my own observation that these defects touched any very great proportion of the population, or played any larger part in american society, as i have defined it, than the differences between the marriage laws of england and scotland do in our own island. m. bourget, quite arbitrarily and (i think) with a trace of the proverbial gallic way of looking at the relations of the sexes, has attributed the admitted moral purity of the atmosphere of american society to the coldness of the american temperament and the _sera juvenum venus_. it seems to me, however, that there is no call to disparage american virtue by the suggestion of a constitutional want of liability to temptation, and that mark twain, in his somewhat irreverent rejoinder, is much nearer the mark when he attributes the prevalent sanctity of the marriage tie to the fact that the husbands and wives have generally married each other for love. this is undoubtedly the true note of america in this particular, though it may not be unreservedly characteristic of the smart set of new york. if the sacred flame of cupid could be exposed to the alembic of statistics, i should be surprised to hear that the love matches of the united states did not reach a higher percentage than those of any other nation. one certainly meets more husbands and wives of mature age who seem thoroughly to enjoy each other's society. there is a certain "snap" to american society that is not due merely to a sense of novelty, and does not wholly wear off through familiarity. the sense of enjoyment is more obvious and more evenly distributed; there is a general willingness to be amused, a general absence of the _blasé_. even matthew arnold could not help noticing the "buoyancy, enjoyment, and freedom from restraint which are everywhere in america," and which he accounted for by the absence of the aristocratic incubus. the nervous fluid so characteristic of america in general flows briskly in the veins of its social organism; the feeling is abroad that what is worth doing is worth doing well. there is a more general ability than we possess to talk brightly on the topics of the moment; there is less lingering over one subject; there is a constant savour of the humorous view of life. the more even distribution of comfort in the united states (becoming, alas! daily less characteristic) adds largely to the pleasantness of society by minimising the semi-conscious feeling of remorse in playing while the "other half" starves. the inherent inability of the american to understand that there is any "higher" social order than his own minimises the feeling of envy of those "above" him. "how dreadful," says the englishman to the american girl, "to be governed by men to whom you would not speak!" "yes," is the rejoinder, "and how delightful to be governed by men who won't speak to you!" from this latter form of delight american society is free. henry james strikes a true note when he makes miranda hope (in "a bundle of letters") describe the fashionable girl she met at a paris pension as "like the people they call 'haughty' in books," and then go on to say, "i have never seen anyone like that before--anyone that wanted to make a difference." and her feeling of impersonal interest in the phenomenon is equally characteristic. "she seemed to me so like a proud young lady in a novel. i kept saying to myself all day, 'haughty, haughty,' and i wished she would keep on so." too much stress cannot easily be laid on this feeling of equality in the air as a potent enhancer of the pleasure of society. to feel yourself patronised--even, perhaps especially, when you know yourself to be in all respects the superior of the patroniser--may tickle your sense of humour for a while, but in the long run it is distinctly dispiriting. the philosopher, no doubt, is or should be able to disregard the petty annoyances arising from an ever-present consciousness of social limitation, but society is not entirely composed of philosophers, even in america; and the sense of freedom and space is unqualifiedly welcome to its members. it is not easy for a european to the manner born to realise the sort of extravagant, nightmare effect that many of our social customs have in the eyes of our untutored american cousins. the inherent absurdities that are second nature to us exhale for them the full flavour of their grotesqueness. the idea of an insignificant boy peer taking precedence of mr. john morley! the idea of _having_ to appear before royalty in a state of partial nudity on a cold winter day! the necessity of backing out of the royal presence! the idea of a freeborn briton having to get out of an engagement long previously formed on the score that "he has been _commanded_ to dine with h.r.h." the horrible capillary plaster necessary before a man can serve decently as an opener of carriage-doors! the horsehair envelopes without which our legal brains cannot work! the unwritten law by which a man has to nurse his hat and stick throughout a call unless his hostess specially asks him to lay them aside! mr. bryce commits himself to the assertion that "scotchmen and irishmen are more unlike englishmen, the native of normandy more unlike the native of provence, the pomeranian more unlike the wurtemberger, the piedmontese more unlike the neapolitan, the basque more unlike the andalusian, than the american from any part of the country is to the american from any other." max o'rell, on the other hand, writes: "l'habitant du nord-est des etats unis, le yankee, diffère autant de l'americain de l'ouest et du midi que l'anglais diffère de l'allemand ou de l'espagnol." on this point i find myself far more in accord with the french than with the british observer, though, perhaps, m. blouët rather overstates his case. wider differences among civilised men can hardly be imagined than those which subsist between the creole of new orleans and the yankee of maine, the kentucky farmer and the michigan lumberer. it is, however, true that there is a distinct tendency for the stamp of the eastern states to be applied to the inhabitants of the cities, at least, of the west. the founders of these cities are so largely men of eastern birth, the means of their expansion are so largely advanced by eastern capitalists, that this tendency is easily explicable. [so far as my observation went it was to boston rather than to new york or philadelphia that the educated classes of the western cities looked as the cynosure of their eyes. boston seemed to stand for something less material than these other cities, and the subtler nature of its influence seemed to magnify its pervasive force.] none the less do the people of the united states, compared with those of any one european country, seem to me to have their due share of variety and even of picturesqueness. this latter quality is indeed denied to the united states not only by european visitors, but also by many americans. this denial, however, rests on a limited and traditional use of the word picturesque. america has not the european picturesqueness of costume, of relics of the past, of the constant presence of the potential foeman at the gate. but apart altogether from the almost theatrical romance of frontier life and the now obsolescent conflict with the aborigines, is there not some element of the picturesque in the processes of readjustment by which the emigrants of european stock have adapted themselves and are adapting themselves to the conditions of the new world? in some ways the nineteenth century is the most romantic of all; and the united states embody and express it as no other country. is there not a picturesque side to the triumph of civilisation over barbarism? is there nothing of the picturesque in the long thin lines of gleaming steel, thrown across the countless miles of desert sand and alkali plain, and in the mighty mass of metal with its glare of cyclopean eye and its banner of fire-illumined smoke, that bears the conquerors of stubborn nature from side to side of the great continent? is there not an element of the picturesque in the struggles of the western farmer? can anything be finer in its way than a night view of pittsburg--that "hell with its lid off," where the cold gleam of electricity vies with the lurid glare of the furnaces and smelting works? i say nothing of the californian missions; of the sallow creoles of new orleans with their gorgeous processions of mardi-gras; or of the almost equally fantastic fête of the veiled prophet of st. louis; or of the lumberers of michigan; or of the mexicans of arizona; or of the german beer-gardens of chicago; or of the swinging lanterns and banners of chinatown in san francisco and mott street in new york; or of the italians of mulberry bend in the latter city; or of the alternating stretches on a long railway journey of forest and prairie, yellow corn-fields and sandy desert; or of many other classes and conditions which are by no means void of material for the artist in pen or brush. all these lend hues that are anything but prosaic to my kaleidoscopic recollections of the united states; but more than all these, _the_ characteristically picturesque feature of american life, stands out the omnipresent negro. it was a thrill to have one's boots blackened by a coloured "professor" in an alley-way of boston, and to hear his richly intoned "as shoh's you're bawn." it was a delight to see the negro couples in the public garden, conducting themselves and their courting, as mr. howells has well remarked, with infinitely more restraint and refinement than their milesian compeers, or to see them passing out of the charles-street church in all the sunday bravery of broadcloth coats, shiny hats, wonderfully laundered skirts of snowy whiteness, and bodices of all the hues of the rainbow. and all through the union their glossy black faces and gleaming white teeth shed a kind of dusky radiance over the traveller's path. who but can recall with gratitude the expansive geniality and reassuring smile of the white-coated negro waiter, as compared with the supercilious indifference, if not positive rudeness, of his pale colleague? and what will ever efface the mental kodak of george (not sambo any more) shuffling rapidly into the dining-room, with his huge flat palm inverted high over his head and bearing a colossal tray heaped up with good things for the guest under his charge? and shall i ever forget the grotesque gravity of the negro brakeman in louisiana, with his tall silk hat? or the pair of gloves pathetically shared between two neatly dressed negro youths in a railway carriage in georgia? or the pickaninnies slumbering sweetly in old packing-cases in a hut at jacksonville, while their father thrummed the soft guitar with friendly grin? it has always seemed to me a reproach to american artists that they fill the air with sighs over the absence of the picturesque in the united states, while almost totally overlooking the fine flesh-tones and gay dressing of the coloured brother at their elbow. the most conventional society of america is apt to be more or less shrouded by the pall of monotony that attends convention elsewhere, but typical american society--the society of the great mass of americans--shows distinctly more variety than that of england. in social meetings, as in business, the american is ever on the alert for some new thing: and the brain of every pretty girl is cudgelled in order to provide some novelty for her next party. hence the progressive euchre, the "library" parties, the "shadow" dances, the conversation parties, and the long series of ingenious games, the adoption of which, for some of us at least, has done much to lighten the deadly dulness of english "small and earlies." even the sacro-sanctity of whist has not been respected, and the astonished shade of hoyle has to look on at his favourite game in the form of "drive" and "duplicate." the way in which whist has been taken up in the united states is a good example of the national unwillingness to remain in the ruts of one's ancestors. possibly the best club-players of england are at least as good as the best americans, but the general average of play and the general interest in the game are distinctly higher in the united states. every english whist-player with any pretension to science knows what he has to expect when he finds an unknown lady as his partner, especially if she is below thirty; but in america he will often find himself "put to his trumps" by a bright girl in her teens. the girls in boston and other large cities have organised afternoon whist-clubs, at which all the "rigour of the game" is observed. many of them take regular lessons from whist experts; and among the latter themselves are not a few ladies, who find the teaching of their favourite game a more lucrative employment than governessing or journalism. even so small a matter as the eating of ice-cream may illustrate the progressive nature of american society. elderly americans still remember the time when it was usual to eat this refreshing delicacy out of economical wine-glasses such as we have still to be content with in england. but now-a-days no american expects or receives less than a heaping saucer of ice-cream at a time. americans are born dancers; they have far more quicksilver in their feet than their english cousins. perhaps the very best waltzers i have ever danced with were english girls, who understood the poetry of the art and knew how to reflect not merely the time of the music, but its _nuances_ of rhythm and tone. but dancers such as these are like fairies' visits, that come but once or twice in a lifetime; and a large proportion of english girls dance very badly. in america one seldom or never finds a girl who cannot dance fairly, and most of them can claim much warmer adverbs than that. the american invention of "reversing" is admirable in its unexaggerated form, but requires both study and practice; and the reason that it was voted "bad form" in england was simply that the indolence of the gilded youth prevented him ever taking the trouble to master it. our genial satirist _punch_ hit the nail on the head: "shall we--eh--reverse, miss lilian?" "reverse, indeed; it's as much as you can do to keep on your legs as it is." one custom at american dances struck me as singularly stupid and un-american in its inelasticity. i know not how widespread it is, or how fashionable, but it reigned in circles which seemed to my unsophisticated eyes quite _comme il faut_. the custom is that by which a man having once asked a lady to dance becomes responsible for her until someone else offers himself as her partner. it probably arose from the chivalrous desire not to leave any girl partnerless, but in practice it works out quite the other way. when a man realises that he _may_ have to retain the same partner for several dances, or even for the greater part of the evening, he will, unless he is a bayard absolutely _sans peur et sans reproche_, naturally think twice of engaging a lady from whom his release is problematical. hence the tendency is to increase the triumphs of the belle, and decrease the chances of the less popular maiden. it is also extremely uncomfortable for a girl to feel that a man has (to use the ugly slang of the occasion) "got stuck" with her; and it takes more adroitness and self-possession than any young girl can be expected to possess to extricate herself neatly from the awkward position. another funny custom at subscription balls of a very respectable character is that many of the matrons wear their bonnets throughout the evening. but this, perhaps, is not stranger than the fact that ladies wear hats in the theatre, while the men who accompany them are in evening dress--a curious habit which to the uninitiated observer would suggest that the nymphs belonged to a less fashionable stratum than their attendant swains. a parallel instance is that of afternoon receptions, where the hostess and her myrmidons appear in ball costume, while the visitors are naturally in the toilette of the street. the contrast thus evolved of low necks and heavy furs is often very comical. the british convention by which the hostess always dresses as plainly as possible so as to avoid the chance of eclipsing any of her guests, and so chooses to _briller par sa simplicité_, is in other cases also more honoured in the breach than in the observance in america. a very characteristic little piece of the social democracy of america is seen at its best in chicago, though not unknown in other large cities. on the evening of a hot summer day cushions and rugs are spread on the front steps of the houses, and the occupants take possession of these, the men to enjoy their after-dinner cigars, the women to talk and scan the passers-by. the general effect is very genial and picturesque, and decidedly suggestive of democratic sociability. the same american indifference to the exaggerated british love of privacy which leads john bull to enclose his fifty-foot-square garden by a ten-foot wall is shown in the way in which the gardens of city houses are left unfenced. nothing can be more attractive in its way than such a street as euclid avenue, cleveland, where the pretty villas stand in unenclosed gardens, and the verdant lawns melt imperceptibly into each other without advertisement of where one leaves off and the other begins, while the fronts towards the street are equally exposed. the general effect is that of a large and beautiful park dotted with houses. the american is essentially gregarious in his instinct, and the possession of a vast feudal domain, with a high wall round it, can never make up to him for the excitement of near neighbours. it may seriously be doubted whether the american millionaire who buys a lordly demesne in england is not doing violence to his natural and national tastes every day that he inhabits it. footnotes: [ ] mrs. burton harrison reports that a young new york matron said to her, "really, now that society in new york is getting so large, one must draw the line somewhere; after this i shall visit and invite only those who have more than five millions." [ ] i have seen a brakeman on a passenger train wear overshoes on a showery day, though his duties hardly ever compelled him to leave the covered cars. iv an appreciation of the american woman compared to the appearance of the american girl in books written about the united states, that of charles i.'s head in mr. dick's memorial might perhaps be almost called casual. all down the literary ladder, from the weighty tomes of a professor bryce to the witty persiflage of a max o'rell, we find a considerable part of every rung occupied by the skirts appropriated to the gentler sex; and--what is, perhaps, stranger still--she holds her own even in books written by women. it need not be asserted that all the references to her are equally agreeable. that amiable critic, sir lepel griffin, alludes to her only to assure us that "he had never met anyone who had lived long or travelled much in america who did not hold that female beauty in the states is extremely rare, while the average of ordinary good looks is unusually low," and even visitors of an infinitely more subtle and discriminating type, such as m. bourget, mingle not a little vinegar with their syrup of appreciation. but the fact remains that almost every book on the united states contains a chapter devoted explicitly to the female citizen; and the inevitableness of the record must have some solid ground of reason behind or below it. it indicates a vein of unusual significance, or at the very least of unusual conspicuousness, in the phenomenon thus treated of. observers have usually found it possible to write books on the social and economical traits of other countries without a parade of petticoats in the head-lines. this is not to say that one can ignore one-half of society in writing of it; but if you search the table of contents of such books as mr. philip hamerton's charming "french and english," or mr. t.h.s. escott's "england: its people, polity, and pursuits," you will not find the words "woman" or "girl," or any equivalent for them. but the writer on the united states seems irresistibly compelled to give woman all that coördinate importance which is implied by the prominence of capital letters and separate chapters. this predominance of woman in books on america is not by any means a phase of the "woman question," technically so called. it has no direct reference to the woman as voter, as doctor, as lawyer, as the competitor of man; the subject of interest is woman as woman, the _ding an sich_ of german philosophical slang. no doubt the writer may have occasion to allude to dr. mary walker, to the female mayors of wyoming, to the presidential ambitions of mrs. belva lockwood; but these are mere adjuncts, not explanations, of the question under consideration. the european visitor to the united states _has_ to write about american women because they bulk so largely in his view, because they seem essentially so prominent a feature of american life; because their _relative_ importance and interest impress him as greater than those of women in the lands of the old world, because they seem to him to embody in so eminent a measure that intangible quality of americanism, the existence, or indeed the possibility, of which is so hotly denied by some americans. indeed, those who look upon the prominent rôle of the american woman merely as one phase of the "new woman" question--merely as the inevitable conspicuousness of woman intruding on what has hitherto been exclusively the sphere of man--are many degrees beside the point. the american note is as obvious in the girl who has never taken the slightest interest in polities, the professions, or even the bicycle, as in dr. mary walker or mrs. lockwood. the prevalent english idea of the actual interference of the american woman in public life is largely exaggerated. there are, for instance, in massachusetts , women entitled to vote for members of the school committees; and the largest actual vote recorded is , . of , women of voting age in connecticut the numbers who used their vote in the last three years were , , , , and , . these, if any, are typical american states; and there is not the shadow of a doubt that the , women who stayed at home are quite as "american" as the , who went to the poll. the sphere of the american woman's influence and the reason of her importance lie behind politics and publicity. it seems a reasonable assumption that the formation of the american girl is due to the same large elemental causes that account for american phenomena generally; and her _relative_ strikingness may be explained by the reflection that there was more room for these great forces to work in the case of woman than in the case of man. the englishman, for instance, through his contact with public life and affairs, through his wider experience, through his rubbing shoulders with more varied types, had already been prepared for the working of american conditions in a way that his more sheltered womankind had not been. in the bleaching of the black and the grey, the change will be the more striking in the former; the recovery of health will be conspicuous in proportion to the gravity of the disease. america has meant opportunity for women even more in some ways than for men. the gap between them has been lessened in proportion as the gap between the american and the european has widened. the average american woman is distinctly more different from her average english sister than is the case with their respective brothers. the training of the english girl starts from the very beginning on a different basis from that of the boy; she is taught to restrain her impulses, while his are allowed much freer scope; the sister is expected to defer to the brother from the time she can walk or talk. in america this difference of training is constantly tending to the vanishing point. the american woman has never learned to play second fiddle. the american girl, as mr. henry james says, is rarely negative; she is either (and usually) a most charming success or (and exceptionally) a most disastrous failure. the pathetic army of ineffective spinsters clinging apologetically to the skirts of gentility is conspicuous by its absence in america. the conditions of life there encourage a girl to undertake what she can do best, with a comparatively healthy disregard of its fancied "respectability." her consciousness of efficiency reacts in a thousand ways; her feet are planted on so solid a foundation that she inevitably seems an important constructive part of society. the contrast between the american woman and the english woman in this respect may be illustrated by the two caryatides in the braccio nuovo at the vatican. the first of these, a copy of one of the figures of the erechtheum, seems to bear the superincumbent architrave easily and securely, with her feet planted squarely and the main lines running vertically. in the other, of a later period, the fact that the feet are placed close together gives an air of insecurity to the attitude, an effect heightened by the prevalence of curved lines in the folds of the drapery. the american woman, too, has had more time than the american man to cultivate the more amiable--if you will, the more showy--qualities of american civilisation. the leisured class of england consists of both sexes, that of america practically of one only. the problem of the american man so far has mainly been to subdue a new continent to human uses, while the woman has been sacrificing on the altar of the graces. hence the wider culture and the more liberal views are often found in the sex from which the european does not expect them; hence the woman of new york and other american cities is often conspicuously superior to her husband in looks, manners, and general intelligence. this has been denied by champions of the american man; but the observation of the writer, whatever it may be worth, would deny the denial. the way in which an expression such as "ladies' cabin" is understood in the united states has always seemed to me very typical of the position of the gentler sex in that country. in england, when we see an inscription of that kind, we assume that the enclosure referred to is for ladies _only_. in america, unless the "only" is emphasized, the "ladies' drawing room" or the "ladies' waiting room" extends its hospitality to all those of the male sex who are ready to behave as gentlemen and temporarily forego the delights of tobacco. thus half of the male passengers of the united states journey, as it were, under the ægis of woman, and think it no shame to be enclosed in a box labelled with her name. put roughly, what chiefly strikes the stranger in the american woman is her candour, her frankness, her hail-fellow-well-met-edness, her apparent absence of consciousness of self or of sex, her spontaneity, her vivacity, her fearlessness. if the observer himself is not of a specially refined or delicate type, he is apt at first to misunderstand the cameraderie of an american girl, to see in it suggestions of a possible coarseness of fibre. if a vain man, he may take it as a tribute to his personal charms, or at least to the superior claims of a representative of old-world civilisation. but even to the obtuse stranger of this character it will ultimately become obvious--as to the more refined observer _ab initio_--that he can no more (if as much) dare to take a liberty with the american girl than with his own countrywoman. the plum may appear to be more easily handled, but its bloom will be found to be as intact and as ethereal as in the jealously guarded hothouse fruit of europe. he will find that her frank and charming companionability is as far removed from masculinity as from coarseness; that the points in which she differs from the european lady do not bring her nearer either to a man on the one hand, or to a common woman on the other. he will find that he has to readjust his standards, to see that divergence from the best type of woman hitherto known to him does not necessarily mean deterioration; if he is of an open and susceptible mind, he may even come to the conclusion that he prefers the transatlantic type! unless his lines in england have lain in _very_ pleasant places, the intelligent englishman in enjoying his first experience of transatlantic society will assuredly be struck by the sprightliness, the variety, the fearless individuality of the american girl, by her power of repartee, by the quaint appositeness of her expressions, by the variety of her interests, by the absence of undue deference to his masculine dignity. if in his newly landed innocence he ventures to compliment the girl he talks with on the purity of her english, and assumes that she differs in that respect from her companions, she will patriotically repel the suggested accusation of her countrywomen by assuring him, without the ghost of a smile, "that she has had special advantages, inasmuch as an english missionary had been stationed near her tribe." if she prefers martin tupper to shakespeare, or strauss to beethoven, she will say so without a tremor. why should she hypocritically subordinate her personal instincts to a general theory of taste? her independence is visible in her very dress; she wears what she thinks suits her (and her taste is seldom at fault), not merely what happens to be the fashionable freak of the moment. what englishman does not shudder when he remembers how each of his womankind--the comely and the homely, the short and the long, the stout and the lean--at once assumed the latest form of hat, apparently utterly oblivious to the question of whether it suited her special style of beauty or not? now, an american girl is not built that way. she wishes to be in the fashion just as much as she can; but if a special item of fashion does not set her off to advantage, she gracefully and courageously resigns it to those who can wear it with profit. but honour where honour is due! the english girl generally shows more sense of fitness in the dress for walking and travelling; she, consciously or unconsciously, realises that adaptability for its practical purpose is essential in such a case. the american girl, as above said, strikes one as individual, as varied. in england when we meet a girl in a ball-room we can generally--not always--"place" her after a few minutes' talk; she belongs to a set of which you remember to have already met a volume or two. in some continental countries the patterns in common use seem reduced to three or four. in the united states every new girl is a new sensation. society consists of a series of surprises. expectation is continually piqued. a and b and c do not help you to induce d; when you reach z you _may_ imagine you find a slight trace of reincarnation. not that the surprises are invariably pleasant. the very force and self-confidence of the american girl doubly and trebly underline the undesirable. vulgarity that would be stolid and stodgy in middlesex becomes blatant and aggressive in new york. the american girl is not hampered by the feeling of class distinction, which has for her neither religious nor historical sanction. the english girl is first the squire's daughter, second a good churchwoman, third an english subject, and fourthly a woman. even the best of them cannot rise wholly superior to the all-pervading, and, in its essence, vulgarising, superstition that some of her fellow-creatures are not fit to come between the wind and her nobility. those who reject the theory do so by a self-conscious effort which in itself is crude and a strain. the american girl is, however, born into an atmosphere of unconsciousness of all this, and, unless she belongs to a very narrow coterie, does not reach this point of view either as believer or antagonist. this endues her, at her best, with a sweet and subtle fragrance of humanity that is, perhaps, unique. free from any sense of inherited or conventional superiority or inferiority, as devoid of the brutality of condescension as of the meanness of toadyism, she combines in a strangely attractive way the charm of eternal womanliness with the latest aroma of a progressive century. it is, doubtless, this quality that m. bourget has in view when he speaks of the incomparable delicacy of the american girl, or m. paul blouët when he asserts that "you find in the american woman a quality which, i fear, is beginning to disappear in paris and is almost unknown in london--a kind of spiritualised politeness, a tender solicitude for other people, combined with strong individuality." there is one type of girl, with whom even the most modest and most moderately eligible of bachelors must be familiar in england, who is seldom in evidence in the united states--she whom the american aborigines might call the "girl-anxious-to-be-married." what right-minded man in any circle of british society has not shuddered at the open pursuit of young croesus? have not our novelists and satirists reaped the most ample harvest from the pitiable spectacle and all its results? a large part of the advantage that american society has over english rests in the comparative absence of this phenomenon. man there does not and cannot bear himself as the cynosure of the female eye; the art of throwing the handkerchief has not been included in his early curriculum. the american dancing man does not dare to arrive just in time for supper or to lounge in the doorway while dozens of girls line the walls in faded expectation of a waltz. the english girl herself can hardly be blamed for this state of things. she has been brought up to think that marriage is the be-all and end-all of her existence. "for my part," writes the author of "cecil, the coxcomb," "i never blame them when i see them capering and showing off their little monkey-tricks, for conquest. the fault is none of theirs. it is part of an erroneous system." lady jeune expresses the orthodox english position when she asserts flatly that "to deny that marriage is the object of woman's existence is absurd." the anachronistic survival of the laws of primogeniture and entail practically makes the marriage of the daughter the only alternative for a descent to a lower sphere of society. in the united states the proportion of girls who strike one as obvious candidates for marriage is remarkably small. this _may_ be owing to the art with which the american woman conceals her lures, but all the evidence points to its being in the main an entirely natural and unconscious attitude. the american girl has all along been so accustomed to associate on equal terms with the other sex that she naturally and inevitably regards him more in the light of a comrade than of a possible husband. she has so many resources, and is so independent, that marriage does not bound her horizon. her position, however, is not one of antagonism to marriage. if it were, i should be the last to commend it. it rather rests on an assurance of equality, on the assumption that marriage is an honourable estate--a rounding and completing of existence--for man as much as for woman. nor does it mean, i think, any lack of passion and the deepest instincts of womanhood. all these are present and can be wakened by the right man at the right time. indeed, the very fact that marriage (with or without love) is not incessantly in the foreground of an american girl's consciousness probably makes the awakening all the more deep and tender because comparatively unanticipated and unforeseen. the marriages between american heiresses and european peers do not militate seriously against the above view of american marriage. it cannot be sufficiently emphasised that the doings of a few wealthy people in new york are not characteristic of american civilisation. the new york _times_ was entirely right when it said, in commenting upon the frank statement of the bridegroom in a recent alliance of this kind that it had been _arranged_ by friends of both parties: "a few years ago this frankness would have cost him his bride, if his 'friends' had chosen an american girl for that distinction, and even now it would be resented to the point of a rupture of the engagement by most american girls." the american girl may not be in reality better educated than her british sister, nor a more profound thinker; but her mind is indisputably more agile and elastic. in fact, a slow-going britisher has to go through a regular course of training before he can follow the rapid transitions of her train of associations. she has the happiest faculty in getting at another's point of view and in putting herself in his place. her imagination is more likely to be over-active than too sluggish. one of the most popular classes of the "society for the encouragement of study at home" is that devoted to imaginary travels in europe. she is wonderfully adaptable, and makes herself at ease in an entirely strange _milieu_ almost before the transition is complete. both m. blouët and m. bourget notice this, and claim that it is a quality she shares with the frenchwoman. the wife of a recent president is a stock illustration of it--a girl who was transferred in a moment from what we should call a quiet "middle-class" existence to the apex of publicity, and comported herself in the most trying situations with the ease, dignity, unconsciousness, taste, and graciousness of a born princess. the innocence of the american girl is neither an affectation, nor a prejudiced fable, nor a piece of stupidity. the german woman, quoted by mr. bryce, found her american compeer _furchtbar frei_, but she had at once to add _und furchtbar fromm_. "the innocence of the american girl passes abysses of obscenity without stain or knowledge." she may be perfectly able to hold her own under any circumstances, but she has little of that detestable quality which we call "knowing." the immortal daisy miller is a charming illustration of this. i used sometimes to get into trouble with american ladies, who "hoped i did not take daisy miller as a type of the average american girl," by assuring them that "i did not--that i thought her much too good for that." and in truth there seemed to me a lack of subtlety in the current appreciation of the charming young lady from schenectady, who is much _finer_ than many readers give her credit for. and on this point i think i may cite mr. henry james himself as a witness on my side, since, in a dramatic version of the tale published in the _atlantic monthly_ (vol. , ), he makes his immaculate bostonian, mr. winterbourne, marry daisy with a full consciousness of all she was and had been. as i understand her, miss daisy miller, in spite of her somewhat unpropitious early surroundings, was a young woman entirely able to appreciate the very best when she met it. she at once recognised the superiority of winterbourne to the men she had hitherto known, and she also recognised that her "style" was not the "style" of him or of his associates. but she was very young, and had all the unreasonable pride of extreme youth; and so she determined not to alter her behaviour one jot or tittle in order to attract him--nay, with a sort of bravado, she exaggerated those very traits which she knew he disliked. yet all the time she had the highest appreciation of his most delicate refinements, while she felt also that he ought to see that at bottom she was just as refined as he, though her outward mask was not so elegant. i have no doubt whatever that, as mrs. winterbourne, she adapted herself to her new _milieu_ with absolute success, and yet without loss of her own most fascinating individuality.[ ] the whole atmosphere of the country tends to preserve the spirit of unsuspecting innocence in the american maiden. the function of a chaperon is very differently interpreted in the united states and in england. on one occasion i met in a pullman car a young lady travelling in charge of her governess. a chance conversation elicited the fact that she was the daughter of a well-known new york banker; and the fact that we had some mutual acquaintances was accepted as all-sufficing credentials for my respectability. we had happened to fix on the same hotel at our destination; and in the evening, after dinner, i met in the corridor the staid and severe-looking _gouvernante_, who saluted me with "oh, mr. muirhead, i have such a headache! would you mind going out with my little girl while she makes some purchases?" i was a little taken aback at first; but a moment's reflection convinced me that i had just experienced a most striking tribute to the honour of the american man and the social atmosphere of the united states. the psychological method of suggestive criticism has, perhaps, never been applied with more delicacy of intelligence than in m. bourget's chapter on the american woman. each stroke of the pen, or rather each turn of the scalpel, amazes us by its keen penetration. as we at last close the book and meditate on what we have read, it is little by little borne in upon us that though due tribute is paid to the charming traits of the american woman, yet the general outcome of m. bourget's analysis is truly damnatory. if this sprightly, fascinating, somewhat hard and calculating young woman be a true picture of the transatlantic maiden, we may sigh indeed for her lack of the _ewig weibliche_. i do not pretend to say where m. bourget's appreciation is at fault, but that it is false--unaccountably false--in the general impression it leaves, i have no manner of doubt. perhaps his attention has been fixed too exclusively on the newport girl, who, it must again be insisted on, is too much impregnated with cosmopolitan _fin de siècle-ism_ to be taken as the american type. botanise a flower, use the strongest glasses you will, tear apart and name and analyse,--the result is a catalogue, the flower with its beauty and perfume is not there. so m. bourget has catalogued the separate qualities of the american woman; as a whole she has eluded his analysis. perhaps this chapter of his may be taken as an eminent illustration of the limitations of the critical method, which is at times so illuminating, while at times it so utterly fails to touch the heart of things, or, better, the wholeness of things. among the most searching tests of the state of civilisation reached by any country are the character of its roads, its minimising of noise, and the position of its women. if the united states does not stand very high on the application of the first two tests, its name assuredly leads all the rest in the third. in no other country is the legal status of women so high or so well secured, or their right to follow an independent career so fully recognised by society at large. in no other country is so much done to provide for their convenience and comfort. all the professions are open to them, and the opportunity has widely been made use of. teaching, lecturing, journalism, preaching, and the practice of medicine have long been recognised as within woman's sphere, and she is by no means unknown at the bar. there are eighty qualified lady doctors in boston alone, and twenty-five lady lawyers in chicago. a business card before me as i write reads, "mesdames foster & steuart, members of the cotton exchange and board of trade, real estate and stock brokers, main street, houston, texas." the american woman, however, is often found in still more unexpected occupations. there are numbers of women dentists, barbers, and livery-stable keepers. miss emily faithful saw a railway pointswoman in georgia; and one of the regular steamers on lake champlain, when i was there, was successfully steered by a pilot in petticoats. there is one profession that is closed to women in the united states--that of barmaid. that professional association of woman with man when he is apt to be in his most animal moods is firmly tabooed in america--all honour to it! the career of a lady whose acquaintance i made in new york, and whom i shall call miss undereast, illustrates the possibilities open to the american girl. born in iowa, miss undereast lost her mother when she was three years old, and spent her early childhood in company with her father, who was a travelling geologist and mining prospector. she could ride almost before she could walk, and soon became an expert shot. once, when only ten years of age, she shot down an indian who was in the act of killing a white woman with his tomahawk; and on another occasion, when her father's camp was surrounded by hostile indians, she galloped out upon her pony and brought relief. "she was so much at home with the shy, wild creatures of the woods that she learned their calls, and they would come to her like so many domestic birds and animals. she would come into camp with wild birds and squirrels on her shoulder. she could lasso a steer with the best of them. when, at last, she went to graduate at the state university of colorado, she paid for her last year's tuition with the proceeds of her own herd of cattle." after graduating at colorado state university, she took a full course in a commercial college, and then taught school for some time at denver. later she studied and taught music, for which she had a marked gift. the next important step brought her to new york, where she gained in a competitive examination the position of secretary in the office of the street cleaning department. her linguistic accomplishments (for she had studied several foreign languages) stood her in good stead, and during the illness of her chief she practically managed the department and "bossed" fifteen hundred italian labourers in their own tongue. miss undereast carried on her musical studies far enough to be offered a position in an operatic company, while her linguistic studies qualified her for the post of united states custom house inspectress. latterly she has devoted her time mainly to journalism and literature, producing, _inter alia_, a guidebook to new york, a novel, and a volume of essays on social topics. it is a little difficult to realise when talking with the accomplished and womanly _littérateur_ that she has been in her day a slayer of indians and "a mighty huntress before the lord;" but both the facts and the opportunities underlying them testify in the most striking manner to the largeness of the sphere of action open to the _puella americana_. if american women have been well treated by their men-folk, they have nobly discharged their debt. it is trite to refer to the numerous schemes of philanthropy in which american women have played so prominent a part, to allude to the fact that they have as a body used their leisure to cultivate those arts and graces of life which the preoccupation of man has led him too often to neglect. this chapter may well close with the words of professor bryce: "no country seems to owe more to its women than america does, nor to owe to them so much of what is best in its social institutions and in the beliefs that govern conduct." footnotes: [ ] since writing the above i have learned that mr. w.d. howells has written of "daisy miller" in a similar vein, speaking of her "indestructible innocence and her invulnerable new-worldliness." "it was so plain that mr. james disliked her vulgar conditions that the very people to whom he revealed her essential sweetness and light were furious that he should have seemed not to see what existed through him." v the american child the united states has sometimes been called the "paradise of women;" from the child's point of view it might equally well he termed the "paradise of children," though the thoughtful observer might be inclined to qualify the title by the prefix "fool's." nowhere is the child so constantly in evidence; nowhere are his wishes so carefully consulted; nowhere is he allowed to make his mark so strongly on society in general. the difference begins at the very moment of his birth, or indeed even sooner. as much fuss is made over each young republican as if he were the heir to a long line of kings; his swaddling clothes might make a ducal infant jealous; the family physician thinks $ or $ a moderate fee for ushering him into the light of day. ordinary milk is not good enough for him; _sterilised_ milk will hardly do; "_modified_" milk alone is considered fit for this democratic suckling. even the father is expected to spend hours in patient consultation over his food, his dress, his teething-rings, and his outgoing. he is weighed daily, and his nourishment is changed at once if he is a fraction either behind or ahead of what is deemed a normal and healthy rate of growth. american writers on the care of children give directions for the use of the most complex and time-devouring devices for the proper preparation of their food, and seem really to expect that mamma and nurse will go through with the prescribed juggling with pots and pans, cylinders and lamps. a little later the importance of the american child is just as evident, though it takes on different forms. the small american seems to consider himself the father of the man in a way never contemplated by the poet. he interrupts the conversation of his elders, he has a voice in every matter, he eats and drinks what seems good to him, he (or at any rate _she_) wears finger-rings of price, he has no shyness or even modesty. the theory of the equality of man is rampant in the nursery (though i use this word only in its conventional and figurative sense, for american children do not confine themselves to their nurseries). you will actually hear an american mother say of a child of two or three years of age: "i can't _induce_ him to do this;" "she _won't_ go to bed when i tell her;" "she _will_ eat that lemon pie, though i _know_ it is bad for her." even the public authorities seem to recognise the inherent right of the american child to have his own way, as the following paragraph from the new york _herald_ of april , , will testify: washington, april .--the lawn in front of the white house this morning was littered with paper bags, the dyed shells of eggs, and the remains of easter luncheon baskets. it is said that a large part of the lawn must be resodded. the children, shut out from their usual romp in the grounds at the back of the mansion, made their way into the front when the sun came out in the afternoon, and gambolled about at will, to the great injury of the rain-soaked turf. the police stationed in the grounds _vainly endeavored to persuade the youngsters to go away_, and were finally successful only through pretending to be about to close all the gates for the night. it is, perhaps, superfluous to say that this kind of bringing up hardly tends to make the american child an attractive object to the stranger from without. on the contrary, it is very apt to make the said stranger long strenuously to spank these budding citizens of a free republic, and to send them to bed _instanter_. so much of what i want to say on this topic has been well said by my brother findlay muirhead in an article on "the american small boy," contributed to the _st. james's gazette_, that i venture to quote the bulk of that article below. the american small boy the american small boy is represented in history by the youthful george washington, who suffered through his inability to invent a plausible fiction, and by benjamin franklin, whose abnormal simplicity in the purchase of musical instruments has become proverbial. but history is not taken down in shorthand as it occurs, and it sometimes lags a little. the modern american small boy is a vastly different being from either of these transatlantic worthies; at all events his most prominent characteristics, as they strike a stranger, are not illustrated in the earlier period of their career. the peculiarities of young america would, indeed, matter but little to the stranger if young america stayed at home. but young america does not stay at home. it is not necessary to track the american small boy to his native haunts in order to see what he is like. he is very much in evidence even on this side the atlantic. at certain seasons he circulates in europe with the facility of the british sovereign; for the american nation cherishes the true nomadic habit of travelling in families, and the small boy is not left behind. he abounds in paris; he is common in italy; and he is a drug in switzerland. he is an element to be allowed for by all who make the grand tour, for his voice is heard in every land. on the continent, during the season, no first-class hotel can be said to be complete without its american family, including the small boy. he does not, indeed, appear to "come off" to his full extent in this country, but in all continental resorts he is a small boy that may be felt, as probably our fellow-countrymen all over europe are now discovering. there is little use in attempting to disguise the fact that the subject of the present paper is distinctly disagreeable. there is little beauty in him that we should desire him. he is not only restless himself, but he is the cause of restlessness in others. he has no respect even for the quiescent evening hour, devoted to cigarettes on the terrace after _table d'hôte_, and he is not to be overawed by a look. it is a constant source of wonder to the thoughtfully inclined how the american man is evolved from the american boy; it is a problem much more knotty than the difficulty concerning apple-dumplings which so perplexed "farmer george." no one need desire a pleasanter travelling companion than the american man; it is impossible to imagine a more disagreeable one than the american boy. the american small boy is precocious; but it is not with the erudite precocity of the german heinecken, who at three years of age was intimately acquainted with history and geography ancient and modern, sacred and profane, besides being able to converse fluently in latin, french, and german. we know, of course, that each of the twenty-two presidents of the united states gave such lively promise in his youth that twenty-two aged friends of the twenty-two families, without any collusion, placed their hands upon the youthful heads, prophesying their future eminence. but even this remarkable coincidence does not affect the fact that the precocity of the average transatlantic boy is not generally in the most useful branches of knowledge, but rather in the direction of habits, tastes, and opinion. he is not, however, evenly precocious. he unites a taste for jewelry with a passion for candy. he combines a penetration into the motives of others with an infantile indifference to exposing them at inconvenient times. he has an adult decision in his wishes, but he has a youthful shamelessness in seeking their fulfilment. one of his most exasperating peculiarities is the manner in which he querulously harps upon the single string of his wants. he sits down before the refusal of his mother and shrilly besieges it. he does not desist for company. he does not wish to behave well before strangers. he desires to have his wish granted; and he knows he will probably be allowed to succeed if he insists before strangers. he is distinguished by a brutal frankness, combined with a cynical disregard for all feminine ruses. he not seldom calls up the blush of shame to the cheek of scheming innocence; and he frequently crucifies his female relatives. he is generally an adept in discovering what will most annoy his family circle; and he is perfectly unscrupulous in avenging himself for all injuries, of which he receives, in his own opinion, a large number. he has an accurate memory for all promises made to his advantage, and he is relentless in exacting payment to the uttermost farthing. he not seldom displays a singular ingenuity in interpreting ambiguous terms for his own behoof. a youth of this kind is reported to have demanded (and received) eight apples from his mother, who had bribed him to temporary stillness by the promise of a few of that fruit, his ground being that the scriptures contained the sentence, "wherein few, that is, eight, souls were saved by water." the american small boy is possessed, moreover, of a well-nigh invincible _aplomb_. he is not impertinent, for it never enters into his head to take up the position of protesting inferiority which impertinence implies. he merely takes things as they come, and does not hesitate to express his opinion of them. an american young gentleman of the mature age of ten was one day overtaken by a fault. his father, more in sorrow than in anger, expressed his displeasure. "what am i to do with you, tommy? what am i to do with you?" "i have no suggestions to offer, sir," was the response of tommy, thus appealed to. even in trying circumstances, even when serious misfortune overtakes the youthful american, his _aplomb_, his confidence in his own opinion, does not wholly forsake him. such a one was found weeping in the street. on being asked the cause of his tears, he sobbed out in mingled alarm and indignation: "i'm lost; mammy's lost me; i _told_ the darned thing she'd lose me." the recognition of his own liability to be lost, and at the same time the recognition of his own superior wisdom, are exquisitely characteristic. they would be quite incongruous in the son of any other soil. in his intercourse with strangers this feeling exhibits itself in the complete self-possession and _sang-froid_ of the youthful citizen of the western republic. he scorns to own a curiosity which he dare not openly seek to satisfy by direct questions, and he puts his questions accordingly on all subjects, even the most private and even in the case of the most reverend strangers. he is perfectly free in his remarks upon all that strikes him as strange or reprehensible in any one's personal appearance or behaviour; and he never dreams that his victims might prefer not to be criticised in public. but he is quick to resent criticism on himself, and he shows the most perverted ingenuity in embroiling with his family any outsider who may rashly attempt to restrain his ebullitions. he is, in fact, like the scottish thistle: no one may meddle with him with impunity. it is better to "never mind him," as one of the evils under the sun for which there is no remedy. probably this development of the american small boys is due in great measure to the absorption of their fathers in business, which necessarily surrenders the former to a too undiluted "regiment of women." for though thackeray is unquestionably right in estimating highly the influence of refined feminine society upon youths and young men, there is no doubt that a small boy is all the better for contact with some one whose physical prowess commands his respect. some allowance must also be made for the peevishness of boys condemned to prolonged railway journeys, and to the confinement of hotel life in cities and scenes in which they are not old enough to take an interest. they would, doubtless, be more genial if they were left behind at school. the american boy has no monopoly of the characteristics under consideration. his little sister is often his equal in all departments. miss marryat tells of a little girl of five who appeared alone in the _table d'hôte_ room of a large and fashionable hotel, ordered a copious and variegated breakfast, and silenced the timorous misgivings of the waiter with "i guess i pay my way." at another hotel i heard a similar little minx, in a fit of infantile rage, address her mother as "you nasty, mean, old crosspatch;" and the latter, who in other respects seemed a very sensible and intelligent woman, yielded to the storm, and had no words of rebuke. i am afraid it was a little boy who in the same way called his father a "black-eyed old skunk;" but it might just as well have been a girl. while not asserting that all american children are of this brand, i do maintain that the sketch is fairly typical of a very large class--perhaps of all except those of exceptionally firm and sensible parents. the strangest thing about the matter is, however, that the fruit does not by any means correspond to the seed; the wind is sown, but the whirlwind is not reaped. the unendurable child does not necessarily become an intolerable man. by some mysterious chemistry of the american atmosphere, social or otherwise, the horrid little minx blossoms out into a charming and womanly girl, with just enough of independence to make her piquant; the cross and dyspeptic little boy becomes a courteous and amiable man. some sort of a moral miracle seems to take place about the age of fourteen or fifteen; a violent dislocation interrupts the natural continuity of progress; and, presto! out springs a new creature from the modern cauldron of medea. the reason--or at any rate one reason--of the normal attitude of the american parent towards his child is not far to seek. it is almost undoubtedly one of the direct consequences of the circumambient spirit of democracy. the american is so accustomed to recognise the essential equality of others that he sometimes carries a good thing to excess. this spirit is seen in his dealings with underlings of all kinds, who are rarely addressed with the bluntness and brusqueness of the older civilisations. hence the father and mother are apt to lay almost too much stress on the separate and individual entity of their child, to shun too scrupulously anything approaching the violent coercion of another's will. that the results are not more disastrous seems owing to a saving quality in the child himself. the characteristic american shrewdness and common sense do their work. a badly brought up american child introduced into a really well-regulated family soon takes his cue from his surroundings, adapts himself to his new conditions, and sheds his faults as a snake its skin. the whole process may tend to increase the individuality of the child; but the cost is often great, the consequences hard for the child itself. american parents are doubtless more familiar than others with the plaintive remonstrance: "why did you not bring me up more strictly? why did you give me so much of my own way?" the present type of the american child may be described as one of the experiments of democracy; that he is not a necessary type is proved by the by no means insignificant number of excellently trained children in the united states, of whom it has never been asserted that they make any less truly democratic citizens than their more pampered playmates. the idea of establishing summer camps for schoolchildren may not have originated in the united states--it was certainly put into operation in switzerland and france several years ago; but the most characteristic and highly organised institution of the kind is the george junior republic at freeville, near ithaca, in the state of new york, and some account of this attempt to recognise the "rights of children," and develop the political capacity of boys and girls, may form an appropriate ending to this chapter. the republic was established by mr. william r. george, in . it occupies a large tent and several wooden buildings on a farm forty-eight acres in extent. in summer it accommodates about two hundred boys and girls between the ages of twelve and seventeen; and about forty of these remain in residence throughout the year. the republic is self-governing, and its economic basis is one of honest industry. every citizen has to earn his living, and his work is paid for with the tin currency of the republic. half of the day is devoted to work, the other half to recreation. the boys are employed in farming and carpentry; the girls sew, cook, and so on. the rates of wages vary from cents to cents a day according to the grade of work. ordinary meals cost about cents, and a night's lodging the same; but those who have the means and the inclination may have more sumptuous meals for cents, or board at the "waldorf" for about $ ( s.) a week. as the regular work offered to all is paid for at rates amply sufficient to cover the expenses of board and lodging, the idle and improvident have either to go without or make up for their neglect by overtime work. those who save money receive its full value on leaving the republic, in clothes and provisions to take back to their homes in the slums of new york. some boys have been known to save $ (£ ) in the two months of summer work. the republic has its own legislature, court-house, jail, schools, and the like. the legislature has two branches. the members of the lower house are elected by ballot weekly, those of the senate fortnightly. each grade of labour elects one member and one senator for every twelve constituents. offences against the laws of the republic are stringently dealt with, and the jail, with its bread-and-water diet, is a by no means pleasant experience. the police force consists of thirteen boys and two girls; the office of "cop," with its wages of cents a day, is eagerly coveted, but cannot be obtained without the passing of a stiff civil service examination. so far this interesting experiment is said by good authorities to have worked well. it is not a socialistic or utopian scheme, but frankly accepts existing conditions and tries to make the best of them. it is not by any means merely "playing at house." the children have to do genuine work, and learn habits of real industry, thrift, self-restraint, and independence. the measures discussed by the legislature are not of the debating society order, but actually affect the personal welfare of the two hundred citizens. it has, for example, been found necessary to impose a duty of twenty-five per cent. "on all stuff brought in to be sold," so as to protect the native farmer. female suffrage has been tried, but did not work well, and was discarded, largely through the votes of the girls themselves. the possible disadvantages connected with an experiment of this kind easily suggest themselves; but since the "precocity" of the american child is a recognised fact, it is perhaps well that it should be turned into such unobjectionable channels. vi international misapprehensions and national differences some years ago i was visiting the cyclorama of niagara falls in london and listening to the intelligent description of the scene given by the "lecturer." in the course of this he pointed out goat island, the wooded islet that parts the headlong waters of the niagara like a coulter and shears them into the separate falls of the american and canadian shores. behind me stood an english lady who did not quite catch what the lecturer said, and turned to her husband in surprise. "rhode island? well, i knew rhode island was one of the smallest states, but i had no idea it was so small as that!" on another occasion an englishman, invited to smile at the idea of a fellow-countryman that the rocky mountains flanked the west bank of the hudson, exclaimed: "how absurd! the rocky mountains must be at least two hundred miles from the hudson." even so intelligent a traveller and so friendly a critic as miss florence marryat (mrs. francis lean), in her desire to do justice to the amplitude of the american continent, gravely asserts that "pennsylvania covers a tract of land larger than england, france, spain, and germany all put together," the real fact being that even the smallest of the countries named is much larger than the state, while the combined area of the four is more than fourteen times as great. texas, the largest state in the union, is not so very much more extensive than either germany or france. an analogous want of acquaintance with the mental geography of america was shown by the english lady whom mr. freeman heard explaining to a cultivated american friend who sir walter scott was, and what were the titles of his chief works. it is to such international ignorance as this that much, if not most, of the british want of appreciation of the united states may be traced; just as the acute critic may see in the complacent and persistent misspelling of english names by the leading journals of paris an index of that french attitude of indifference towards foreigners that involved the possibility of a sedan. it is not, perhaps, easy to adduce exactly parallel instances of american ignorance of great britain, though mr. henry james, who probably knows his england better than nine out of ten englishmen, describes lord lambeth, the eldest son of a duke, as himself a member of the house of lords ("an international episode"). it was amusing to find when _meine wenigkeit_ was made the object of a lesson in a massachusetts school, that many of the children knew the name england only in connection with their own new england home. nor, i fear, can it be denied that much of the historical teaching in the primary schools of the united states gives a somewhat one-sided view of the past relations between the mother country and her revolted daughter. the american child is not taught as much as he ought to be that the english people of to-day repudiate the attitude of the aristocratic british government of as strongly as americans themselves. the american, however, must not plume himself too much on his superior knowledge. shameful as the british ignorance of america often is, a corresponding american ignorance of great britain would be vastly more shameful. an american cannot understand himself unless he knows something of his origins beyond the seas; the geography and history of an american child must perforce include the history and geography of the british isles. for a briton, however, knowledge of america is rather one of the highly desirable things than one of the absolutely indispensable. it would certainly betoken a certain want of humanity in me if i failed to take any interest in the welfare of my sons and daughters who had emigrated to new zealand; but it is evident that for the conduct of my own life a knowledge of their doings is not so essential for me as a knowledge of what my father was and did. the american of anglo-saxon stock visiting westminster abbey seems paralleled alone by the greek of syracuse or magna græcia visiting the acropolis of athens; and the experience of either is one that less favoured mortals may unfeignedly envy. but the american and the syracusan alike would be wrong were he to feel either scorn or elation at the superiority of the guest's knowledge of the host over the host's knowledge of the guest. however that may be, and whatever latitude we allow to the proverbial connection of familiarity and contempt, there seems little reason to doubt that closer knowledge of one another will but increase the mutual sympathy and esteem of the briton and the american. the former will find that brother jonathan is not so exuberantly and perpetually starred-and-striped as the comic cartoonist would have us believe; and the american will find that john bull does not always wear top-boots or invariably wield a whip. things that from a distance seem preposterous and even revolting will often assume a very different guise when seen in their native environment and judged by their inevitable conditions. it is not always true that "_coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt_" that is, if we allow ourselves to translate "_animum_" in its ciceronian sense of "opinion."[ ] to hold this view does not make any excessive demand on our optimism. there seems absolutely no reason why in this particular case the line of cleavage between one's likes and one's dislikes should coincide with that of foreign and native birth. the very word "foreign" rings false in this connection. it is often easier to recognise a brother in a new yorker than in a yorkshireman, while, alas! it is only theoretically and in a mood of long-drawn-out aspiration that we can love our alien-tongued european neighbour as ourselves. the man who wishes to form a sound judgment of another is bound to attain as great a measure as possible of accurate self-knowledge, not merely to understand the reaction of the foreign character when brought into relation with his own, but also to make allowance for fundamental differences of taste and temperament. the golden rule of judging others by ourselves can easily become a dull and leaden despotism if we insist that what _we_ should think and feel on a given occasion ought also to be the thoughts and actions of the frenchman, the german, or the american. there are, perhaps, no more pregnant sentences in mr. bryce's valuable book than those in which he warns his british readers against the assumption that the same phenomena in two different countries must imply the same sort of causes. thus, an equal amount of corruption among british politicians, or an equal amount of vulgarity in the british press, would argue a much greater degree of rottenness in the general social system than the same phenomena in the united states. so, too, some of the characteristic british vices are, so to say, of a spontaneous, involuntary, semi-unconscious growth, and the american observer would commit a grievous error if he ascribed them to as deliberate an intent to do evil as the same tendencies would betoken in his own land. neither briton nor american can do full justice to the other unless each recognises that the other is fashioned of a somewhat different clay. the strong reasons, material and otherwise, why great britain and the united states should be friends need not be enumerated here. in spite of some recent and highly unexpected shocks, the tendencies that make for amity seem to me to be steadily increasing in strength and volume.[ ] it is the american in the making rather than the matured native product that, as a rule, is guilty of blatant denunciation of great britain; and it is usually the untravelled and preëminently insular briton alone that is utterly devoid of sympathy for his american cousins. the american, as has often been pointed out, has become vastly more pleasant to deal with since his country has won an undeniable place among the foremost nations of the globe. the epidermis of brother jonathan has toughened as he has grown in stature, and now that he can look over the heads of most of his compeers he regards the sting of a gnat as little as the best of them. perhaps not _quite_ so little as john bull, whose indifference to criticism and silent assurance of superiority are possibly as far wrong in the one direction as a too irritable skin is in the other. of the books written about the united states in the last score of years by european writers of any weight, there are few which have not helped to dissipate the grotesquely one-sided view of america formerly held in the old world. preëminent among such books is, of course, the "american commonwealth" of mr. james bryce; but such writers as mr. freeman, m. paul bourget, sir george campbell, mr. william sanders, miss catherine bates, mme. blanc, miss emily faithful, m. paul de rousiers, max o'rell, and mr. stevens have all, in their several degrees and to their several audiences, worked to the same end. it may, however, be worth while mentioning one or two literary performances of a somewhat different character, merely to remind my british readers of the sort of thing we have done to exasperate our american cousins in quite recent times, and so help them to understand the why and wherefore of certain traces of resentment still lingering beyond the atlantic. in sir lepel griffin, a distinguished indian official, published a record of his visit to the united states, under the title of "the great republic." perhaps this volume might have been left to the obscurity which has befallen it, were it not that mr. matthew arnold lent it a fictitious importance by taking as the text for some of his own remarks on america sir lepel's assertion that he knew of no civilised country, russia possibly excepted, where he should less like to live than the united states. to me it seems a book most admirably adapted to infuriate even a less sensitive folk than the americans. i do not in the least desire to ascribe to sir lepel griffin a deliberate design to be offensive; but it is just his calm, supercilious philistinism, aggravated no doubt by his many years' experience as a ruler of submissive orientals, that makes it no less a pleasure than a duty for a free and intelligent republican to resent and defy his criticisms. can, for instance, anything more wantonly and pointlessly insulting be imagined than his assertion that an intelligent and well-informed american would probably name the pork-packing of chicago as the thing _best worth seeing_ in the united states? after that it is not surprising that he considers american scenery singularly tame and unattractive, and that he finds female beauty (can his standard for this have been orientalised?) very rare. he predicts that it would be impossible to maintain the yellowstone national park as such, and asserts that it was only a characteristic spirit of swagger and braggadocio that prompted this attempt at an impossible ideal. he also seems to think lynching an any-day possibility in the streets of new york. the value of his forecasts may, however, be discounted by his prophecy in the same book that the london county council would be merely a glorified vestry, utterly indifferent to the public interest, and unlikely to attract any candidates of distinction! an almost equal display of philistinism--perhaps greater in proportion to its length--is exhibited by an article entitled "twelve hours of new york," published by count gleichen in _murray's magazine_ (february, ). this energetic young man succeeded (in his own belief) in seeing all the sights of new york in the time indicated by the title of his article, and apparently met nothing to his taste except the hoffman house bar and the large rugs with which the cab-horses were swathed. he found his hotel a den of incivility and his dinner "a squashy, sloppy meal." he wishes he had spent the day in canada instead. he is great in his scorn for the "glue kettle" helmets of the new york police, and for the ferry-boats in the harbour, to which he vastly prefers what he wittily and originally styles the "common or garden steamer." his feet, in his own elegant phrase, felt "like a jelly" after four hours of new york pavement. what are the americans to think of us when they find one of our innermost and most aristocratic circle writing stuff like this under the ægis of, perhaps, the foremost of british publishers? as a third instance of the ingratiating manner in which englishmen write of americans, we may take the following paragraph from "travel and talk," an interesting record of much journeying by that well-known london clergyman, the rev. h.r. haweis: "among the numerous kind attentions i was favoured with and somewhat embarrassed by was the assiduous hospitality of another singular lady, _also since dead_. i allude to mrs. barnard, the wife of the venerable principal of columbia college, a well-known and admirably appointed educational institution in new york. this good lady was bent upon our staying at the college, and hunted us from house to house until we took up our abode with her, and, i confess, i found her rather amusing at first, and i am sure she meant most kindly. but there was an inconceivable fidgetiness about her, and an incapacity to let people alone, or even listen to anything they said in answer to her questions, which poured as from a quick-firing gun, that became at last intolerable." comment on this passage would be entirely superfluous; but i cannot help drawing attention to the supreme touch of gracefulness added by the three words i have italicised. there is one english critic of american life whose opinion cannot be treated cavalierly--least of all by those who feel, as i do, how inestimable is our debt to him as a leader in the paths of sweetness and light. but even in the presence of matthew arnold i desire to preserve the attitude of "_nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri_," and i cannot but believe that his estimate of america, while including much that is subtle, clear-sighted, and tonic, is in certain respects inadequate and misleading. he unfortunately committed the mistake of writing on the united states before visiting the country, and had made up his mind in advance that it was almost exclusively peopled by, and entirely run in the interests of, the british dissenting philistine with a difference. it is the more to be regretted that he adopted this attitude of premature judgment of american characteristics because it is only too prevalent among his less distinguished fellow-countrymen. from this position of _parti pris_, maintained with all his own inimitable suavity and grace, it seems to me that he was never wholly able to advance (or retire), though he candidly admitted that he found the difference between the british and american philistine vastly greater than he anticipated. the members of his preconceived syllogism seem to be somewhat as follows: the money-making and comfort-loving classes in england are essentially philistine; the united states as a nation is given over to money-making; _ergo_, its inhabitants must all be philistines. furthermore, the british philistines are to a very large extent dissenters: the united states has no established church; _ergo_, it must be the paradise of the dissenter. this line of argument ignores the fact that the stolid self-satisfaction in materialistic comfort, which he defines as the essence of philistinism, is _not_ a predominant trait in the american class in which our english experience would lead us to look for it. the american man of business, with his restless discontent and nervous, over-strained pursuit of wealth, may not be a more inspiring object than his british brother, but he has little of the smugness which mr. arnold has taught us to associate with the label of philistinism. and his womankind is perhaps even less open to this particular reproach. mr. arnold ignores a whole far-reaching series of american social phenomena which have practically nothing in common with british nonconformity, and lets a similarity of nomenclature blind him too much to the differentiation of entirely novel conditions. the methodist "moonshiner" of tennessee is hardly cast in the same mould as the deacon of a london little bethel; and even the most legitimate children of the puritans have not descended from the common stock in parallel lines in england and america. mr. arnold admitted that the political clothes of brother jonathan fitted him admirably, and allowed that he can and does think straighter (_c'est le bonheur des hommes quand ils pensent juste_) than we can in the maze of our unnatural and antiquated complications; he wholly admired the natural, unselfconscious manner of the american woman; he saw that the wage-earner lived more comfortably than in europe; he noted that wealthy americans were not dogged by envy in the same way as in england, partly because wealth was felt to be more within the range of all, and partly because it was much less often used for the gratification of vile and selfish appetites; he admitted that america was none the worse for the lack of a materialised aristocracy such as ours; he praises the spirit which levels false and conventional distinctions, and waives the use of such invidious discriminations as our "mr." and "esquire." admissions such as these, coming from such a man as he, are of untold value in promoting the growth of a proper sentiment towards our transatlantic kinsmen. when he points out that the dangers of such a community as the united states include a tendency to rely too much on the machinery of institutions; an absence of the discipline of respect; a proneness to hardness, materialism, exaggeration, and boastfulness; a false smartness and a false audacity,--the wise american will do well to ponder his sayings, hard though they may sound. when, however, he goes on to point out the "prime necessity of civilisation being interesting," and to assert that american civilisation is lacking in interest, we may well doubt whether on the one hand the quality of interest is not too highly exalted, and, on the other, whether the denial of interest to american life does not indicate an almost insular narrowness in the conception of what is interesting. when he finds a want of soul and delicacy in the american as compared with john bull, some of us must feel that if he is right the latitude of interpretation of these terms must indeed be oceanic. when he gravely cites the shrewd and ingenious benjamin franklin as the most considerable man whom america has yet produced, we must respectfully but firmly take exception to his standard of measurement. when he declares that abraham lincoln has no claim to distinction, we feel that the writer must have in mind distinction of a singularly conventional and superficial nature; and we are not reassured by the _quasi_ brutality of the remark in one of his letters, to the effect that lincoln's assassination brought into american history a dash of the tragic and romantic in which it had hitherto been so sadly lacking ("_sic semper tyrannis_ is so unlike anything yankee or english middle class"). when he asserts that from maine to florida and back again all america hebraises, we reflect with some bewilderment that hitherto we had believed the new orleans creole (_e.g._) to be as far removed from hebraising as any type we knew of. it is strikingly characteristic of the weak side of mr. arnold's outlook on america that he went to stay with mr. p.t. barnum, the celebrated showman, without the least idea that his american friends might think the choice of hosts a peculiar one. to him, to a very large extent, americans were all alike middle-class, dissenting philistines; and so far as appears on the surface, mr. barnum's desire to "belong to the minority" pleased him as much as any other sign of approval conferred upon him in america. a native of the british isles is sometimes apt to be a little nettled when he finds a native of the united states regarding him as a "foreigner" and talking of him accordingly. an englishman never means the natives of the united states when he speaks of "foreigners;" he reserves that epithet for non-english-speaking races. in this respect it would seem as if the briton, for once, took the wider, the more genial and human, point of view; as if he had the keener appreciation of the ties of race and language. it is as if he cherished continually a sub-dominant consciousness of the fact that the occupation of the north american continent by the anglo-saxons is one of the greatest events in english history--that america is peopled by englishmen. when he thinks of the events of he feels, to use mr. hall caine's illustration, like dr. johnson, who dreamed that he had been worsted in conversation, but reflected when he awoke that the conversation of his adversary must also have been his own. as opposed to this there may be a grain of self-assertion in the american use of the term as applied to the british; it is as if they would emphasise the fact that they are no mere offshoot of england, that the colonial days have long since gone by, and that the united states is an independent nation with a right to have its own "foreigners." an american friend suggests that the different usage of the two lands may be partly owing to the fact that the cordial, frank demeanour of the american, coupled with his use of the same tongue, makes an englishman absolutely forget that he is not a fellow-countryman, while the subtler american is keenly conscious of differences which escape the obtuser englishman. another partial explanation is that the first step across our frontier brings us to a land where an unknown tongue is spoken, and that we have consequently welded into one the two ideas of foreignhood and unintelligibility; while the american, on the other hand, identifies himself with his continent and regards all as foreigners who are not natives of it. the point would hardly be worth dwelling upon, were it not that the different attitude it denotes really leads in some instances to actual misunderstanding. the englishman, with his somewhat unsensitive feelers, is apt, in all good faith and unconsciousness, to criticise american ways to the american with much more freedom than he would criticise french ways to a frenchman. it is as if he should say, "you and i are brothers, or at least cousins; we are a much better sort than all those foreign johnnies; and so there's no harm in my pointing out to you that you're wrong here and ought to change there." but, alas, who is quicker to resent our criticism than they of our own household? and so the american, overlooking the sort of clumsy compliment that is implied in the assurance of kinship involved in the very frankness of our fault-finding criticism, resents most keenly the criticisms that are couched in his own language, and sees nothing but impertinent hostility in the attitude of john bull. and who is to convince him that it is, as in a scottish wooing, because we love him that we tease him, and in so doing put him (in our eyes) on a vastly higher pedestal than the "blasted foreigner" whose case we consider past praying for? and who is to teach us that brother jonathan is able now to give us at least as many hints as we can give him, and that we must realise that the same sauce must be served with both birds? thus each resiles from the encounter infinitely more pained than if the antagonist had been a german or a frenchman. the very fact that we speak the same tongue often leads to false assumptions of mutual knowledge, and so to offences of unguarded ignorance. one of the most conspicuous differences between the american and the briton is that the former, take him for all in all, is distinctly the more articulate animal of the two. the englishman seems to have learned, through countless generations, that he can express himself better and more surely in deeds than in words, and has come to distrust in others a fatal fluency of expressiveness which he feels would be exaggerated and even false in himself. a man often has to wait for his own death to find out what his english friend thinks of him; and "wad some pow'r the giftie gie us to see oursels as others see us," we might often be surprised to discover what a wealth of real affection and esteem lies hid under the glacier of anglican indifference. the american poet who found his song in the heart of a friend could have done so, were the friend english, only by the aid of a post-mortem examination. the american, on the other hand, has the most open and genial way of expressing his interest in you; and when you have readjusted the scale of the moral thermometer so as to allow for the change of temperament, you will find this frankness most delightfully stimulating. it requires, however, an intimate knowledge of both countries to understand that when an englishman congratulates you on a success by exclaiming, "hallo, old chap, i didn't know you had it in you," he means just as much as your american friend, whose phrase is: "bravo, billy, i always _knew_ you could do something fine." that the superior powers of articulation possessed by the american sometimes takes the form of profuse and even extreme volubility will hardly be denied by those conversant with the facts. the american may not be more profound than his english cousin or even more fertile in ideas, but as a rule he is much more ready and easy in the discussion of the moment; whatever the state of his "gold reserve" may be, he has no lack of the small counters of conversation. in its proper place this faculty is undoubtedly most agreeable; in the fleeting interviews which compose so much of social intercourse, he is distinctly at an advantage who has the power of coming to the front at once without wasting precious time in preliminaries and reconnaissances. other things being equal, the chances of agreeable conversation at dinner, at the club, or in the pauses of the dance are better in the united states than in england. the "next man" of the new world is apt to talk better and to be wider in his sympathies than the "next man" of the old. on the other hand, it seems to me equally true that the americans possess the defects of their qualities in this as in other respects; they are often apt to talk too much, they are afraid of a conversational lull, and do not sufficiently appreciate the charm of "flashes of brilliant silence." it seemed to me that they often carried a most unnecessary amount of volubility into their business life; and i sometimes wondered whether the greater energy and rush that they apparently put into their conduct of affairs were not due to the necessity of making up time lost in superfluous chatter. if an englishman has a mile to go to an appointment he will take his leisurely twenty minutes to do the distance, and then settle his business in two or three dozen sentences; an american is much more likely to devour the ground in five minutes, and then spend an hour or more in lively conversation not wholly pertinent to the matter in hand. the american mind is discursive, open, wide in its interests, alive to suggestion, pliant, emotional, imaginative; the english mind is concentrated, substantial, indifferent to the merely relative, matter-of-fact, stiff, and inflexible. the english have reduced to a fine art the practice of a stony impassivity, which on its highest plane is not devoid of a certain impressiveness. on ordinary occasions it is apt to excite either the ire or the amusement of the representatives of a more animated race. i suppose it is almost impossible for an untravelled englishman to realise the ridiculous side of the church parade in hyde park--as it would appear, say, to a lively girl from baltimore. the parade is a collection of human beings, presumably brought together for the sake of seeing and being seen. yet the obvious aim of each english item in the crowd is to deprive his features of all expression, and to look as if he were absolutely unconscious that his own party were not the only one on the ground. such vulgarity as the exhibition of the slightest interest in a being to whom he has not been introduced would be treason to his dearest traditions. in an american function of the same kind, the actors take an undisguised interest in each other, while a french or italian assembly would be still more demonstrative. on the surface the english attitude is distinctly inhuman; it reminds one that england is still the stronghold of the obsolescent institution of caste, that it frankly and even brutally asserts the essential inequality of man. nowhere, perhaps, will you see a bigger and handsomer, healthier, better-groomed, more efficient set of human animals; but their straight-ahead, phlegmatic, expressionless gaze, the want of animated talk, the absence of any show of intelligence, emphasises our feeling that they are _animals_. the briton's indifference to criticism is at once his strength and his weakness. it makes him invincible in a cause which has dominated his conscience; it hinders him in the attainment of a luminous discrimination between cause and cause. his profound self-confidence, his sheer good sense, his dogged persistence, his bulldog courage, his essential honesty of purpose, bring him to the goal in spite of the unnecessary obstacles that have been heaped on his path by his own [greek: hubris] and contempt of others. he chooses what is physically the shortest line in preference to the line of least resistance. he makes up for his want of light by his superiority in weight. social adaptability is not his foible. he accepts the conventionality of his class and wears it as an impenetrable armour. out of his own class he may sometimes appear less conventional than the american, simply because the latter is quick to adopt the manners of a new _milieu_, while john bull clings doggedly or unconsciously to his old conventions. if an american and an english shop-girl were simultaneously married to peers of the realm, the odds would be a hundred to one in favour of the former in the race for self-identification with her new environment. the american facility of expression, if i do not err, springs largely from an amiable difference in temperament. the american is, on the whole, more genially disposed to all and sundry. i do not say that he is capable of truer friendships or of greater sacrifices for a friend than the englishman; but the window through which he looks out on humanity at large has panes of a ruddier hue, he cultivates a mildness of tone, which a briton is apt to despise as weakness. his desire to oblige sometimes impels him to uncharacteristic actions, which lead to fallacious generalisations on the part of his british critic. he shrinks from any assumption of superiority; he is apt to think twice of the feelings of his inferiors. the american tends to consider each stranger he meets--at any rate within his own social sphere--as a good fellow until he proves himself the contrary; with the englishman the presumption is rather the other way. an englishman usually excuses this national trait as really due to modesty and shyness; but i fear there is in it a very large element of sheer bad manners, and of a cowardly fear of compromising one's self with undesirable acquaintances. englishmen are apt to take _omne ignotum pro horribile_, and their translation of the latin phrase varies from the lifting of the aristocratic eyebrow over the unwarranted address of the casual companion at _table d'hôte_ down to the "'ere's a stranger, let's 'eave 'arf a brick at 'im" of the black country. in england i am apt to feel painfully what a lame dog i am; in america i feel, well, if i am a lame dog i am being helped most delightfully over the conversational stile. an englishman says, "would you _mind_ doing so-and-so for me?" showing by the very form of the question that he thinks kindness likely to be troublesome. an american says, "wouldn't you _like_ to do this for me?" assuming the superior attitude of one who feels that to give an opportunity to do a kindness is itself to confer a favour. the continental european shares with the american the merit of having manners on the self-regarding pattern of _noblesse oblige_, while the englishman wants to know who _you_ are, so as to put on his best manners only if the _force majeure_ of your social standing compels him. no one wishes the englishman to express more than he really feels or to increase the already overwhelming mass of conventional insincerity; but it might undoubtedly be well for him to consider whether it is not his positive duty to drop a little more of the oil of human kindness on the wheels of the social machinery, and to understand that it is perfectly possible for two strangers to speak with and look at each other pleasantly without thereby contracting the obligation of eternal friendship. why should an english traveller deem it worthy of special record that when calling at a boston club, he found his friend and host not yet arrived, other members of the club, unknown to him, had put themselves about to entertain him? an american gentleman would find this too natural to call for remark. whether we like it or not, we have to acknowledge the fact that our brutal frankness, our brusqueness, and our extreme fondness for calling a spade a spade are often extremely disagreeable to our american cousins, and make them (temporarily at any rate) feel themselves to be our superiors in the matter of gentle breeding. as col. t.w. higginson has phrased it, they think that "the english nation has truthfulness enough for a whole continent, and almost too much for an island." they think that a line might be drawn somewhere between dissembling our love and kicking them downstairs. they also object to our use of such terms as "beastly," "stinking," and "rot;" and we must admit that they do so with justice, while we cannot assoil them altogether of the opposite tendency of a prim prudishness in the avoidance of certain natural and necessary words. for myself i unfeignedly admire the delicacy which leads to a certain parsimony in the use of words like "perspiration," "cleaning one's self," and so on. and, however much we may laugh at the class that insists upon the name of "help" instead of "servant," we cannot but respect the class which yields to the demand and looks with horror on the english slang word "slavey." on the other hand there are certain little personal habits, such as the public use of the toothpick, and what mr. morley roberts calls the modern form of [greek: kottabos], which i think often find themselves in better company in america than in england. still i desire to speak here with all due diffidence. i remember when i pointed out to a boston girl that an american actor in a piece before us, representing high life in london, was committing a gross solecism in moistening his pencil in his mouth before adding his address to his visiting card, she trumped my criticism at once by the information that a distinguished english journalist, with a handle to his name, who recently made a successful lecturing tour in the united states, openly and deliberately moistened his thumb in the same ingenuous fashion to aid him in turning over the leaves of his manuscript. a feature of the average middle-class englishman which the american cannot easily understand is his tacit recognition of the fact that somebody else (the aristocrat) is his superior. in fact, this is sometimes a fertile source of misunderstanding, and it is apt to beget in the american an entirely false idea of what he thinks the innate servility of the englishman. he must remember that the aristocratic prestige is a growth of centuries, that it has come to form part of the atmosphere, that it is often accepted as unconsciously as the law of gravitation. this is a case where the same attitude in an american mind (and, alas, we occasionally see it in american residents in london) would betoken an infinitely lower moral and mental plane than it does in the englishman. no true american could accept the proposition that "lord tom noddy might do so-and-so, but it would be a very different thing for a man in my position;" and yet an englishman (i regret to say) might speak thus and still be a very decent fellow, whom it would be unjust cruelty to call a snob. no doubt the english aristocracy (as i think mr. henry james has said) now occupies a heroic position without heroism; but the glamour of the past still shines on their faded escutcheons, and "the love of freedom itself is hardly stronger in england than the love of aristocracy." matthew arnold has pointed out to us how the aristocracy acts like an incubus on the middle classes of great britain, and he has put it on record that he was struck with the buoyancy, enjoyment of life, and freedom of constraint of the corresponding classes in america. in england, he says, a man feels that it is the _upper class_ which represents him; in the united states he feels that it is the _state_, _i.e._, himself. in england it is the barbarian alone that dares be indifferent to the opinion of his fellows; in america everyone expresses his opinion and "voices" his idiosyncrasies with perfect freedom. this position has, however, its seamy side. there is in america a certain anarchy in questions of taste and manners which the long possession of a leisured, a cultivated class tends to save us from in england. i never felt so kindly a feeling towards our so-called "upper class" as when travelling in the united states and noting some effects of its absence. this class has an accepted position in the social hierarchy; its dicta are taken as authoritative on points of etiquette, just as the clergy are looked on as the official guardians of religious and ecclesiastical standards. i do not here pretend to discuss the value of the moral example of our _jeunesse dorée_, filtering down through the successive strata of society; but their influence in setting the fashion on such points as scrupulous personal cleanliness, the avoidance of the _outré_ in costume, and the maintenance of an honourable and generous standard in their money dealings with each other, is distinctly on the side of the humanities. in america--at least, "out west"--everyone practically is his own guide, and the _nouveau riche_ spends his money strictly in accordance with his own standard of taste. the result is often as appalling in its hideousness as it is startling in its costliness. on the other hand i am bound to state that i have known american men of great wealth whose simplicity of type could hardly be paralleled in england (except, perchance, within the society of friends). they do not feel any social pressure to imitate the establishment of my lord or his grace; and spend their money for what really interests them without reference to the demands of society. it is rather interesting to observe the different forms which vulgarity is apt to take in the two countries. in england vulgarity is stolid; in america it is smart and aggressive. we are apt, i think, to overestimate the amount in the latter country because it is so much more in voluble evidence. an english vulgarian is often hushed into silence by the presence of his social superior; an american vulgarian either recognises none such or tries to prove himself as good as you by being unnecessarily _grob_. this has, at any rate, a manlier air than the vulgar obsequiousness of england towards the superior on the one hand or its cynical insolence to the inferior on the other. the feeling which made a french lady of fashion in the seventeenth century dress herself in the presence of a footman with as much unconcern as if he were a piece of furniture still finds its modified analogy in england, but scarcely in america. almost the only field in which the americans struck me as showing anything like servility was in their treatment of such mighty potentates as railway conductors, hotel clerks, and policemen. whether, until a millenial golden mean is attained, this is better than our english bullying tone in the same sphere might be an interesting question for casuists. americans can rarely understand the amount of social recognition given by english duchesses to such american visitors as col. william cody, generally known as "buffalo bill." they do not reflect that it is just because the social gap between the two is so irretrievably vast and so universally recognised that the duchesses can afford to amuse themselves cursorily with any eccentricity that offers itself. as pomona's husband put it, people in england are like types with letters at one end and can easily be sorted out of a state of "pi," while americans are theoretically all alike, like carpet-tacks. thus americans of the best class often shun the free mixing that takes place in england, because they know that the process of redistribution will be neither easy nor popular. the intangible sieve thus placed between the best and the not-so-good is of a fine discrimination, beside which our conventional net-works seem coarse and ineffective. since returning from the united states i have occasionally been asked how the general tone of morality in that country compared with that in our own. to answer such a question with anything approaching to an air of finality or absoluteness would be an act of extreme presumption. the opinions which one holds depend so obviously on a number of contingent and accidental circumstances, and must so inevitably be tinged by one's personal experiences, that their validity can at best have but an approximate and tentative character. in making this comparison, too, it is only right to disregard the phenomena of mining camps and other phases of life on the fringes of american civilisation, which can be fairly compared only with pioneer life on the extreme frontiers of the british empire. from a similar cause we may omit from the comparison a great part of the southern states, where we do not find a homogeneous mass of white civilisation, but a state of society inexpressibly complicated by the presence of an inferior race. to compare the southerner with the englishman we should need to observe the latter as he exists in, say, one of our african colonies. speaking, then, with these reservations, i should feel inclined to say that in domestic and social morality the americans are ahead of us, in commercial morality rather behind than before, and in political morality distinctly behind. thus, in the first of these fields we find the american more good-tempered and good-natured than the englishman. women, children, and animals are treated with considerably more kindness. the american translation of paterfamilias is not domestic tyrant. horses are driven by the voice rather than by the whip. the superior does not thrust his superiority on his inferior so brutally as we are apt to do. there is a general intention to make things pleasant--at any rate so long as it does not involve the doer in loss. there is less _gratuitous_ insolence. servility, with its attendant hypocrisy and deceit, is conspicuously absent; and the general spirit of independence, if sometimes needlessly boorish in its manifestations, is at least sturdy and manly. in england we are rude to those weaker than ourselves; in america the rudeness is apt to be directed against those whom we suspect to be in some way our superior. man is regarded by man rather as an object of interest than as an object of suspicion. charity is very widespread; and the idea of a fellow-creature actually suffering from want of food or shelter is, perhaps, more repugnant to the average american than to the average englishman, and more apt to act immediately on his purse-strings. in that which popular language usually means when it speaks of immorality, all outward indications point to the greater purity of the american. the conversation of the smoking-room is a little less apt to be _risqué_; the possibility of masculine continence is more often taken for granted; solicitation on the streets is rare; few american publishers of repute dare to issue the semi-prurient style of novel at present so rife in england; the columns of the leading magazines are almost prudishly closed to anything suggesting the improper. the tone of the stage is distinctly healthier, and adaptations of hectic french plays are by no means so popular, in spite of the general sympathy of american taste with french. the statistics of illegitimacy point in the same direction, though i admit that this is not necessarily a sign of unsophisticated morality. in a word, when an englishman goes to france he feels that the moral tone in this respect is more lax than in england; when he goes to america he feels that it is more firm. and he will hardly find adequate the french explanation, _viz._, that there is not less vice but more hypocrisy in the anglo-saxon community. there is another very important sphere of morality in which the general attitude of the united states seems to me very appreciably superior to that of england. it is that to which st. paul refers when he says, "if a man will not work, neither shall he eat." american public sentiment is distinctly ahead of ours in recognising that a life of idleness is wrong in itself, and that the possibility of leading such a life acts most prejudicially on character. the american answer to the englishman trying to define what he meant by "gentlemen of leisure" "ah, we call them _tramps_ in america"--is not merely a jest, but enshrines a deep ethnical and ethical principle. most americans would, i think, agree strongly with mr. bosanquet's philosophical if somewhat cumbersomely worded definition of legitimate private property, "that things should not come miraculously and be unaffected by your dealings with them, but that you should be in contact with something which in the external world is the definite material representative of yourself" ("aspects of the social problem," p. ). the british gentleman, aware that his dinner does not agree with him unless he has put forth a certain amount of physical energy, reverts to one of the earliest and most primitive forms of work, _viz._, hunting. there is a small--a very small--class in the united states in the same predicament; but as a rule the worker there is not only more honoured, but also works more in accordance with the spirit of the age. the general attitude of americans towards militarism seems to me also superior to ours; and one of the keenest dreads of the best american citizens during a recent wave of jingoism was that of "the reflex influence of militarism upon the national character, the transformation of a peace-loving people into a nation of swaggerers ever ready to take offence, prone to create difficulties, eager to shed blood, and taking all sorts of occasions to bring the christian religion to shame under pretence of vindicating the rights of humanity in some other country." the spectacle of a section in the united states apparently ready to step down from its pedestal of honourable neutrality, and run its head into the ignoble web of european complications, was indeed one to make both gods and mortals weep. but i do not believe it expressed the true attitude of the real american people. perhaps the personal element enters too largely into my ascription of superior morality to the americans in this matter, because i can never thoroughly enjoy a military pageant, no matter how brilliant, for thinking of the brutal, animal, inhuman element in our nature of which it is, after all, the expression: military pomp is to me merely the surface iridescence of a malarious pool, and the honour paid to our life destroyers would, from my point of view, be infinitely better bestowed on life preservers, such as the noble and intrepid corps of firemen. sympathisers with this view seem much more numerous in the united states than in england.[ ] the judgment of an uncommercial traveller on commercial morality may well be held as a feather-weight in the balance. such as mine is, it is gathered mainly from the tone of casual conversation, from which i should conclude that a considerable proportion of americans read a well-known proverb as "all's fair in love or business." men--i will not say of a high character and standing, but men of a standing and character who would not have done it in england--told me instances of their sharp practices in business, with an evident expectation of my admiration for their shrewdness, and with no apparent sense of the slightest moral delinquency. possibly, when the "rules of the game" are universally understood, there is less moral obliquity in taking advantage of them than an outsider imagines. the prevalent belief that america is more sedulous in the worship of the golden calf than any other country arises largely, i believe, from the fact that the chances of acquiring wealth are more frequent and easy there than elsewhere. opportunity makes the thief. anyhow, the reproach comes with a bad grace from the natives of a country which has in its annals the outbreak of the south sea bubble, the railway mania of the hudson era, and the revelations of mr. hooley. politics enter so slightly into the scope of this book that a very few words on the question of political morality must suffice. that political corruption exists more commonly in the united states than in great britain--especially in municipal government--may be taken as admitted by the most eminent american publicists themselves. a very limited degree of intercourse with "professional politicians" yields ample confirmatory evidence. thus, to give but one instance, a wealthy citizen of one of the largest eastern towns told me, with absolute ingenuousness, how he had "dished" the (say) republican party in a municipal contest, not in the least because he had changed his political sympathies, but simply because the candidates had refused to accede to certain personal demands of his own. he spoke throughout the conversation as if it must be perfectly apparent to me, as to any intelligent person, that the only possible reason for working and voting for a political party must be personal interest. i confess this seemed to me a very significant straw. on the other hand the conclusions usually drawn by stay-at-home english people on these admissions is ludicrously in excess of what is warranted by the facts. "to imagine for a moment that , , of people--better educated than any other nation in the world--are openly tolerating universal corruption in all federal, state, and municipal government is simply assuming that these , , are either criminals or fools." now, "you can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time." a more competent judge[ ] than the present writer estimates the morals of the american political "wire-puller" as about on a level with those of our company directors. and before my english readers make their final decision on the american political system let them study chapter xlvi. of that very fascinating novel, "the honorable peter stirling," by paul leicester ford. it may give them some new light on the subject of "a government of the average," and show them what is meant by the saying, "the boss who does the most things that the people want can do the most things that the people don't want." we must remember, too, that nothing is hidden from general knowledge in america: every job comes sooner or later into the merciless glare of publicity. and if our political sins are not the same as theirs, they are perhaps equally heinous. was not the british landlord who voted against the repeal of the corn laws, so that land might continue to bring in a high rent at the expense of the poor man, really acting from just as corrupt a motive of self-interest as the american legislator who accepts a bribe? it does not do to be too superior on this question. we may end this chapter by a typical instance of the way in which british opinion of america is apt to be formed that comes under my notice at the very moment i write these lines. the _daily chronicle_ of march , , published a leading article on "family life in america," in which it quotes with approval mme. blanc's assertion that "the single woman in the united states is infinitely superior to her european sister." in the same issue of the paper is a letter from mrs. fawcett relating to a recent very deplorable occurrence in washington, where the daughter of a well-known resident shot a coloured boy who was robbing her father's orchard. in the _chronicle_ of march th appears a triumphant british letter from "old-fashioned," asking satirically whether the habit of using loaded revolvers is a proof of the "infinite superiority" of the american girl. now this estimable gentleman is making the mistake that nine out of ten of his countrymen constantly make in swooping down on a single _outré_ instance as _characteristic_ of american life. if "old-fashioned" has not time to pay a visit to america or to read mr. bryce's book, let him at least accept my assurance that the above-mentioned incident seems to the full as extraordinary to the bostonian as to the londoner, and that it is just as typical of the habits of the american society girl as the action of miss madeleine smith was of english girls. "of all the sarse thet i can call to mind, england doos make the most onpleasant kind. it's you're the sinner ollers, she's the saint; whot's good's all english, all thet isn't, ain't. she is all thet's honest, honnable, an' fair. an' when the vartoos died they made her heir." footnotes: [ ] see, _e.g._, "ad familiares," , . [ ] this was written just after president cleveland's pronunciamento in regard to venezuela, and thus long before the outbreak of the war with spain. [ ] this paragraph was written before the outbreak of the spanish-american war; but the events of that struggle do not seem to me to call for serious modification of the opinion expressed above. [ ] sir george campbell, in "black and white in america." vii sports and amusements in face of the immense sums of money spent on all kinds of sport, the size and wealth of the athletic associations, the swollen salaries of baseball players, the prominence afforded to sporting events in the newspapers, the number of "world's records" made in the united states, and the tremendous excitement over inter-university football matches and international yacht-races, it may seem wanton to assert that the love of sport is not by any means so genuine or so universal in the united states as in great britain; and yet i am not at all sure that such a statement would not be absolutely true. by true "love of sport" i understand the enjoyment that arises from either practising or seeing others practise some form of skill-demanding amusement for its own sake, without question of pecuniary profit; and the true sport lover is not satisfied unless the best man wins, whether he be friend or foe. sport ceases to be sport as soon as it is carried on as if it were war, where "all" is proverbially "fair." the excitement of gambling does not seem to me to be fairly covered by the phrase "love of sport," and no more does the mere desire to see one's university, state, or nation triumph over someone else's university, state, or nation. there are thousands of people who rejoice over or bewail the result of the derby without thereby proving their possession of any right to the title of sportsman; there is no difference of quality between the speculator in grain and the speculator in horseflesh and jockeys' nerves. so, too, there are many thousands who yell for yale in a football match who have no real sporting instinct whatever. sport, to be sport, must jealously shun all attempts to make it a business; the more there is of the spirit of professionalism in any game or athletic exercise the less it deserves to be called a sport. a sport in the true sense of the word must be practised for fun or glory, not for dollars and cents; and the desire to win must be very strictly subordinated to the sense of honour and fair play. the book-making spirit has undoubtedly entered far too largely into many of the most characteristic of british sports, and i have no desire to palliate or excuse our national shortcomings in this or other respects. but the hard commercial spirit to which i have alluded seems to me to pervade american sport much more universally than it does the sport of england, and to form almost always a much larger factor in the interest excited by any contest. this is very clearly shown by the way in which games are carried on at the universities of the two countries. most members of an english college are members of some one or other of the various athletic associations connected with it, and it cannot be denied that the general interest in sport is both wide and keen. but it does not assume so "business-like" an air as it does in such a university as yale or princeton. not nearly so much money is spent in the paraphernalia of the sport or in the process of training. the operation of turning a pleasure into a toil is not so consistently carried on. the members of the intercollegiate team do not obtain leave of absence from their college duties to train and practise in some remote corner of england as if they were prize-fighters or yearlings. "gate-money" does not bulk so largely in the view; in fact, admission to many of the chief encounters is free. the atmosphere of mystery about the doings of the crew or team is not so sedulously cultivated. the men do not take defeat so hardly, or regard the loss of a match as a serious calamity in life. i have the authority of mr. caspar w. whitney, the editor of _forest and stream_, and perhaps the foremost living writer on sport in the united states, for the statement that members of a defeated football team in america will sometimes throw themselves on their faces on the turf and weep (see his "sporting pilgrimage," chapter iv., pp. , ).[ ] it was an american orator who proposed the toast: "my country--right or wrong, my country;" and there is some reason to fear that american college athletes are tempted to adapt this in the form "let us _win_, by fair means or foul." i should hesitate to suggest this were it not that the evidence on which i do so was supplied from american sources. thus, one american friend of mine told me he heard a member of a leading university football team say to one of his colleagues: "you try to knock out a.b. this bout; i've been warned once." tactics of this kind are freely alleged against our professional players of association football; but it may safely be asserted that no such sentence could issue from the lips of a member of the oxford or cambridge university teams. mr. e.j. brown, track captain of the university of california, asserted, on his return from a visit to the eastern states, that harvard was the only eastern university in which the members of the athletic teams were all _bonâ fide_ students. this is doubtless a very exaggerated statement, but it would seem to indicate which way the wind blows. the entire american tendency is to take amusement too seriously, too strenuously. they do not allow sport to take care of itself. "it runs to rhetoric and interviews." all good contestants become "representatives of the american people." one serious effect of the way in which the necessity of winning or "making records" is constantly held up as the _raison d'être_ of athletic sports is that it suggests to the ordinary student, who has no hopes of brilliant success in athletics, that moderate exercise is contemptible, and that he need do nothing to keep up his bodily vigour. thus, dr. birkbeck hill found that the proportion of students who took part in some athletic sport was distinctly less at harvard than at oxford. nor could i ascertain that nearly so large a proportion of the adult population themselves played games or followed athletics of any kind as in england. i should say, speaking roughly, that the end of his university career or his first year in responsible business corresponded practically for the ordinary american to the forty-fifth year of the ordinary englishman, _i.e._, after this time he would either entirely or partially give up his own active participation in outdoor exercises. of course there are thousands of exceptions on both sides; but the general rule remains true. the average american professional or business man does not play baseball as his english cousin does cricket. he goes in his thousands to see baseball matches, and takes a very keen and vociferous interest in their progress; but he himself has probably not handled a club since he left college. no doubt this contrast is gradually diminishing, and such games as lawn tennis and golf have made it practically a vanishing quantity in the north-eastern states; but as one goes west one cannot but feel that baseball and other sports, like dancing in china, are almost wholly in the hands of paid performers. the national games of cricket and baseball serve very well to illustrate this, as well as other contrasts in the pastimes of the two nations. in cricket the line between the amateur and the professional has hitherto been very clearly drawn; and englishmen are apt to believe that there is something elevating in the very nature of the game which makes it shed scandals as a duck's back sheds water. the american view is, perhaps, rather that cricket is so slow a game that there is little scope for betting, with all its attendant excitement and evils. they point to the fact that the staid city of philadelphia is the only part of the united states in which cricket flourishes; and, if in a boasting mood, they may claim with justice that it has been cultivated there in a way that shows that it is not lack of ability to shine in it that makes most americans indifferent to the game. a first-class match takes three days to play, and even a match between two teams of small boys requires a long half-holiday. hence the game is largely practised by the members of the leisure class. the grounds on which it is played are covered with the greenest and best-kept of turf, and are often amid the most lovely surroundings. the season at which the game is played is summer, so that looking on is warm and comfortable. there is comparatively little chance of serious accident; and the absence of personal contact of player with player removes the prime cause of quarrelling and ill-feeling. hence ladies feel that they may frequent cricket matches in their daintiest summer frocks and without dread of witnessing any painful accident or unseemly scuffle. the costumes of the players are varied, appropriate, and tasteful, and the arrangement of the fielders is very picturesque. baseball, on the other hand (which, _pace_, my american friends, is simply glorified rounders), with the exception of school and college teams, is almost wholly practised by professional players; and the place of the county cricket matches is taken by the games between the various cities represented in the national league, in which the amateur is severely absent. the dress, with a long-sleeved semmet appearing below a short-sleeved jersey, is very ugly, and gives a sort of ruffianly look to a "nine" which it might be free from in another costume. the ground is theoretically grass, but practically (often, at least) hard-trodden earth or mud. a match is finished in about one hour and a half. in running for base a player has often to throw himself on his face, and thereby covers himself with dust or mud. the spectators have each paid a sum varying from s. or s. to s. or even s. for admission, and are keenly excited in the contest; while their yells, and hoots, and slangy chaff are very different to the decorous applause of the cricket field, and rather recall an association football crowd in the midlands. as a rule not much sympathy or courtesy is extended to the visiting team, and the duties of an umpire are sometimes accompanied by real danger.[ ] several features of the play seem distinctly unsportsmanlike. thus, it is the regular duty of one of the batting team, when not in himself, to try to "rattle" the pitcher or fielder by yells and shouts just as he is about to "pitch" or "catch" or "touch." it is not considered dishonourable for one of the waiting strikers to pretend to be the player really at a base and run from base to base just outside the real line so as to confuse the fielders. on the other hand the game is rapid, full of excitement and variety, and susceptible of infinite development of skill. the accuracy with which a long field will throw to base might turn an english long-leg green with envy; and the way in which an expert pitcher will make a ball deflect _in the air_, either up or down, to the right or left, must be seen to be believed. a really skilful pitcher is said to be able to throw a ball in such a way that it will go straight to within a foot of a tree, _turn out for the tree_, and resume its original course on the other side of it! the football match between yale and princeton on thanksgiving day (last thursday in november) may, perhaps, be said to hold the place in public estimation in america that the oxford and cambridge boat-race does in england. in spite of the inclement season, spectators of either sex turn out in their thousands; and the scene, except that furs are substituted for summer frocks, easily stands comparison with the eton and harrow day at lord's. the field is surrounded in the same way with carriages and drags, on which the colours of the rival teams are profusely displayed; and there are the same merry coach-top luncheons, the same serried files of noisy partisans, and the same general air of festivity, while the final touch is given by the fact that a brilliant sun is not rarer in america in november than it is in england in june. the american game of football is a developed form of the rugby game; but is, perhaps, not nearer it than baseball is to rounders. it is played by eleven a side. american judges think that neither rugby nor association football approaches the american game either in skill or in demand on the player's physical endurance. this may be so: in fact, so far as my very inexpert point of view goes i should say that it is so. undoubtedly the american teams go through a much more prolonged and rigid system of training, and their scheme of tactics, codes of signals, and sharp devices of all kinds are much more complicated. "tackling" is probably reduced to a finer art than in england. mr. whitney, a most competent and impartial observer, does not think that our system of "passing" would be possible with american tacklers. whether all this makes a better _game_ is a very different question, and one that i should be disposed to answer in the negative. it is a more serious business, just as a duel _à outrance_ is a more serious business than a fencing match; but it is not so interesting to look at and does not seem to afford the players so much _fun_. there is little running with the ball, almost no dropping or punting, and few free kicks. the game between princeton and yale which i, shivering, saw from the top of a drag in , seemed like one prolonged, though rather loose, scrimmage; and the spectators fairly yelled for joy when they saw the ball, which happened on an average about once every ten or fifteen minutes. americans have to gain five yards for every three "downs" or else lose possession of the ball; and hence the field is marked off by five-yard lines all the way from goal to goal. american writers acknowledge that the english rugby men are much better kickers than the american players, and that it is now seldom that the punter in america gets a fair chance to show his skill. there are many tiresome waits in the american game; and the practice of "interference," though certainly managed with wonderful skill, can never seem quite fair to one brought upon the english notions of "off-side." the concerted cheering of the students of each university, led by a regular fugle-man, marking time with voice and arms, seems odd to the spectator accustomed to the sparse, spontaneous, and independent applause of an english crowd. an american football player in full armour resembles a deep-sea diver or a roman retiarius more than anything else. the dress itself consists of thickly padded knickerbockers, jersey, canvas jacket, very heavy boots, and very thick stockings. the player then farther protects himself by shin guards, shoulder caps, ankle and knee supporters, and wristbands. the apparatus on his head is fearful and wonderful to behold, including a rubber mouthpiece, a nose mask, padded ear guards, and a curious headpiece made of steel springs, leather straps, and india rubber. it is obvious that a man in this cumbersome attire cannot move so quickly as an english player clad simply in jersey, short breeches, boots, and stockings; and i question very much whether--slugging apart--the american assumption that the science of yale would simply overwhelm the more elementary play of an english university is entirely justified. anyone who has seen an american team in this curious paraphernalia can well understand the shudder of apprehension that shakes an american spectator the first time he sees an english team take the field with bare knees. certainly the spirit and temper with which football is played in the united states would seem to indicate that the over-elaborate way in which it has been handled has not been favourable to a true ideal of manly sport. on this point i shall not rely on my own observation, but on the statements of americans themselves, beginning with the semi-jocular assertion, which largely belongs to the order of true words spoken in jest, that "in old english football you kicked the ball; in modern english football you kick the man when you can't kick the ball; in american football you kick the ball when you can't kick the man." in georgia, indiana, nebraska, and possibly some other states, bills to prohibit football have actually been introduced in the state legislatures within the past few years. the following sentences are taken from an article in the _nation_ (new york), referring to the harvard and yale game of : the game on saturday at springfield between the two great teams of harvard and yale was by the testimony--unanimous, as far as our knowledge goes--of spectators and newspapers the most brutal ever witnessed in the united states. there are few members of either university--we trust there are none--who have not hung their heads for shame in talking over it, or thinking of it. in the first place, we respectfully ask the governing body of all colleges what they have to say for a game between youths presumably engaged in the cultivation of the liberal arts which needs among its preliminaries a supply on the field of litters and surgeons? such preparations are not only brutal, but brutalising. how any spectator, especially any woman, can witness them without a shudder, so distinctly do they recall the duelling field and the prize ring, we are unable to understand. but that they are necessary and proper under the circumstances the result showed. there were actually seven casualties among twenty-two men who began the game. this is nearly per cent. of the combatants--a larger proportion than among the federals at cold harbor (the bloodiest battle of modern times), and much larger than at waterloo or at gravelotte. what has american culture and civilisation to say to this mode of training youth? "brewer was so badly injured that he had to be taken off the field crying with mortification." wright, captain of the yale men, jumped on him with both knees, breaking his collar bone. beard was next turned over to the doctors. hallowell had his nose broken. murphy was soon badly injured and taken off the field on a stretcher unconscious, with concussion of the brain. butterworth, who is said nearly to have lost an eye, soon followed. add that there was a great deal of "slugging"--that is, striking with the fist and kicking--which was not punished by the umpires, though two men were ruled out for it. * * * * * it may be laid down as a sound rule among civilised people that games which may be won by disabling your adversary, or wearing out his strength, or killing him, ought to be prohibited, at all events among its youth. swiftness of foot, skill and agility, quickness of sight, and cunning of hands, are things to be encouraged in education. the use of brute force against an unequally matched antagonist, on the other hand, is one of the most debauching influences to which a young man can be exposed. the hurling of masses of highly trained athletes against one another with intent to overcome by mere weight or kicking or cuffing, without the possibility of the rigid superintendence which the referee exercises in the prize ring, cannot fail to blunt the sensibilities of young men, stimulate their bad passions, and drown their sense of fairness. when this is done in the sight of thousands, under the stimulation of their frantic cheers and encouragement, and in full view of the stretchers which carry their fellows from the field, for aught they know disabled for life, how, in the name of common sense, does it differ in moral influence from the roman arena? now, the point in the above notice is that it is written of "gentlemen"--of university men. it is to be feared that very similar charges might be brought against some of the professionals of our association teams: but our amateurs are practically exempt from any such accusation. the climax of the whole thing is the statement by a professor of a well-known university, that a captain of one of the great football teams declared in a class prayer-meeting "that the great success of the team the previous season was in his opinion due to the fact that among the team and substitutes there were so many praying men." the true friends of sport in the united states must wish that the football mania may soon disappear in its present form; and the harvard authorities are to be warmly congratulated on the manly stand they have taken against the evil. and it is to be devoutly hoped that no president of a college in the future will ever, as one did in , congratulate his students on the fact "that their progress and success in study during the term just finished had been _fully equal_ to their success in intercollegiate athletics and football!".[ ] i have, however, no desire to pose as the british pharisee, and i am aware that, though we make the better showing in this instance, there are others in which our record is at least as bad. the following paragraph is taken from the _field_ (december th, ): highclere.--as various incorrect reports have been published of the shooting at highclere last week, lord carnarvon has desired me to forward the enclosed particulars of the game shot on three days: november , , and , james mccraw ( , berkeley-square, w.). november , grotto (brooks) beat, partridges, , pheasants, hares, , rabbits, various; total, , . november , highclere wood (cross) beat, partridges, , pheasants, hare, , rabbits, woodcock, various; total, , . november , beeches (cross) beat, partridges, , pheasants, rabbits, wild fowl, various; total, , . grand total: partridges, , pheasants, hares, , rabbits, woodcock, wild fowl, various; total, , . the shooters on the first two days were prince victor duleep singh, prince frederick duleep singh, lord de grey, lord ashburton, lord carnarvon, and mr. chaplin. on november mr. rutherford took the place of mr. chaplin. a little calculation will show that each of the six gentlemen mentioned in the paragraph must have killed one head of game every minute or two. this makes it impossible that there could have been many misses. this in turn makes it certain that the pheasants in the bag must have been nearly as tame as barndoor fowl. the shooting, then, must have been one long drawn-out massacre of semi-tame animals, with hardly a breathing interval. i confess such a record seems to me as absolutely devoid of sport and as full of brutality as the worst slugging match between princeton and yale; and it, moreover, lacks the element of physical courage which is certainly necessary in the football match. besides, the english sinners are grown men and members of the class which is supposed to set the pattern for the rest of the nation; the university footballers, in spite of their own sense of importance, are after all raw youths, to whom reason does not altogether forbid us to hope that riper years may bring more sense and more true manliness. two of the most popular outdoor amusements in the united states are driving and sailing. i do not know how far statistics would bear me out, but one certainly gets the impression that more people keep horses for pleasure in america than in england. horses are comparatively cheap, and their keep is often lower than with us. the light buggies must cost less than the more substantial carriages of england. hence, if a man is so fond of driving as to be willing to be his own coachman and groom, the keeping of a horse and shay is not very ruinous, especially in the country or smaller towns. as soon as the element of wages enters into the question the result is very different: carriage-hire is usually twice as high as in england and often more. however that may be, it is certainly very striking to see the immense number of one-horse "teams" that turn out for an afternoon or evening spin in the parks and suburban roads of places like new york, boston, and chicago. many of these teams are of a plainness, not to say shabbiness, which would make an english owner too shamefaced to exhibit them in public. the fact that the owner is his own stableman is often indicated by the ungroomed coat of his horse, and by the month-old mud on his wheels. the horse, however, can generally do a bit of smart trotting, and his owner evidently enjoys his speed and grit. the buggies, unsubstantial as they look, are comfortable enough when one is seated; but the access, between, through, and over the wheels, is unpleasantly suggestive for the nervous. so fond are the americans of driving that they evidently look upon it as a form of active exercise for themselves as well as for their nags. one man said to me: "i am really getting too stout; i must start a buggy." i am almost ashamed to avow that i spent five years in the united states without seeing a trotting-race, though this was owing to no lack of desire. the only remark that i shall, therefore, venture to make about this form of sport is that the american claim that it has a more practical bearing than the english form of horse-racing seems justified. it is alleged indeed that the english "running" races are of immense importance in keeping up the breed of horses; but it may well be open to question whether the same end could not be better attained by very different means. what is generally wanted in a horse is draught power and ability to trot well and far. it is not clear to the layman that a flying machine that can do a mile in a minute and a half is the ideal parent for this form of horse. on the other hand, the famous trotting-horses of america are just the kind of animal that is wanted for the ordinary uses of life. moreover, the trot is the civilised or artificial gait as opposed to the wild and natural gallop. there are , trotting-tracks in the united states, owned by as many associations, besides those at all county and state fairs as well as many private tracks at brood-farms and elsewhere. stakes, purses, and added moneys amount to more than $ , , annually; and the capital invested in horses, tracks, stables, farms, etc., is enormous. the tracks are level, with start and finish directly in front of the grand stand, and are either one mile or one-half mile in length. they are always of earth, and are usually elliptical in shape, though the "kite-shaped track" was for a time popular on account of its increased speed. in this there is one straight stretch of one-third mile, then a wide turn of one-third mile, and then a straight run of one-third mile back to the start and finish. the horses are driven in two-wheeled "sulkies" of little weight, and the handicapping is exclusively by time-classes. records of every race are kept by two national associations. horses that have never trotted a mile in less than two minutes and forty seconds are in one class; those that have never beaten . in another; those that have never beaten . in a third; and so on down to . , which has been beaten but a dozen times. races are always run in heats, and the winner must win three heats. with a dozen entries (or even six or eight, the more usual number) a race may thus occupy an entire afternoon, and require many heats before a decision is reached. betting is common at every meeting, but is not so prominent as at running tracks. the record for fast trotting is held at present by mr. morris jones' mare "alix," which trotted a mile in two minutes three and three-quarters seconds at galesburg in . turfmen confidently expect that a mile will soon be trotted in two minutes. the two-minute mark was attained in by a _pacing_ horse. sailing is tremendously popular at all american seaside resorts; and lolling over the ropes of a "cat-boat" is another form of active exercise that finds innumerable votaries. rowing is probably practised in the older states with as much zest as in great britain, and the fresh-water facilities are perhaps better. except as a means to an end, however, this mechanical form of sport has never appealed to me. the more nearly a man can approximate to a triple-expansion engine the better oarsman he is; no machine can be imagined that could play cricket, golf, or tennis. the recent development of golf--perhaps the finest of all games--both in england and america might give rise to a whole series of reflections on the curious vicissitudes of games and the mysterious reasons of their development. golf has been played universally in scotland for hundreds of years, right under the noses of englishmen; yet it is just about thirty years ago that (except blackheath) the first golf-club was established south of the tweed, and the present craze for it is of the most recent origin ( or so). yet of the eight hundred golf-clubs of the united kingdom about four hundred are in england. the scots of canada have played golf for many years, but the practice of the game in the united states may be dated from the establishment of the st. andrew's club at yonkers in . since then the game has been taken up with considerable enthusiasm at many centres, and it is estimated that there are now at least forty thousand american golfers. there is, perhaps, no game that requires more patience to acquire satisfactorily than golf, and the preliminary steps cannot be gobbled. it is therefore doubtful whether the game will ever become extensively popular in a country with so much nervous electricity in the air. i heartily wish that this half-prophecy may prove utterly mistaken, for no better relief to overcharged nerves and wearied brains has ever been devised than a well-matched "twosome" or the more social "foursome;" and the fact that golf gently exercises _all_ the muscles of the body and can be played at _all_ ages from eight to eighty gives it a unique place among outdoor games. the skill already attained by the best american players is simply marvellous; and it seems by no means beyond the bounds of possibility that the open champion of (say) the year may not have been trained on american soil. the natural impatience of the active-minded american makes him at present very apt to neglect the etiquette of the game. the chance of being "driven into" is much larger on the west side of the atlantic than on the conservative greens of scotland; and it seems almost impossible to make brother jonathan "replace that divot." i have seen three different parties holing out at the same time on the same putting green. in one open handicap tournament i took part in near boston the scanty supply of caddies was monopolized by the members of the club holding the tournament, and strangers, who had never seen the course, were allowed to go round alone and carrying their own clubs. on another occasion a friend and myself played in a foursome handicap tournament and were informed afterwards that the handicaps were yet to be arranged! as the match was decided in our favour it would be ungracious to complain of this irregularity. those little infringements of etiquette are, after all, mere details, and will undoubtedly become less and less frequent before the growing knowledge and love of the game. lacrosse, perhaps the most perspicuous and fascinating of all games to the impartial spectator, is, of course, chiefly played in canada, but there is a lacrosse league in the atlantic cities of the united states. the visitor to canada should certainly make a point of seeing a good exposition of this most agile and graceful game, which is seen at its best in montreal, toronto, or ottawa. unfortunately it seems to be most trying to the temper, and i have more than once seen players in representative matches neglect the game to indulge in a bout of angry quarter-staff with their opponents until forcibly stopped by the umpires, while the spectators also interfere occasionally in the most disgraceful manner. another drawback is the interval of ten minutes between each game of the match, even when the game has taken only two minutes to play. this absurd rule has been promptly discarded by the english lacrosse clubs, and should certainly be modified in canada also. lawn tennis is now played almost everywhere in the united states, and its best exponents, such as larned and wrenn, have attained all but--if not quite--english championship form. the annual contest for the championship of america, held at newport in august, is one of the prettiest sporting scenes on the continent. polo and court tennis also have their headquarters at newport. hunting, shooting, and fishing are, of course, immensely popular (at least the last two) in the united states, but lie practically beyond the pale of my experience. bowling or ten-pins is a favourite winter amusement of both sexes, and occupies a far more exalted position than the english skittles. the alleys, attached to most gymnasia and athletic-club buildings, are often fitted up with great neatness and comfort; and even the fashionable belle does not disdain her "bowling-club" evening, where she meets a dozen or two of the young men and maidens of her acquaintance. regular meetings take place between the teams of various athletic associations, records are made and chronicled, and championships decided. if the game could be naturalised in england under the same conditions as in america, our young people would find it a most admirable opportunity for healthy exercise in the long dark evenings of winter. track athletics (running, jumping, etc.) occupy very much the same position in the united states as in england; and outside the university sphere the same abuses of the word "amateur" and the same instances of selling prizes and betting prevail. mr. caspar whitney says that "amateur athletics are absolutely in danger of being exterminated in the united states if something is not done to cleanse them." the evils are said to be greatest in the middle and far west. there are about a score of important athletic clubs in fifteen of the largest cities of the united states, with a membership of nearly , ; and many of these possess handsome clubhouses, combining the social accommodations of the carlton or reform with the sporting facilities of queen's. the country club is another american institution which may be mentioned in this connection. it consists of a comfortably and elegantly fitted-up clubhouse, within easy driving distance of a large city, and surrounded by facilities for tennis, racquets, golf, polo, baseball, racing, etc. so far it has kept clear of the degrading sport of pigeon shooting. training is carried out more thoroughly and consistently than in england, and many if not most of the "records" are held in america. the visits paid to the united states by athletic teams of the l.a.c. and cambridge university opened the eyes of englishmen to what americans could do, the latter winning seventeen out of twenty events and making several world's records. indeed, there is almost too much of a craze to make records, whereas the real sport is to beat a competitor, not to hang round a course till the weather or other conditions make "record-making" probable. a feature of american athletic meetings with which we are unfamiliar in england is the short sprinting-races, sometimes for as small a distance as fifteen yards. bicycling also is exposed, as a public sport, to the same reproaches on both sides of the atlantic. the bad roads of america prevented the spread of wheeling so long as the old high bicycle was the type, but the practice has assumed enormous proportions since the invention of the pneumatic-tired "safety." the league of american wheelmen has done much to improve the country roads. the lady's bicycle was invented in the united states, and there are, perhaps, more lady riders in proportion in that country than in any other. as evidence of the rapidity with which things move in america it may be mentioned that when i quitted boston in not a single "society" lady so far as i could hear had deigned to touch the wheel; now ( ) i understand that even a house in beacon street and a lot in mt. auburn cemetery are not enough to give the guinea-stamp of rank unless at least one member of the family is an expert wheelwoman. an amazing instance of the receptivity and adaptability of the american attitude is seen in the fact that the outsides of the tramway-cars in at least one western city are fitted with hooks for bicycles, so that the cyclist is saved the unpleasant, jolting ride over stone pavements before reaching suburban joys. footnotes: [ ] i wish to confess my obligation to this interesting book for much help in writing the present chapter. [ ] a match played in no less aristocratic a place than newport on sept. , , between the local team and a club from brockton, ended in a general scrimmage, in which even women joined in the cry of "kill the umpire!" [ ] it is, perhaps, only fair to quote on the other side the opinion of mr. rudolf lehmann, the well-known english rowing coach, who witnessed the match between harvard and the university of pennsylvania in . he writes in the london _news_: "i have never seen a finer game played with a manlier spirit. the quickness and the precision of the players were marvellous.... the game as i saw it, though it was violent and rough, was never brutal. indeed, i cannot hope to see a finer exhibition of courage, strength, and manly endurance, without a trace of meanness." and to mr. lehmann's voice may be added that of a "mother of nine sons," who wrote to the boston _evening transcript_ in , speaking warmly of the advantages of football in the formation of habits of self-control and submission to authority. viii the humour of the "man on the cars" "a difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections." so wrote george eliot in "daniel deronda." and the truth of the apothegm may account for much of the friction in the intercourse of john bull and brother jonathan. for, undoubtedly, there is a wide difference between the humour of the englishman and the humour of the american. john bull's downrightness appears in his jests also. his jokes must be unmistakable; he wants none of your quips masquerading as serious observations. a mere twinkle of the eye is not for him a sufficient illumination between the serious and the comic. "those animals are horses," artemus ward used to say in showing his panorama. "i know they are--because my artist says so. i had the picture two years before i discovered the fact. the artist came to me about six months ago and said, 'it is useless to disguise it from you any longer--they are horses.'"[ ] this is the form of introduction that john bull prefers for his witticisms. he will welcome a joke as hospitably as a visitor, if only the credentials of the one as of the other are unimpeachable. now the american does not wish his joke underlined like an urgent parliamentary whip. he wants something left to his imagination; he wants to be tickled by the feeling that it requires a keen eye to see the point; he may, in a word, like his champagne sweet, but he wants his humour dry. his telephone girls halloo, but his jokes don't. in this he resembles the scotsman much more than the englishman; and both european foreigners and the americans themselves seem aware of this. thus, max o'rell writes: de tous les citoyens du _royaume_ plus ou moins _uni_ l'ami donald est le plus fini, le plus solide, le plus positif, le plus persévérant, le plus laborieux, et le plus spirituel. le plus spirituel! voilà un grand mot de lâché. oui, le plus spirituel, n'en déplaise a l'ombre de sydney smith.... j'espère bien prouver, par quelques anecdotes, que donald a de l'esprit, de l'esprit de bon aloi, d'humour surtout, de cet humour fin subtil, qui passerait à travers la tête _d'un cockney_ sans y laisser la moindre trace, sans y faire la moindre impression. the testimony of the american is equally explicit. the following dialogue, quoted from memory, appeared some time since in one of the best american comic journals: _tomkyns_ (of london).--i say, vanarsdale, i told such a good joke, don't you know, to macpherson, and he didn't laugh a bit! i suppose that's because he's a scotsman? _vanarsdale_ (of new york).--i don't know; i think it's more likely that it's because you are an englishman! an english audience is usually much slower than an american or scottish one to take up a joke that is anything less than obvious. i heard max o'rell deliver one of his witty orations in london. the audience was good humored, entirely with the lecturer, and only too ready to laugh. but if his joke was the least bit subtle, the least bit less apparent than usual, it was extraordinary how the laughter hung fire. there would be an appreciable interval of silence; then, perhaps, a solitary laugh in a corner of the gallery; then a sort of platoon fire in different parts of the house; and, finally, a simultaneous roar. so, when mr. john morley, in his admirable lecture on the carlyle centenary celebration (dec. , ), quoted carlyle's saying about sterling: "we talked about this thing and that--except in opinion not disagreeing," there was a lapse of half-a-minute before the audience realised that the saying had a humorous turn. in an american audience, and i believe also in a scottish one, the report would have been simultaneous with the flash. perhaps the americans themselves are just a little too sure of their superiority to the english in point of humour, and indeed they often carry their witticisms on the supposed english "obtuseness" to a point at which exaggeration ceases to be funny. it is certainly not every american who scoffs at english wit that is entitled to do so. there are dullards in the united states as well as elsewhere; and nothing can well be more ghastly than american humour run into the ground. on the other hand their sense of loyalty to humour makes them much more free in using it at their own expense; and some of their stories show themselves up in the light usually reserved for john bull. i remember, unpatriotically, telling a stock story (to illustrate the english slowness to take a joke) to an american writer whose pictures of new england life are as full of a delicate sense of humour as they are of real and simple pathos. it was, perhaps, the tale of the london bookseller who referred to his own coiffure the american's remark apropos of the two-volume english edition of a well-known series of "walks in london"--"ah, i see you part your _hare_ in the middle." whatever it was, my hearer at once capped it by the reply of a boston girl to her narration of the following anecdote: a railway conductor, on his way through the cars to collect and check the tickets, noticed a small hair-trunk lying in the forbidden central gangway, and told the old farmer to whom it apparently belonged that it must be moved from there at once. on a second round he found the trunk still in the passage, reiterated his instructions more emphatically, and passed on without listening to the attempted explanations of the farmer. on his third round he cried: "now, i gave you fair warning; here goes;" and tipped the trunk overboard. then, at last, the slow-moving farmer found utterance and exclaimed: "all right! the trunk is none o' mine!" to which the boston girl: "well, whose trunk was it?" we agreed, _nem. con._, that this was indeed _anglis ipsis anglior_. these remarks as to the comparative merits of english and american humour must be understood as referring to the average man in each case--the "man on the cars," as our cousins have it. it would be a very different position, and one hardly tenable, to maintain that the land of mark twain has produced greater literary humorists than the land of charles lamb. in the matter of comic papers it may also be doubted, even by those who most appreciate american humour, whether england has altogether the worst of it. it is the fashion in the states to speak of "poor old _punch_," and to affect astonishment at seeing in its "senile pages" anything that they have to admit to be funny. doubtless a great deal of very laborious and vapid jesting goes on in the pages of the _doyen_ of english comic weeklies; but at its best _punch_ is hard to beat, and its humours have often a literary quality such as is seldom met with in an american journal of the same kind. no american paper can even remotely claim to have added so much to the gaiety of nations as the pages that can number names like leech and thackeray, douglas jerrold and tom hood, burnand and charles keene, du maurier and tenniel, linley sambourne and the author of "vice versâ," among its contributors past and present. and besides--and the claim is a proud one--_punch_ still remains the only comic paper of importance that is always a perfect gentleman--a gentleman who knows how to behave both in the smoking-room and the drawing-room, who knows when a jest oversteps the boundary line of coarseness, who realises that a laugh can sometimes be too dearly won. _punch_ is certainly a comic journal of which the english have every reason to be proud; but if we had to name the paper most typical of the english taste in humour we should, perhaps, be shamefacedly compelled to turn to _ally sloper_. the best american comic paper is _life_, which is modelled on the lines of the _münchener fliegende blätter_, perhaps the funniest and most mirth-provoking of all professedly humorous weeklies. among the most attractive features are the graceful and dignified drawings of mr. charles dana gibson, who has in its pages done for american society what mr. du maurier has done for england by his scenes in _punch_; the sketches of f.g. attwood and s.w. van schaick; and the clever verses of m.e.w. the dryness, the smart exaggeration, the point, the unexpectedness of american humour are all often admirably represented in its pages; and the faults and foibles of contemporary society are touched off with an inimitable delicacy of satire both in pencil and pen work. _life_, like _punch_, has also its more serious side; and, if it has never produced a "song of the shirt," it earns our warm admiration for its steadfast championing of worthy causes, its severe and trenchant attacks on rampant evils, and its eloquent tributes to men who have deserved well of the country. on the other hand, it not unfrequently publishes jokes the birth of which considerably antedates that of the united states itself; and it sometimes descends to a level of trifling flatness and vapidity which no english paper of the kind can hope to equal. it is hard--for a british critic at any rate--to see any perennial interest in the long series of highly exaggerated drawings and jests referring to the gutter children of new york, a series in which the same threadbare _motifs_ are constantly recurring under the thinnest of disguises. and occasionally--very occasionally--there is a touch of coarseness in the drawings of _life_ which suggests the worst features of its german prototype rather than anything it has borrowed from england. among the political comic journals of america mention may be made of _puck_, the rough and gaudy cartoons of which have often what the germans would call a _packende derbheit_ of their own that is by no means ineffective. of the other american--as, indeed, of the other british--comic papers i prefer to say nothing, except that i have often seen them in houses and in hands to which they seemed but ill adapted. among the characteristics of american humour--the humour of the average man, the average newspaper, the average play--are its utter irreverence, its droll extravagance, its dry suggestiveness, its _naïveté_ (real or apparent), its affectation of seriousness, its fondness for antithesis and anti-climax. mark twain may stand as the high priest of irreverence in american humour, as witnessed in his "innocents abroad" and his "yankee at the court of king arthur." in this regard the humour of our transatlantic cousins cannot wholly escape a charge of debasing the moral currency by buffoonery. it has no reverence for the awful mystery of death and the great beyond. an undertaker will place in his window a card bearing the words: "you kick the bucket; we do the rest." a paper will head an account of the hanging of three mulattoes with "three chocolate drops." it has no reverence for the names and phrases associated with our deepest religious feelings. buckeye's patent filter is advertised as thoroughly reliable--"being what it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be." mr. boyesen tells of meeting a venerable clergyman, whose longevity, according to his introducer, was due to the fact that "he was waiting for a vacancy in the trinity." one of the daily bulletins of the captain of the large excursion steamer on which i visited alaska read as follows: "the lord only knows when it will clear; and _he_ won't tell." and none of the two hundred passengers seemed to find anything unseemly in this official freedom with the name of their creator. on a british steamer there would almost certainly have been some sturdy puritan to pull down the notice. one of the best newspaper accounts of the republican convention that nominated mr. j.g. blaine for president in began as follows: "now a man of god, with a bald head, calls the deity down into the _mêlée_ and bids him make the candidate the right one and induce the people to elect him in november." if i here mention the newspaper head-line (apropos of a hanging) "jerked to jesus," it is mainly to note that m. blouët saw it in and m. bourget also purports to have seen it in . surely the american journalist has a fatal facility of repetition or--? american humour has no reverence for those in high position or authority. an american will say of his chief executive, "yes, the president has a great deal of taste--and all of it bad." a current piece of doggerel when i was in washington ran thus: "benny runs the white house, levi keeps a bar, johnny runs a sunday school-- and, damme, there you are!" the gentlemen named are the then president, mr. harrison; the vice-president, mr. morton, who was owner or part owner of one of the large washington hotels; and mr. wanamaker, postmaster general, well known as "an earnest christian worker." i have seen even the sacred declaration of independence imitated, both in wording and in external form, as the advertisement of a hotel. a story current in philadelphia refers to mr. richard vaux, an eminent citizen and member of a highly respected old quaker family, who in his youth had been an _attaché_ of the american legation in london. one of his letters home narrated with pardonable pride that he had danced with the princess victoria at a royal ball and had found her a very charming partner. his mother replied: "it pleaseth me much, richard, to hear of thy success at the ball in buckingham palace; but thee must remember it would be a great blow to thy father to have thee marry out of meeting." philosophy, art, and letters receive no greater deference at the hands of the american humorist. even an oliver wendell holmes will say of metaphysics that it is like "splitting a log; when you have done, you have two more to split." a poster long used by the comedians crane and robson represented these popular favourites in the guise of the two lowermost cherubs in the sistine madonna. bill nye's assertion that "the peculiarity of classical music is that it is so much better than it sounds" is typical of a whole battalion of quips. scenery, even when associated with poetry, fares no better. the advertising fiend who defaces the most picturesque rocks with his atrocious announcements is, perhaps, hardly entitled to the name of humorist; but the man who affixed the name of minniegiggle to a small fall near the famous minnehaha evidently thought himself one. so, doubtless, did one of my predecessors in a dressing-cabin at niagara, who had inscribed on its walls: "cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered! but the man who desc_i_nds through the cave of the winds can give points to the noble six hundred." of the extravagant exaggeration of american humour it is hardly necessary to give examples. this, to the ordinary observer, has perhaps been always its salient feature; and stock examples will occur to everyone. it is easy to see how readily this form of humour can be abused, and as a matter of fact it is abused daily and hourly. many would-be american humorists fail entirely to see that exaggeration _alone_ is not necessarily funny. to illustrate: the story of the woman who described the suddenness of the american cyclone by saying that, as she looked up from her gardening, "she saw the air black with her intimate friends," seems to me a thoroughly humorous application of the exaggeration principle. so, too, is the description of a man so terribly thin that he never could tell whether he had the stomach-ache or the lumbago. but the jester who expects you to laugh at the tale of the fish that was so large that the water of the lake subsided two feet when it was drawn ashore simply does not know where humour ends and drivelling idiocy begins. the dry suggestiveness of american humour is also a well-known feature. in its crudest phase it assumes such forms as the following: "mrs. william hankins lighted her fire with coal oil on february . her clothes fit the present mrs. hankins to a t." the ordinary englishman will see the point of a jest like this (though his mind will not fly to it with the electric rapidity of the american's), but the more delicate forms of this allusive style of wit will often escape him altogether. or, if he now begins to "jump" with an almost american agility it is because the cleverest witticisms of the detroit _free press_ are now constantly served up to him in the comic columns of his evening paper. we have got the length of being consumers if not producers of this style of jest. in its higher developments this quality of humour melts imperceptibly into irony. this has been cultivated by the americans with great success--perhaps never better than in the columns of that admirable weekly journal the _nation_. anyone who cares to search the files of about eight or ten years back will find a number of ironical leaders, which by their subtlety and wit delighted those who "caught on," while, on the other hand, they often deceived even the elect americans themselves and provoked a shower of innocently approving or depreciatory letters. apart altogether from the specific difference between american and english humour we cannot help noticing how humour penetrates and gives savour to the _whole_ of american life. there is almost no business too important to be smoothed over with a jest; and serio-comic allusions may crop up amongst the most barren-looking reefs of scrip and bargaining. it is almost impossible to imagine a governor of the bank of england making a joke in his official capacity, but wit is perfected in the mouth of similar sucklings in new york. of recent prominent speakers in america all except carl schurz and george william curtis are professed humorists. when professor boyesen, at an examination in columbia college, set as one of the questions, "write an account of your life," he found that seventeen out of thirty-two responses were in a jocular vein. fifteen of the seventeen students bore names that indicated american parentage, while all but three of the non-jokers had foreign names. abraham lincoln is, of course, the great example of this tendency to introduce the element of humour into the graver concerns of life; and his biography narrates many instances of its most happy effect. _all_ the newspapers, including the religious weeklies, have a comic column. the tremendous seriousness with which the englishman takes himself and everything else is practically unknown in america; and the ponderous machinery of commercial and political life is undoubtedly facilitated in its running by the presence of the oil of a sub-conscious humorous intention. the american attitude, when not carried too far, seems, perhaps, to suggest a truer view of the comparative importance of things; the american seems to say: "this matter is of importance to you and for me, but after all it does not concern the orbit of a planet and there is no use talking and acting as if it did." this sense of humour often saves the american in a situation in which the englishman would have recourse to downright brutality; it unties the gordian knot instead of cutting it. a too strong conviction of being in the right often leads to conflicts that would be avoided by a more humorous appreciation of the relative importance of phenomena. to look on life as a jest is no doubt a deep of cynicism which is not and cannot lead to good, but to recognise the humorous side, the humorous possibilities running through most of our practical existence, often works as a saving grace. to his lack of this grace the englishman owes much of his unpopularity with foreigners, much of the difficulty he experiences in inducing others to take his point of view, even when that point of view is right. you may as well hang a dog as give him a bad name; and a sense of humour which would prevent john bull from calling a thing "un-english," when he means bad or unpractical, would often help him smoothly towards his goal. to his possession of a keen sense of humour the yankee owes much of his success; it leads him, with a shrug of his shoulders, to cease fighting over names when the real thing is granted; it may sometimes lean to a calculating selfishness rather than spontaneous generosity, but on the whole it softens, enriches, and facilitates the problems of existence. it may, however, be here noted that some observers, such as professor boyesen, think that there is altogether too much jocularity in american life, and claim that the constant presence of the jest and the comic anecdote have done much to destroy conversation and eloquence. humour also acts as a great safety-valve for the excitement of political contests. when i was in new york, just before the election of president harrison in , two great political processions took place on the same day. in the afternoon some thirty thousand republicans paraded the streets between lines of amused spectators, mostly democrats. in the evening as many democrats carried their torches through the same thoroughfares. no collisions of any kind took place; no ill humour was visible. the republicans seemed to enjoy the jokes and squibs and flaunting mottoes of the democrats; and when a republican banner appeared with the legend, "no frigid north, no torrid south, no temperate east, no _sackville west_," nobody appeared to relish it more than the hard-hit democrat. the cleveland cry of "four, four, four years more" was met forcibly and effectively with the simple adaptation, "four, four, four _months_ more," which proved the more prophetic of that gentleman's then stay at the white house. at midnight, three days later, i was jammed in the midst of a yelling crowd in chestnut street, philadelphia, watching the electoral returns thrown by a stereopticon light, as they arrived, on large white sheets. keener or more interested partisans i never saw; but at the same time i never saw a more good-humored crowd. if i encountered one policeman that night that was all i did see; and the police reports next morning, in a city of a million inhabitants let loose in the streets on a public holiday, reported the arrest of five drunk men and one pickpocket! election bets are often made payable in practical jokes instead of in current coin. thus, after election day you will meet a defeated republican wheeling his democratic friend through the chuckling crowd in a wheelbarrow, or walking down the bond street of his native town with a coal-black african laundress on his arm. but in such forms of jesting as in "white hat day," at the stock exchange of new york, americans come perilously near the londoner's standard of the truly funny. in comparing american humour with english we must take care that we take class for class. those of us who find it difficult to get up a laugh at _judge_, or bill nye, or josh billings, have at least to admit that they are not quite so feeble as _ally sloper_ and other cognate english humorists. when we reach the level of artemus ward, ik marvel, h.c. bunner, frank stockton, and mark twain, we may find that we have no equally popular contemporary humorists of equal excellence; and these are emphatically humorists of a pure american type. if humour of a finer point be demanded it seems to me that there are few, if any, living english writers who can rival the delicate satiric powers of a henry james or the subtle suggestiveness of mr. w.d. howells' farces, for an analogy to which we have to look to the best french work of the kind. but this takes us beyond the scope of this chapter, which deals merely with the humour of the "man on the cars." footnotes: [ ] in an english issue of artemus ward, apparently edited by mr. john camden hotten (chatto and windus), this passage is accompanied with the following gloss: "here again artemus called in the aid of pleasant banter as the most fitting apology for the atrocious badness of the painting." this note is an excellent illustration of english obtuseness--if needed, on the part of the reading public; if needless, on the part of the editor. ix american journalism--a mixed blessing the average british daily newspaper is, perhaps, slightly in advance of its average reader; if we could imagine an issue of the _standard_, or the _daily chronicle_, or the _scotsman_ metamorphosed into human form, we should probably have to admit that the being thus created was rather above the average man in taste, intelligence, and good feeling. speaking roughly, and making allowances for all obvious exceptions, i should be inclined to say that a similar statement would not be as universally true of the american paper and the american public, particularly if the female citizen were included under the latter head. if the intelligent foreigner were to regard the british citizen as practically an incarnation of his daily press, whether metropolitan or provincial, he would be doing him more than justice; if he were to apply the same standard to the american press and the american citizen, it would not be the latter who would profit by the assumption. the american paper represents a distinctly lower level of life than the english one; it would often seem as if the one catered for the least intelligent class of its readers, while the other assumed a standard higher than most of its readers could reach. the cultivated american is certainly not so slangy as the paper he reads; he is certainly not keenly interested in the extremely silly social items of which it contains several columns. such journals as the new york _evening post_ and the springfield _republican_ are undoubtedly worthy of mention alongside of our most reputable dailies; but journals of their admirably high standard are comparatively rare, and no cultivated english visitor to the united states can have been spared a shock at the contrast between his fastidious and gentlemanly host and the general tone of the sheet served up with the matutinal hot cakes, or read by him on the cars and at the club. various causes may be suggested for this state of affairs. for one thing, the mass of half-educated people in the united states--people intelligent enough to take a lively interest in all that pertains to humanity, but not trained enough to insist on literary _form_--is so immense as practically to swamp the cultivated class and render it a comparatively unimportant object for the business-like editor. in england a standard of taste has been gradually evolved, which is insisted on by the educated class and largely taken on authority by others. in america practically no such standard is recognised; no one there would continue to take in a paper he found dull because the squire and the parson subscribed for it. the american reader--even when himself of high education and refinement--is a much less responsible being than the englishman, and will content himself with a shrug of his shoulders where the latter would write a letter of indignant protest to the editor. i have more than once asked an american friend how he could endure such a daily repast of pointless vulgarity, slipshod english, and general second-rateness; but elicited no better answer than that one had to see the news, that the editorial part of the paper was well done, and that a man had to make the best of what existed. this is a national trait; it has simply to be recognised as such. perhaps the fact that there is no metropolitan press in america to give tone to the rest of the country may also count for something in this connection. the press of washington, the political capital, is distinctly provincial; and the new york papers, though practically representative of the united states for the outside world, can hardly be said to play a genuinely metropolitan rôle within the country itself. the principal characteristics of american journalism may be summed up in the word "enterprise." no one on earth is more fertile in expedients than an american editor, kept constantly to the collar by a sense of competing energies all around him. no trouble, or expense, or contrivance is spared in the collection of news; scarcely any item of interest is overlooked by the army of alert reporters day and night in the field. the old-world papers do not compete with those of the new in the matter of _quantity_ of news. but just here comes in one of the chief faults of the american journal, one of the besetting sins of the american people,--their well-known love of "bigness," their tendency to ask "how much?" rather than "of what kind?" there is a lack of discrimination in the daily bill of fare served up by the american press that cannot but disgust the refined and tutored palate. it is only the boor who demands a savoury and a roast of equal bulk; it is only the vulgarian who wishes as much of his paper occupied by brutal prize-fights or vapid "personals" as by important political information or literary criticism. there is undoubtedly a modicum of truth in matthew arnold's sneer that american journals certainly supply news enough--but it is the news of the servants' hall. it is as if the helm were held rather by the active reporter than by the able editor. it is said that while there are eight editors to one reporter in denmark, the proportion is exactly reversed in the united states. the net of the ordinary american editor is at least as indiscriminating as that of the german historiographer: every detail is swept in, irrespective of its intrinsic value. the very end for which the newspaper avowedly exists is often defeated by the impossibility of finding out what is the important news of the day. the reporter prides himself on being able to "write up" the most intrinsically uninteresting and unimportant matter. the best american critics themselves agree on this point. mr. howells writes: "there are too many things brought together in which the reader can and should have no interest. the thousand and one petty incidents of the various casualties of life that are grouped together in newspaper columns are profitless expenditure of money and energy." the culminating point of this aimless congeries of reading matter, good, bad, and indifferent, is attained in the sunday editions of the larger papers. nothing comes amiss to their endless columns: scandal, politics, crochet-patterns, bogus interviews, puerile hoaxes, highly seasoned police reports, exaggerations of every kind, records of miraculous cures, funny stories with comic cuts, society paragraphs, gossip about foreign royalties, personalities of every description. in fact, they form the very ragbag of journalism. an unreasonable pride is taken in their very bulk--as if forty pages _per se_ were better than one; as if the tons of garbage in the sunday issue of the gotham _gasometer_ outweighed in any valuable sense the ten or twelve small pages of the parisian _temps_. not but that there is a great deal of good matter in the sunday papers. _wer vieles bringt wird manchem etwas bringen_; and he who knows where to look for it will generally find some edible morsel in the hog-trough. it has been claimed that the sunday papers of america correspond with the cheaper english magazines; and doubtless there is some truth in the assertion. the pretty little tale, the interesting note of popular science, or the able sketch of some contemporary political condition is, however, so hidden away amid a mass of feebly illustrated and vulgarly written notes on sport, society, criminal reports, and personal interviews with the most evanescent of celebrities that one cannot but stand aghast at this terrible misuse of the powerful engine of the press. it is idle to contend that the newspaper, as a business undertaking, must supply this sort of thing to meet the demand for it. it is (or ought to be) the proud boast of the press that it leads and moulds public opinion, and undoubtedly journalism (like the theatre) is at least as much the cause as the effect of the depravity of public taste. enterprising stage-managers have before now proved that shakespeare does _not_ spell ruin, and there are admirable journals in the united states which have shown themselves to be valuable properties without undue pandering to the frivolous or vicious side of the public instinct.[ ] a straw shows how the wind blows; let one item show the unfathomable gulf in questions of tone and taste that can subsist between a great american daily and its english counterparts. in the summer of an issue of one of the richest and most influential of american journals--a paper that such men as mr. cleveland and mr. mckinley have to take account of--published under the heading "a fortunate find" a picture of two girls in bathing dress, talking by the edge of the sea. one says to the other: "how did you manage your father? i thought he wouldn't let you come?" the answer is: "i caught him kissing the typewriter." it is, of course, perfectly inconceivable that any reputable british daily could descend to this depth of purposeless and odious vulgarity. if this be the style of humour desiderated, the thunderer may take as a well-earned compliment the american sneer that "no joke appears in the london _times_, save by accident." if another instance be wanted, take this: major calef, of boston, officiated as marshal at the funeral of his friend, gen. francis walker. in so doing he caught a cold, of which he died. an evening paper hereupon published a cartoon showing major calef walking arm in arm with death at general walker's funeral. americans are also apt to be proud of the number of their journals, and will tell you, with evident appreciation of the fact, that "nearly two thousand daily papers and fourteen thousand weeklies are published in the united states." unfortunately the character of their local journals does not altogether warrant the inference as to american intelligence that you are expected to draw. many of them consist largely of paragraphs such as the following, copied verbatim from an issue of the plattsburg _sentinel_ (september, ): george blanshard, of champlain, an experienced prescription clerk and a graduate of the albany school of pharmacy, has accepted a position in breed's drug-store at malone. clerk whitcomb, of the steamer "maquam," has finished his season's work in the boat, and has resumed his studies at burlington. i admit that the interest of the readers of the _sentinel_ in the doings of their friends mr. blanshard and mr. whitcomb is, perhaps, saner and healthier than that of the british snob in the fact that "prince and princess christian walked in the gardens of windsor castle and afterwards drove out for an airing." but that is the utmost that can be said for the propagation of such utter vapidities; and the man who pays his five cents for the privilege of reading them can scarcely be said to produce a certificate of intelligence in so doing. if the exhibition of such intellectual feebleness were the worst charge that could be brought against the american newspaper, there would be little more to say; but, alas, "there are some among the so-called leading newspapers of which the influence is wholly pernicious because of the perverted intellectual ability with which they are conducted." (prof. chas. e. norton, in the _forum_, february, .) the levity with which many--perhaps most--american journals treat subjects of serious importance is another unpleasant feature. they will talk of divorces as "matrimonial smash-ups," or enumerate them under the caption "divorce mill." murders and fatal accidents are recorded with the same jocosity. questions of international importance are handled as if the main purpose of the article was to show the writer's power of humour. serious speeches and even sermons are reported in a vein of flippant jocularity. the same trait often obtrudes into the review of books of the first importance. the traditional "no case--abuse the plaintiff's attorney" is translated into "can't understand or appreciate this--let's make fun of it." by the best papers--and these are steadily multiplying--the "interview" is looked upon as a serious opportunity to obtain in a concise form the views of a person of greater or less eminence on subjects of which he is entitled to speak with authority. by the majority of journals, however, the interview is abused to an inordinate extent, both as regards the individual and the public. it is used as a vehicle for the cheapest forms of wit and the most personal attack or laudation. my own experience was that the interviewer put a series of pre-arranged questions to me, published those of my answers which met his own preconceptions, and invented appropriate substitutes for those he did not honour with his approval. a chicago reporter made me say that english ignorance of america was so dense that "a gentleman of considerable attainments asked me if connecticut was not the capital of pittsburgh and notable for its great mormon temple,"--an elaborate combination due solely to his own active brain. the same ingenuous (and ingenious) youth caused me to invent "an erratic young londoner, who packed his bag and started at once for any out-of-the-way country for which a new guide-book was published." another, with equal lack of ground, committed me to the unpatriotic assertion that neither in great britain nor in any other part of europe was there any scenery to compare with that of the united states. but perhaps the unkindest cut of all was that of the reporter at washington who made me introduce my remarks by the fatuous expression "methought"! mr. e.a. freeman was much amused by a reporter who said of him: "when he don't know a thing, he says he don't. when he does, he speaks as if he were certain of it." mr. freeman adds: "to the interviewer this way of action seemed a little strange, though he clearly approved of the eccentricity." this gentleman's mental attitude, like his superiority to grammar, is, unfortunately, characteristic of hundreds of his colleagues on the american press. the distinction between the editorial and reportorial functions of a newspaper are apt to be much less clearly defined in the united states than in england. the english reporter, as a rule, confines himself strictly to his report, which is made without bias. a conservative speech is as accurately (though perhaps not as lengthily) reported in a liberal paper as in one of its own colour. all comment or criticism is reserved for the editorial columns. this is by no means the case in america. such an authority as the _atlantic monthly_ admits that wilful distortion is not infrequent: the reporter seems to consider it as part of his duty to amend the record in the interest of his own paper or party. the american reporter, in a word, may be more active-minded, more original, more amusing, than his english colleague; but he is seldom so accurate. this want of impartiality is another of the patent defects of the american daily press. it is a too unscrupulous partisan; it represents the ethics of the ward politician rather than the seeker after truth. if restraint be a sign of power, then the american press is weak indeed. there is no reticence about it. nothing is sacred to an american reporter; everything that can be in any sense regarded as an item of news is exposed to the full glare of publicity. it has come to be so widely taken for granted that one likes to see his name in the papers, that it is often difficult to make a lady or gentleman of the american press understand that you really prefer to have your family affairs left in the dusk of private life. the touching little story entitled "a thanksgiving breakfast," in _harper's magazine_ for november, , records an experience that is almost a commonplace except as regards the unusually thin skin of the victim and the unusual delicacy and good feeling of the operator. the writer of an interesting article in the _outlook_ (april , ), an admirable weekly paper published in new york, sums it up in a sentence: "it is no exaggeration to say that the wanton and unrestricted invasion of privacy by the modern press constitutes in certain respects the most offensive form of tyranny which the world has ever known." the writer then narrates the following incident to illustrate the length to which this invasion of domestic privacy is carried: a cultivated and refined woman living in a boarding-house was so unfortunate as to awaken the admiration of a young man of unbalanced mind who was living under the same roof. he paid her attentions which were courteously but firmly declined. he wrote her letters which were at first acknowledged in the most formal way, and finally ignored. no woman could have been more circumspect and dignified. the young man preserved copies of his own letters, introduced the two or three brief and formal notes which he had received in reply, made a story of the incident, stole the photograph of the woman, enclosed his own photograph, mailed the whole matter to a new york newspaper, and committed suicide. the result was a two or three column report of the incident, with portraits of the unfortunate woman and the suicide, and an elaborate and startling exaggeration of the few inconspicuous, insignificant, and colorless facts from which the narrative was elaborated. that a refined woman in american society should be exposed to such a brutal invasion of her privacy as that which was committed in this case reflects upon every gentleman in the country. no doubt, as the _outlook_ goes on to show, the american people are themselves largely responsible for this attitude of the press. they have as a whole not only less reverence than europeans for the privacy of others, but also less resentment for the violation of their own privacy. the new democracy has resigned itself to the custom of living in glass houses and regards the desire to shroud one's personal life in mystery as one of the survivals of the dark ages. the newspaper personalities are largely "the result of the desperate desire of the new classes, to whom democratic institutions have given their first chance, to discover the way to _live_, in the wide social meaning of the word." one regrettable result of the way in which the american papers turn liberty into license is that it actually deters many people from taking their share in public life. the fact that any public action is sure to bring down upon one's head a torrent of abuse or adulation, together with a microscopic investigation of one's most intimate affairs, is enough to give pause to all but the most resolute. leading journals go incredible lengths in the way they speak of public men. one of the best new york dailies dismissed mr. bryan as "a wretched, rattle-pated boy." others constantly alluded to mr. cleveland as "his corpulency." for weeks the new york _sun_ published a portrait of president hayes with the word fraud printed across the forehead. such competent observers as mr. george w. smalley (_harper's magazine_, july, ) bear testimony to the fact that the irresponsibility of the press has seriously diminished its influence for good. thus he points out that "the combined and active support given by the american press to the anglo-american arbitration treaty weighed as nothing with the senate." in recent mayoralty contests in new york and in boston, almost the whole of the local press carried on vigorous but futile campaigns against the successful candidates. several public libraries and reading-rooms have actually put some of the leading journals in an index expurgatorius.[ ] the moral and intellectual defects of the american newspaper are reflected in its outward dress. neither the paper nor the printing of a new york or boston daily paper is so good as that of the great english dailies. american editors are apt to claim a good deal of credit for the illustrations with which the pages of their journals are sprinkled; but a less justifiable claim for approbation was surely never filed. in nine cases out of ten the wood-cuts in an american paper are an insult to one's good taste and sense of propriety, and, indeed, form one of the chief reasons for classing the american daily press as distinctly lower than that of england. the reason of this physical inferiority i do not pretend to explain. it is, however, a strange phenomenon in a country which produces the most beautiful monthly magazines in the world, and also holds its own in the paper, printing, and binding of its books. but, as mr. freeman remarks, the magazines and books of england and america are merely varieties of the same species, while the daily journals of the two countries belong to totally different orders. many of the better papers are now beginning to give up illustrations. a bill to prevent the insertion in newspapers of portraits without the consent of the portrayed was even brought before the new york legislature. an exasperating feature of american newspapers, which seems to me to come also under the head of physical inferiority, is the practice of scattering an article over the whole of an issue. thus, on reaching the foot of a column on page we are more likely than not to be directed for its continuation on page or . the reason of this is presumably the desire to have all the best goods in the window; _i.e._, all the most important head-lines on the front page; but the custom is a most annoying one to the reader. it is frequently asserted by americans that their press is very largely controlled by capitalists, and that its columns are often venal. on such points as these i venture to make no assertion. to prove them would require either a special knowledge of the back-lobbies of journalism or so intimate an understanding of the working of american institutions and the evolution of american character as to be able to decide definitely that no other explanation can be given of the source of such-and-such newspaper actions and attitude. i confine myself to criticism on matters such as he who runs may read. it is, however, true that, contrary to the general spirit of the country, such questions as socialism and the labour movement seldom receive so fair and sympathetic treatment as in the english press. so many of the journalists i met in the united states were men of high character, intelligence, and breeding that it may seem ungracious and exaggerated to say that american newspaper men as a class seem to me distinctly inferior to the pressmen of great britain. but i believe this to be the case; and indeed a study of the journals of the two countries would alone warrant the inference. the trail of the reporter is over them all. not that i, mindful of the implied practicability of the passage of a needle's eye by a camel, believe it impossible for reporters to be gentlemen; but i do say that it is difficult for a reporter on the american system to preserve to the full that delicacy of respect for the mental privacy of others which we associate with the idea of true gentlemanliness. mr. smalley, in a passage controverting the general opinion that a journalist should always begin at the lowest rung of the ladder, admits that a modern reporter has often to approach people in a way that he will find it hard to reconcile with his own self-respect or the dignity of his profession. the representative of the press whom one meets in english society and clubs is very apt to be a university graduate, distinguished from his academic colleagues, if at all, by his superior ability and address. this is also true of many of the editorial writers of large american journals; but side by side with these will be found a large number of men who have worked their way up from the pettiest kind of reporting, and who have not had the advantage, at the most impressionable period of their career, of associating with the best-mannered men of the time. it is, of course, highly honourable to american society and to themselves that they have and take the opportunity of advancement, but the fact remains patent in their slipshod style and the faulty grammar of their writings, and in their vulgar familiarity of manner. it has been asserted that journalism in america is not a profession, and is "subject to none of the conditions that would entitle it to the name. there are no recognised rules of conduct for its members, and no tribunal to enforce them if there were." the startling contrasts in america which suggested the title of the present volume are, of course, well in evidence in the american press. not only are there many papers which are eminently unobnoxious to the charges brought against the american press generally, but different parts of the same paper often seem as if they were products of totally different spheres (or, at any rate, hemispheres). the "editorials," or leaders, are sometimes couched in a form of which the scholarly restraint, chasteness of style, moral dignity, and intellectual force would do honour to the best possible of papers in the best possible of worlds, while several columns on the front page of the same issue are occupied by an illustrated account of a prize-fight, in which the most pointless and disgusting slang, such as "tapping his claret" and "bunging his peepers," is used with blood-curdling frequency. in a paper that lies before me as i write, something like a dozen columns are devoted to a detailed account of the great contest between john l. sullivan and jim corbett (sept. , ), while the principal place on the editorial page (but only _one_ column) is occupied by a well-written and most appreciative article on the quaker poet whittier, who had gone to his long home just about the time the pugilists were battering each other at new orleans.[ ] it would give a false impression of american journalism as a whole if we left the question here. while american newspapers certainly exemplify many of the worst sides of democracy and much of the rawness of a new country, it would be folly to deny that they also participate in the attendant virtues of both the one and the other. the same inspiring sense of largeness and freedom that we meet in other american institutions is also represented in the press: the same absence of slavish deference to effete authority, the same openness of opportunity, the same freshness of outlook, the same spontaneity of expression, the same readiness in windbag-piercing, the same admiration for talent in whatever field displayed. the time-honoured alliance of dulness and respectability has had its decree _nisi_ from the american press. several of our own journalists have had the wit to see and the energy to adopt the best feature of the american style; and the result has been a distinct advance in the raciness and readableness of some of our best-known journals. the "americanisation of the british press" is no bugbear to stand in awe of, if only it be carried on with good sense and discrimination. we can most advantageously exchange lessons of sobriety and restraint for suggestions of candour, humour, and point; and america's share in the form of the ideal english reading journal of the future will possibly not be the smaller. the _nation_, a political and literary weekly, and the religious or semi-religious weekly journals like the _outlook_ and the _independent_, are superior to anything we have in the same _genre_; and the high-water mark even of the daily political press, though not very often attained, is perhaps almost on a level with the best in europe. richard grant white found a richness in the english papers, due to the far-reaching interests of the british empire, which made all other journalism seem tame and narrow; but perhaps he would now-a-days hesitate to attach this stigma to the best journals of new york. and, in conclusion, we must not forget that american papers have often lent all their energies to the championship of noble causes, ranging from the enthusiastic anti-slavery agitation of the new york _tribune_, under horace greeley, down to the crusade against body-snatching, successfully carried on by the _press_ of philadelphia, and to the agitation in favour of the horses of the fifth-avenue stages so pertinaciously fomented by the humorous journal _life_. * * * * * i cannot resist the temptation of printing part of a notice of "baedeker's handbook to the united states," which will show the almost incredible lengths to which the less cultured scribes of the american press carry their "spread-eagleism" even now. it is from a journal published in a city of nearly , inhabitants, the capital (though not the largest city) of one of the most important states in the union. it is headed "a blind guide:" it is simply incomprehensible that an author of so much literary merit in his preparation of guides to european countries should make the absolute failure that he has in the building of a guide to the united states intended for european travellers. as a guide, it is a monstrosity, fully as deceptive and misleading in its aims as it is ridiculous and unworthy in its criticisms of our people, our customs and habitations. it is not a guide in any sense, but a general tirade of abuse of americans and their country; a compilation of mean, unfair statements; of presumed facts that are a tissue of transparent falsehoods; of comparisons with europe and europeans that are odius (_sic_). baedeker sees very little to commend in america, but a great deal to criticise, and warns europeans coming to this country that they must use discretion if they expect to escape the machinations of our people and the snares with which they will be surrounded. any person who has ever travelled in europe and america will concede that in the united states the tourist enjoys better advantages in every way than he can in europe. our hotels possess by far better accommodations, and none of that "flunkeyism" which causes americans to smile as they witness it on arrival. our railway service is superior in every respect to that of europe. as regards civility to strangers the americans are unequalled on the face of the globe. in antiquity europe excels; but in natural picturesque scenery the majestic grandeur of our west is so far ahead of anything to be seen in europe, even in beautiful switzerland, that the alien beholder cannot but express wonder and admiration. baedeker has made a mistake in his attempt to underrate america and americans, its institutions and their customs. true, our nation is in a crude state as compared with the old monarchies of europe, but in enterprise, business qualifications, politeness, literary and scientific attainments, and in fact all the essential qualities that tend to constitute a people and a country, america is away in the advance of staid, old foggy (_sic_) europe, and baedeker will find much difficulty to eradicate that all-important fact. i hasten to assure my english readers that this is no fair sample of transatlantic journalism, and that nine out of ten of my american acquaintances would deem it as unique a literary specimen as they would. at the same time i may remind my american readers that the scutcheon of american journalism is not so bright as it might be while blots of this kind occur on it, and that it is the blatancy of americans of this type that tends to give currency to the distorted opinion of uncle sam that prevails so widely in europe. perhaps i shall not be misunderstood if i say that this review is by no means typical of the notice taken by american journals of "baedeker's handbook to the united states." whatever other defects were found in it, reviewers were almost unanimous in pronouncing it fair and free from prejudice. indeed, the reception of the handbook by the american press was so much more friendly than i had any right to expect that it has made me feel some qualms in writing this chapter of criticism, while it must certainly relieve me of any possible charge of a wish to retaliate. footnotes: [ ] writing of theatrical managers, the _century_ (november, ) says: "one of the greatest obstacles in the way of reform is the inability of these same men to discern the trend of intelligent, to say nothing of cultivated, public opinion, or to inform themselves of the existence of the widespread craving for higher and better entertainment." [ ] the so-called "yellow press" has reached such an extreme of extravagance during the progress of the spanish-american war that it may be hoped that it has at last dug its own grave. on the other hand, many journals were perceptibly steadied by having so vital an issue to occupy their columns, and the tone of a large section of the press was distinctly creditable. [ ] it may be doubted, however, whether any american author of similar standing would devote a chapter to the loathsome details of the prize-ring, as mr. george meredith does in his novel "the amazing marriage." x some literary straws by far the most popular novel of the london season of was "the manxman," by mr. hall caine. its sale is said to have reached a fabulous number of thousands of copies, and the testimony of the public press and the circulating library is unanimous as to the supremacy of its vogue. in the united states the favourite book of the year was mr. george du maurier's "trilby." to the practical and prosaic evidence of the eager purchase of half a million copies we have to add the more romantic homage of the new western towns (trilbyville!) and patent bug exterminators named after the heroine. it may, possibly, be worth while examining the predominant qualities of the two books with a view to ascertain what light their similarities and differences may throw upon the respective literary tastes of the englishman and the american. there has, i believe, been no important critical denial of the right of "the manxman" to rank as a "strong" book. the plot is drawn with consummate skill--not in the sense of a gaborian-like unravelment of mystery, but in its organic, natural, inevitable development, and in the abiding interest of its evolution. the details are worked in with the most scrupulous care. rarely, in modern fiction, have certain elemental features of the human being been displayed with more determination and pathos. the central _motif_ of the story--the corrosion of a predominantly righteous soul by a repented but hidden sin culminating in an overwhelming necessity of confession--is so powerfully presented to us that we forget all question of originality until our memory of the fascinating pages has cooled down. then we may recall the resemblance of theme in the recent novel entitled "the silence of dean maitland," while we find the prototype of both these books in "the scarlet letter" of nathaniel hawthorne, who has handled the problem with a subtlety and haunting weirdness to which neither of the english works can lay any claim. as our first interest in the story farther cools, it may occur to us that the very perfection of plot in "the manxman" gives it the effect of a "set piece;" its association with mr. wilson barrett and the boards seems foreordained. it may seem to us that there is a little forcing of the pathos, that a certain artificiality pervades the scene. in a word, we may set down "the manxman" as melodrama--melodrama at its best, but still melodrama. its effects are vivid, positive, sensational; its analysis of character is keen, but hardly subtle; it appeals to the british public's love of the obvious, the full-blooded, the thorough-going; it runs on well-tried lines; it is admirable, but it is not new. "trilby" is a very different book, and it would be a catholic palate indeed that would relish equally the story of the paris grisette and the story of the manx deemster. in "trilby" the blending of the novel and the romance, of the real and the fantastic, is as much of a stumbling-block to john bull as it is, for example, in ibsen's "lady from the sea." "the central idea," he might exclaim, "is utterly extravagant; the transformation by hypnotism of the absolutely tone-deaf girl into the unutterably peerless singer is unthinkable and absurd." the admirers of "trilby" may very well grant this, and yet feel that their withers are unwrung. it is not in the hypnotic device and its working out that they find the charm of the story; it is not the plot that they are mainly interested in; it is not even the slightly sentimental love-story of trilby and little billee. they are willing to let the whole framework, as it were, of the book go by the board; it is not the thread of the narrative, but the sketches and incidents strung on it, that appeals to them. they revel in the fascinating novelty and ingenuousness of the du maurier vein, the art that is superficially so artless, the exquisitely simple delicacy of touch, the inimitable fineness of characterisation, the constant suggestion of the tender and true, the keen sense of the pathetic in life and the humour that makes it tolerable, the lovable drollery that corrects the tendency to the sentimental, the subtle blending of the strength of a man with the _naïveté_ of the child, the ambidextrous familiarity with english and french life, the kindliness of the satire, the absence of all straining for effect, the deep humanity that pervades the book from cover to cover. if, therefore, we take "the manxman" and "trilby" as types of what specially appeals to the reading public of england and america, we should conclude that the englishman calls for strength and directness, the american for delicacy and suggestiveness. the former does not insist so much on originality of theme, if the handling be but new and clever; there are certain elementary passions and dramatic situations of which the british public never wearies. the american does not clamour for telling "curtains," if the character-drawing be keen, the conversations fresh, sparkling, and humorous. john bull likes vividness and solidity of impasto; jonathan's eye is often more pleasantly affected by a delicate gradation of half-tones. the one desires the downright, the concrete, the real; the other is titillated by the subtle, the allusive, the half-spoken. the antithesis is between _force_ and _finesse_, between the palpable and the impalpable.[ ] if anybody but george du maurier could have written "trilby," it seems to me it would have been an american rather than a full-blooded englishman. the keenness of the american appreciation of the book corresponds to elements in the american nature. the anglo-french blend of mr. du maurier's literary genius finds nearer analogues in american literature than in either english or french. the best writing of our american cousins has, of course, much that it shares with our own, much that is purely english in source and inspiration. longfellow, for instance, might almost have been an englishman, and his great popularity in england probably owed nothing to the attraction exercised by the unfamiliar. the english traits, moreover, are often readily discernible even in those works that smack most of the soil. when, however, we seek the differentiating marks of american literature, we find that many of them are also characteristics of the writings of mr. du maurier, while they are much less conspicuous in those of mr. hall caine. among such marks are its freshness and spontaneity, untrammelled by authority or tradition; its courage in tackling problems elsewhere tabooed; its breezy intrepidity, rooted half in conscious will and half in _naïve_ ignorance. besides these, we find features that we should hardly have expected on _a priori_ grounds. a wideness of sweep and elemental greatness in proportion to the natural majesty of the huge new continent are hardly present; walt whitman remains an isolated phenomenon. instead, we meet in the best american literature an almost aristocratic daintiness and feeling for the refined and select. as compared with the british school, the leading american school is marked by an increased delicacy of _finesse_, a tendency to refine and refine, a perhaps exaggerated dread of the platitude and the commonplace, a fondness for analysis, a preference for character over event, an avoidance of absolutely untempered seriousness and solidity. mr. bryce notes that the verdicts of the best literary circles of the united states often seem to "proceed from a more delicate and sympathetic insight" than ours. this fastidiousness of the best writers and critics of america is by no means inconsistent with the existence of an enormous class of half-educated readers, who devour the kind of "literature" provided for them, and batten in their various degrees on the productions of mr. e.p. roe, miss laura jean libbey, or the _sunday war-whoop_. the evolution of democracy in the literary sphere is exactly analogous to its course in the political sphere. in both there is the same tendency to go too far, to overturn the good and legitimate authority as well as the bad and oppressive; both are apt, to use the homely german proverb, "to throw the baby out of the bath along with the dirty water." this lack of discrimination leads to the rushing in of fools where angels might well fear to tread. all sorts of men try to write books, and all sorts of men think they are able to judge them. the old standard of authority is overthrown, and for a time no other takes its place with the great mass of the reading public. this state of affairs is, however, by no means one that need make us despair of the literary future of america. it reminds me of the mental condition of a kindly american tourist who once called at our office in leipsic to give us the benefit of the corrections he had made on "baedeker's handbooks" during his peregrination of europe. "here," he said, "is one error which i am absolutely sure of: you call this a statue of minerva; but i know that's wrong, because i saw _pallas_ carved on the pedestal!" when i told this tale to english friends, they saw in it nothing but a proof of the colossal ignorance of the travelling american. to my mind, however, it redounded more to the credit of america than to its discredit. it showed that americans of defective education felt the need of culture and spared no pains to procure it. a london tradesman with the education of my american friend would probably never extend his ideas of travelling beyond margate, or at most a week's excursion to "parry." but this indefatigable tourist had visited all the chief galleries of europe, and had doubtless greatly improved his taste in art and educated his sense of the refined and beautiful, even though his book-learning had not taught him that the same goddess might have two different names. the application of this anecdote to the present condition of american literature is obvious. the great fact is that there is an enormous crowd of readers, and the great hope is that they will eventually work their way up through miss laura jean libbey to heights of purer air. america has not so much degraded a previously existing literary palate as given a taste of some sort to those who under old-world conditions might never have come to it. in american literature as in american life we find all the phenomena of a transition period--all the symptoms that might be expected from the extraordinary mixture of the old and the new, the childlike and the knowing, the past and the present, in this land of contrasts. the startling difference between the best and the worst writers is often reflected in different works by the same author; or a real and strong natural talent for writing will be found conjoined with an extraordinary lack of education and training. an excellent piece of english--pithy, forcible, and even elegant--will often shatter on some simple grammatical reef, such as the use of "as" for "that" ("he did not know as he could"), or of the plural for the singular ("a long ways off"). mr. james lane allen, the author of a series of refined and delicately worded romances, can write such phrases as "in a voice neither could scarce hear" and "shake hands with me and _tell_ me good-by." ("the choir invisible," pp. , .) i know not whether the phrase "was graduated," applied not to a vernier, but to a student, be legitimate or not; it is certainly so used by the best american writers. another common american idiom that sounds queer to british ears is, "the minutes were ordered printed" (for "to be printed"). misquotations and misuse of foreign phrases are terribly rife; and even so spirited and entertaining a writer as miss f.c. baylor will write: "this jenny, with the _esprit de l'escalier_ of her sex, had at once divined and resented" ("on both sides," p. ). in the same way one is constantly appalled in conversation by hearing college graduates say "acrost" for "across" and making other "bad breaks" which in england could not be conjoined with an equal amount of culture and education. the extreme fastidiousness and delicacy of the leading american writers, as above referred to, may be to a large extent accounted for by an inevitable reaction against the general tendency to the careless and the slipshod, and is thus in its way as significant and natural a result of existing conditions as any other feature of american literature. perhaps a secondary cause of this type of writing may be looked for in the fact that so far the spirit of new england has dominated american literature. even those writers of the south and west who are freshest in their material and vehicle are still permeated by the tone, the temper, the method, the ideals, of the new england school. and certainly allibone's dictionary of authors shows that an enormous proportion of american writers are to this day of new england origin or descent. among living american writers the two whose names occur most spontaneously to the mind as typical examples are, perhaps, henry james and w.d. howells. of these the former has identified himself so much with european life and has devoted himself so largely to european subjects that we, perhaps, miss to some extent the american atmosphere in his works, though he undoubtedly possesses the american quality of workmanship in a very high degree. or, to put it in another way, his touch is indisputably american, while his accessories, his _staffage_, are cosmopolitan. his american hand has become dyed to that it works in. this, however, is more true of his later than of his earlier works. that imperishable little classic "daisy miller" is a very exquisite and typical specimen of the american suggestiveness of style; indeed, as i have hinted (chapter iv.), its suggestiveness almost overshot the mark and required the explanation of a dramatic key. his dislike of the obvious and the commonplace sometimes leads mr. james to become artificial and even obscure,[ ] but at its best his style is as perspicuous as it is distinguished, dainty, and subtle; there is, perhaps, no other living artist in words who can give his admirers so rare a literary pleasure in mere exquisiteness of workmanship. mr. howells, unlike mr. james, is purely and exclusively american, in his style as in his subject, in his main themes as in his incidental illustrations, in his spirit, his temperament, his point of view. no one has written more pleasantly of venice; but just as surely there is a something in his venetian sketches which no one but an american could have put there. mr. james may be as patriotic a citizen of the great republic, but there is not so much tangible evidence of the fact in his writings; mr. howells may be as cosmopolitan in his sympathies as mr. james, but his writings alone would hardly justify the inference. mr. howells also possesses a _bonhomie_, a geniality, a good-nature veiled by a slight mask of cynicism, that may be personal, but which strikes one as also a characteristic american trait. mr. james is not, i hasten to say, the reverse of this, but he shows a coolness in his treatment, a lordly indifference to the fate of his creations, an almost pitiless keenness of analysis, which savour a little more of an end-of-the-century european than of a young and genial democracy. mr. howells is, perhaps, not always so well appreciated in his own country as he deserves--and this in spite of the facts that his novels are widely read and his name is in all the magazines. what i mean is, that in the conversation of the cultured circles of boston or new york too much stress is apt to be laid on the prosaic and commonplace character of his materials. there are, perhaps, unusually good reasons for this point of view. cromwell's wife and daughters would probably prefer to have him painted wartless, but posterity wants him warts and all. so those to whom the average--the _very_ average--american is an every-day and all-day occurrence cannot abide him in their literature; while we who are removed by the ocean of space can enjoy these pictures of common life, as enabling us, better than any idealistic romance or study of the rare and extraordinary, to realise the life of our american cousins. to those who can read between the lines with any discretion, i should say that novels like "silas lapham" and "a modern instance" will give a clearer idea of american character and tendencies than any other contemporary works of fiction; to those who can read between the lines--for it is obvious that the commonplace and the slightly vulgar no more exhaust the field of society in the united states than elsewhere. but to me mr. howells, even when in his most realistic and sordid vein, always _suggests_ the ideal and the noble; the reverse of the medal proclaims loudly that it _is_ the reverse, and that there is an obverse of a very different kind to be seen by those who will turn the coin. it seems to me that no very great palæontological skill is necessary to reconstruct the whole frame of the animal from the portion that mr. howells sets up for us. his novels remind me of those maps of a limited area which indicate very clearly what lies beyond, by arrows on their margins. in nothing does mr. howells more clearly show his "americanism" than in his almost divinely sympathetic and tolerant attitude towards commonplace, erring, vulgar humanity. "ah, poor real life, which i love!" he writes somewhere; "can i make others share the delight i find in thy foolish and insipid face!" we must remember in reading him his own theory of the duty of the novelist. "i am extremely opposed to what we call ideal characters. i think their portrayal is mischievous; it is altogether offensive to me as an artist, and, as far as the morality goes, i believe that when an artist tries to create an ideal he mixes some truth up with a vast deal of sentimentality, and produces something that is extremely noxious as well as nauseous. i think that no man can consistently portray a probable type of human character without being useful to his readers. when he endeavors to create something higher than that, he plays the fool himself and tempts his readers to folly. he tempts young men and women to try to form themselves upon models that would be detestable in life, if they were ever found there." perhaps the delicacy of mr. howells' touch and the gentle subtlety of his satire are nowhere better illustrated than in the little drawing-room "farces" of which he frequently publishes one in an american magazine about christmas time. i call them farces because he himself applies that name to them; but these dainty little comediettas contain none of the rollicking qualities which the word usually connotes to english ears. they have all the _finesse_ of the best french work of the kind, combined with a purity of atmosphere and of intent that we are apt to claim as anglo-saxon, and which, perhaps, is especially characteristic of america. one is tired of hearing, in this connection, of the blush that rises to the innocent girl's cheek; but why should even those who are supposed to be past the age of blushing not also enjoy humour unspiced by even a suggestion of lubricity? the "mikado" and "pinafore" have done yeoman's service in displacing the meretricious delights of offenbach and lecocq; and howells' little pieces yield an exquisite, though innocent, enjoyment to those whose taste in farces has not been fashioned and spoiled by clumsy english adaptations or imitations of intriguing _levers-de-rideau_, and to those who do not associate the name of farce with horse-play and practical joking. they form the best illustration of what has been described as mr. howells' "method of occasionally opening up to the reader through the bewilderingly intricate mazes of his dialogue clear perceptions of the true values of his characters, imitating thus the actual trick of life, which can safely be depended on to now and then expose meanings that words have cleverly served the purpose of concealing." if i hesitate to call them comediettas "in porcelain," it is because the suggested analogy falls short, owing to the greater reconditeness, the purer intellectual quality, of mr. howells' humour as compared with mr. austin dobson's. so intensely american in quality are these scenes from the lives of mr. and mrs. willis campbell, mr. and mrs. roberts, and their friends, that it sometimes seems to me that they might almost be used as touchstones for the advisability of a visit to the united states. if you can appreciate and enjoy these farces, go to america by all means; you will have a "good time." if you cannot, better stay at home, unless your motive is merely one of base mechanic necessity; you will find the american atmosphere a little too rare. a recent phase of mr. howells' activity--that, namely, in which, like mr. william morris, he has boldly risked his reputation as a literary artist in order to espouse unpopular social causes of whose justice he is convinced--will interest all who have hearts to feel as well as brains to think. he made his fame by consummately artistic work, addressed to the daintiest of literacy palates; and yet in such books as "a hazard of new fortunes" and "a traveller from altruria" he has conscientiously taken up the defence and propagation of a form of socialism, without blanching before the epicure who demands his literature "neat" or the philistine householder who brands all socialistic writings as dangerous. mr. howells, however, knows his public; and the reforming element in him cannot but rejoice at the hearing he has won through its artistic counterpart. no one of his literary brethren of any importance has, so far as i know, emulated his courage in this particular. some, like mr. bellamy, have made a reputation by their socialistic writings; none has risked so magnificent a structure already built up on a purely artistic foundation. it is mainly on account of this phase of his work, in which he has not forsaken his art, but makes it "the expression of his whole life and the thought and feeling mature life has brought to him," that mr. howells has been claimed as _the_ american novelist, the best delineator of american life.[ ] mr. howells the poet is not nearly so well known as mr. howells the novelist; and there are doubtless many european students of american literature who are unaware of the extremely characteristic work he has done in verse. the accomplished critic, mr. r.h. stoddard, writes thus of a volume of poems published by mr. howells about three years ago:[ ] "there is something here which, if not new in american poetry, has never before made itself so manifest there, never before declared itself with such vivacity and force, the process by which it emerged from emotion and clothed itself in speech being so undiscoverable by critical analysis that it seems, as matthew arnold said of some of wordsworth's poetry, as if nature took the pen from his hand and wrote in his stead." these poems are all short, and their titles (such as "what shall it profit?" "the sphinx," "if," "to-morrow," "good society," "equality," "heredity," and so forth) sufficiently indicate that they do not rank among the lighter triflings with the muse. their abiding sense of an awful and inevitable fate, their keen realisation of the startling contrasts between wealth and poverty, their symbolical grasp on the great realities of life and death, and the consummate skill of the artistic setting are all pervaded with something that recalls the paintings of mr. g.f. watts or the visions of miss olive schreiner. one specimen can alone be given here: "the bewildered guest "i was not asked if i should like to come. i have not seen my host here since i came, or had a word of welcome in his name. some say that we shall never see him, and some that we shall see him elsewhere, and then know why we were bid. how long i am to stay i have not the least notion. none, they say, was ever told when he should come or go. but every now and then there bursts upon the song and mirth a lamentable noise, a sound of shrieks and sobs, that strikes our joys dumb in our breasts; and then, someone is gone. they say we meet him. none knows where or when. we know we shall not meet him here again." mr. howells has, naturally enough, the defects of his qualities; and if it were my purpose here to present an exhaustive study of his writings, rather than merely to touch lightly upon his "american" characteristics, it would be desirable to consider some of these in this place. in his desire to avoid the merely pompous he sometimes falls into the really trifling. his love of analysis runs away with him at times; and parts of such books as "a world of chance" must weary all but his most undiscriminating admirers. his self-restraint sometimes disappoints us of a vivid colour or a passionate throb which we feel to be our due. his humour and his satire occasionally pass from the fine to the thin. it is, however, with mr. howells in his capacity of literary critic alone that my disappointment is too great to allow of silence. for the exquisiteness of a writer like mr. henry james he has the keenest insight, the warmest appreciation. his thorough-going conviction in the prime necessity of realism even leads him out of his way to commend gabriele d'annunzio, in whom some of us can detect little but a more than zolaesque coarseness with a total lack of zola's genius, insight, purpose, or philosophy. but when he comes to speak of a thackeray or a scott, his attitude is one that, to put it in the most complimentary form that i can think of, reminds us strongly of homeric drowsiness. the virtue of james is one thing and the virtue of scott is another; but surely admiration for both does not make too unreasonable a demand on catholicity of palate? mr. howells could never write himself down an ass, but surely in his criticism of the "wizard of the north" he has written himself down as one whose literary creed is narrower than his human heart. the school of which mr. henry james is a most accomplished member has added more than one exquisite new flavour to the banquet of letters; but it may well be questioned whether a taste for these may not be acquired at too dear a cost if it necessitates a loss of relish for the steady good sense, the power of historic realisation, the rich humanity, and the marvellously fertile imagination of walter scott. it is not, i hope, a merely national prejudice that makes me oppose mr. howells in this point, though, perhaps, there is a touch of remonstrance in the reflection that that great novelist seems to have no use for the briton in his works except as a foil or a butt for his american characters. in considering mr. howells as an exponent of americanism in literature, we have left him in an attitude almost of _americanus contra mundum_--at any rate in the posture of one who is so entirely absorbed by his delight in the contemporary and national existence around him as to be partially blind to claims separated from him by tracts of time and space. my next example of the american in literature is, i think, to the full as national a type as mr. howells, though her americanism is shown rather in subjective character than in objective theme. miss emily dickinson is still a name so unfamiliar to english readers that i may be pardoned a few lines of biographical explanation. she was born in , the daughter of the leading lawyer of amherst, a small and quiet town of new england, delightfully situated on a hill, looking out over the undulating woods of the connecticut valley. it is a little larger than the english marlborough, and like it owes its distinctive tone to the presence of an important educational institute, amherst college being one of the best-known and worthiest of the smaller american colleges. in this quiet little spot miss dickinson spent the whole of her life, and even to its limited society she was almost as invisible as a cloistered nun except for her appearances at an annual reception given by her father to the dignitaries of the town and college. there was no definite reason either in her physical or mental health for this life of extraordinary seclusion; it seems to have been simply the natural outcome of a singularly introspective temperament. she rarely showed or spoke of her poems to any but one or two intimate friends; only three or four were published during her lifetime; and it was with considerable surprise that her relatives found, on her death in , a large mass of poetical remains, finished and unfinished. a considerable selection from them has been published in three little volumes, edited with tender appreciation by two of her friends, mrs. mabel loomis todd and col. t.w. higginson. her poems are all in lyrical form--if the word form may be applied to her utter disregard of all metrical conventions. her lines are rugged and her expressions wayward to an extraordinary degree, but "her verses all show a strange cadence of inner rhythmical music," and the "thought-rhymes" which she often substitutes for the more regular assonances appeal "to an unrecognised sense more elusive than hearing" (mrs. todd). in this curious divergence from established rules of verse miss dickinson may be likened to walt whitman, whom she differs from in every other particular, and notably in her pithiness as opposed to his diffuseness; but with her we feel in the strongest way that her mode is natural and unsought, utterly free from affectation, posing, or self-consciousness. colonel higginson rightly finds her nearest analogue in william blake; but this "nearest" is far from identity. while tenderly feminine in her sympathy for suffering, her love of nature, her loyalty to her friends, she is in expression the most unfeminine of poets. the usual feminine impulsiveness and full expression of emotion is replaced in her by an extraordinary condensation of phrase and feeling. in her letters we find the eternal womanly in her yearning love for her friends, her brooding anxiety and sympathy for the few lives closely intertwined with her own. in her poems, however, one is rather impressed with the deep well of poetic insight and feeling from which she draws, but never unreservedly. in spite of frequent strange exaggeration of phrase one is always conscious of a fund of reserve force. the subjects of her poems are few, but the piercing delicacy and depth of vision with which she turned from death and eternity to nature and to love make us feel the presence of that rare thing, genius. hers is a wonderful instance of the way in which genius can dispense with experience; she sees more by pure intuition than others distil from the serried facts of an eventful life. perhaps, in one of her own phrases, she is "too intrinsic for renown," but she has appealed strongly to a surprisingly large band of readers in the united states, and it seems to me will always hold her audience. those who admit miss dickinson's talent, but deny it to be poetry, may be referred to thoreau's saying that no definition of poetry can be given which the true poet will not somewhere sometime brush aside. it is a new departure, and the writer in the _nation_ (oct. , ) is probably right when he says: "so marked a new departure rarely leads to further growth. neither whitman nor miss dickinson ever stepped beyond the circle they first drew." it is difficult to select quite adequate samples of miss dickinson's art, but perhaps the following little poems will give some idea of her naked simplicity, terseness, oddness,--of her method, in short, if we can apply that word to anything so spontaneous and unconscious: "i'm nobody! who are you? are you nobody, too? then there's a pair of us. don't tell! they'd banish us, you know. "how dreary to be somebody! how public, like a frog, to tell your name the livelong day to an admiring bog!" * * * * * "i taste a liquor never brewed, from tankards scooped in pearl; not all the vats upon the rhine yield such an alcohol! "inebriate of air am i, and debauchee of dew, reeling, through endless summer days, from inns of molten blue. "when landlords turn the drunken bee out of the foxglove's door, when butterflies renounce their drams, i shall but drink the more! "till seraphs swing their snowy hats, and saints to windows run, to see the little tippler leaning against the sun!" * * * * * "but how he set i know not. there seemed a purple stile which little yellow boys and girls were climbing all the while, "till when they reached the other side, a dominie in grey put gently up the evening bars, and led the flock away." * * * * * "he preached upon 'breadth' till it argued him narrow-- the broad are too broad to define; and of 'truth' until it proclaimed him a liar-- the truth never flaunted a sign. simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence as gold the pyrites would shun. what confusion would cover the innocent jesus to meet so enabled a man!" the "so _enabled_ a man" is a very characteristic dickinsonian phrase. so, too, are these: "he put the belt around my life-- i heard the buckle snap." "unfitted by an instant's grace for the contented beggar's face i wore an hour ago." * * * * * "just his sigh, accented, had been legible to me." * * * * * "the bustle in a house the morning after death is solemnest of industries enacted upon earth-- the sweeping up the heart, and putting love away we shall not want to use again until eternity." her interest in all the familiar sights and sounds of a village garden is evident through all her verses. her illustrations are not recondite, literary, or conventional; she finds them at her own door. the robin, the buttercup, the maple, furnish what she needs. the bee, in particular, seems to have had a peculiar fascination for her, and hums through all her poems. she had even a kindly word for that "neglected son of genius," the spider. her love of children is equally evident, and no one has ever better caught the spirit of "saturday afternoon "from all the jails the boys and girls ecstatically leap, beloved, only afternoon that prison doesn't keep. "they storm the earth and stun the air, a mob of solid bliss. alas! that frowns could lie in wait for such a foe as this!" the bold extravagance of her diction (which is not, however, _mere_ extravagance) and her ultra-american familiarity with the forces of nature may be illustrated by such stanzas as: "what if the poles should frisk about and stand upon their heads! i hope i'm ready for the worst, whatever prank betides." * * * * * "if i could see you in a year, i'd wind the months in balls, and put them each in separate drawers until their time befalls. "if certain, when this life was out, that yours and mine should be, i'd toss it yonder like a rind, and taste eternity." for her the lightnings "skip like mice," the thunder "crumbles like a stuff." what a critic has called her "emersonian self-possession" towards god may be seen in the little poem on the last page of her first volume, where she addresses the deity as "burglar, banker, father." there is, however, no flippancy in this, no conscious irreverence; miss dickinson is not "orthodox," but she is genuinely spiritual and religious. inspired by its truly american and "_actuel_" freedom, her muse does not fear to sing of such modern and mechanical phenomena as the railway train, which she loves to see "lap the miles and lick the valleys up," while she is fascinated by the contrast between its prodigious force and the way in which it stops, "docile and omnipotent, at its own stable door." but even she can hardly bring the smoking locomotive into such pathetic relations with nature as the "little brig," whose "white foot tripped, then dropped from sight," leaving "the ocean's heart too smooth, too blue, to break for you." her poems on death and the beyond, on time and eternity, are full of her peculiar note. death is the "one dignity" that "delays for all;" the meanest brow is so ennobled by the majesty of death that "almost a powdered footman might dare to touch it now," and yet no beggar would accept "the _éclat_ of death, had he the power to spurn." "the quiet nonchalance of death" is a resting-place which has no terrors for her; death "abashed" her no more than "the porter of her father's lodge." death's chariot also holds immortality. the setting sail for "deep eternity" brings a "divine intoxication" such as the "inland soul" feels on its "first league out from land." though she "never spoke with god, nor visited in heaven," she is "as certain of the spot as if the chart were given." "in heaven somehow, it will be even, some new equation given." "christ will explain each separate anguish in the fair schoolroom of the sky." "a death-blow is a life-blow to some who, till they died, did not alive become; who, had they lived, had died, but when they died, vitality begun." the reader who has had the patience to accompany me through these pages devoted to miss dickinson will surely own, whether in scoff or praise, the essentially american nature of her muse. her defects are easily paralleled in the annals of english literature; but only in the liberal atmosphere of the new world, comparatively unshadowed by trammels of authority and standards of taste, could they have co-existed with so much of the highest quality. a prominent phenomenon in the development of american literature--so prominent as to call for comment even in a fragmentary and haphazard sketch like the present--is the influence exercised by the monthly magazine. the editors of the leading literary periodicals have been practically able to wield a censorship to which there is no parallel in england. the magazine has been the recognised gateway to the literary public; the sweep of the editorial net has been so wide that it has gathered in nearly all the best literary work of the past few decades, at any rate in the department of _belles lettres_. it is not easy to name many important works of pure literature, as distinct from the scientific, the philosophical, and the instructive, that have not made their bow to the public through the pages of the _century_, the _atlantic monthly_, or some one or other of their leading competitors. and probably the proportion of works by new authors that have appeared in the same way is still greater. there are, possibly, two sides as to the value of this supremacy of the magazine, though to most observers the advantages seem to outweigh the disadvantages. among the former may be reckoned the general encouragement of reading, the opportunities afforded to young writers, the raising of the rate of authors' pay, the dissemination of a vast quantity of useful and salutary information in a popular form. perhaps of more importance than any of these has been the maintenance of that purity of moral tone in which modern american literature is superior to all its contemporaries. malcontents may rail at "grandmotherly legislation in letters," at the undue deference paid to the maiden's blush, at the encouragement of the mealy-mouthed and hypocritical; but it is a ground of very solid satisfaction, be the cause what it may, that recent american literature has been so free from the emasculate _fin-de-siècle-ism_, the nauseating pseudo-realism, the epigrammatic hysteria, that has of late been so rife in certain british circles. moreover, it is impossible to believe that any really strong talent could have been stifled by the frown of the magazine editor. walt whitman made his mark without that potentate's assistance; and if america had produced a zola, he would certainly have come to the front, even if his genius had been hampered with a burden of more than zolaesque filth. it is undoubtedly to the predominance of the magazine, among other causes, that are due the prevalence and perfection of the american short story. it has often been remarked that french literature alone is superior in this _genre_; and many of the best american productions of the kind can scarcely be called second even to the french in daintiness of phrase, sureness of touch, sense of proportion, and skilful condensation of interest. excellent examples of the short story have been common in american literature from the times of hawthorne, irving, and poe down to the present day. mr. henry james, perhaps, stands at the head of living writers in this branch. miss mary e. wilkins is inimitable in her sketches of new england, the pathos, as well as the humour of which she touches with a master hand. it is interesting to note that, foreign as her subject would seem to be to the french taste, her literary skill has been duly recognised by the _revue des deux mondes_. bret harte and frank stockton are so eminently short-story writers that the longer their stories become, the nearer do they approach the brink of failure. other names that suggest themselves in a list that might be indefinitely extended are those of miss jewett, mrs. elizabeth phelps ward, mr. richard harding davis, mr. t.b. aldrich, mr. thos. nelson page, mr. owen wister, mr. hamlin garland, mr. g.w. cable, and (in a lighter vein) mr. h.c. bunner. this chapter may fitly close with a straw of startling literary contrast, that seems to me alone almost enough to bring american literature under the rubric of this volume's title. if a critic familiar only with the work chiefly associated with the author's name were asked to indicate the source of the following quotations, i should be surprised if he were to guess correctly in his first hundred efforts. indeed, i should not be astonished if some of his shots missed the mark by centuries of time as well as oceans of space. one hesitates to use lightly the word elizabethan; but at present i do not recall any other modern work that suggests it more strongly than some of the lines i quote below: "so wanton are all emblems that the cloak which folds a king will kiss a crooked nail as quickly as a beggar's gabardine will do like office." * * * * * "thou art so like to substance that i'd think myself a shadow ere thyself a dream." * * * * * "not so much beauty, sire, as would make full the pocket of thine eye." * * * * * "a vein that spilt its tender blue upon her eyelid, as though the cunning hand that dyed her eyes had slipped for joy of its own work." * * * * * "what am i who doth rail against the fate that binds mankind? the atom of an atom, particle of this particle the earth, that with its million kindred worlds doth spin like motes within the universal light. what if i sin--am lost--do crack my life against the gateless walls of fate's decree? is the world fouler for a gnat's corpse? nay, the ocean, is it shallower for the drop it leaves upon a blade of grass?" * * * * * "there is a boy in essex, they do say, can crack an ox's ribs in one arm-crotch." all these passages are taken from the tragedy of "athelwold," written by miss amelie rives, the author of a novel entitled "the quick and the dead." footnotes: [ ] i confess i should have felt myself on still firmer ground in making the above comparison if i had been able to select "peter ibbetson" instead of "trilby" as the american favourite. it is distinctly the finest, the most characteristic, and the most convincing of mr. du maurier's novels, though it is easy to see why it did not enjoy such a "boom" as its successor. in "peter ibbetson" our moral sense does not feel outraged by the fact of the sympathy we have to extend to a man-slayer; we are made to feel that a man may kill his fellow in a moment of ungovernable and not unrighteous wrath without losing his fundamental goodness. on the other hand, it seems to me, mr. du maurier fails to convert us to belief in the possibility of such a character as trilby, and fails to make us wholly sympathise with his pæans in her praise. it seems psychologically impossible for a woman to sin so repeatedly as trilby, and so apparently without any overwhelming temptation, and yet at the same time to retain her essential purity. it is a prostitution of the word "love" to excuse trilby's temporary amourettes with a "_quia multum amavit_." [ ] his extraordinary article on george du maurier in _harper's magazine_ for september, , is, perhaps, so far as style is concerned, as glaring an example of how not to do it as can be found in the range of american letters. [ ] perhaps mr. george w. cable is entitled to rank with mr. howells in this respect as a man who refused to disguise his moral convictions behind his literary art, and thus infallibly and with full consciousness imperilled his popularity among his own people. [ ] "stops of various quills," by w.d. howells (harper & brothers, new york, ). xi certain features of certain cities one of the dicta in m. bourget's "outre mer" to which i cannot but take exception is that which insists on the essential similarity and monotony of all the cities of the united states. passing over the question of the right of a parisian to quarrel with monotony of street architecture, i should simply ask what single country possesses cities more widely divergent than new york and new orleans, philadelphia and san francisco, chicago and san antonio, washington and pittsburg? if m. bourget merely means that there is a tendency to homogeneity in the case of modern cities which was not compatible with the picturesque though uncomfortable reasons for variety in more ancient foundations, his remark amounts to a truism. for his implied comparison with european cities to have any point, he should be able to assert that the recent architecture of the different cities of europe is more varied than the contemporary architecture of the united states. this seems to me emphatically not the case. modern paris resembles modern rome more closely than any two of the above-named cities resemble each other; and it is simply the universal tendency to note similarity first and then unlikeness that makes the brief visitor to the united states fail to find characteristic individuality in the various great cities of the country. we are also too prone to forget that the united states, though continental in its proportions, is after all but a single nation, enjoying the same institutions and speaking practically one tongue; and this of necessity introduces an element of sameness that must be absent from the continent of europe with which we are apt to compare it. if we oppose to the united states that one european country which approaches it most nearly in size, we shall, i think, find the balance of uniformity does not incline to the american side. when all is said, however, it cannot be denied that there _is_ a great deal of similarity in the smaller and newer towns and cities of the west, and mr. w.s. caine's likening them to "international exhibitions a week before their opening" will strike many visitors as very apposite. it is only to the indiscriminate and unhedged form of m. bourget's statement that objection need be made. architecture struck me as, perhaps, the one art in which america, so far as modern times are concerned, could reasonably claim to be on a par with, if not ahead of, any european country whatsoever. i say this with a full realisation of the many artistic nightmares that oppress the soil from the atlantic to the pacific, with a perfect recollection of the acres of petty, monotonous, and mean structures in almost every great city of the union, with a keen appreciation of the witty saying that the american architect often "shows no more self-restraint than a bunch of fire-crackers." it is, however, distinctly true, as mr. montgomery schuyler well puts it, that "no progress can result from the labour of architects whose training has made them so fastidious that they are more revolted by the crudity of the forms that result from the attempt to express a new meaning than by the failure to make the attempt;" and it is in his freedom from this fastidious lack of courage that the american architect is strong. his earlier efforts at independence were, perhaps, hardly fortunate; but he is now entering a phase in which adequate professional knowledge coöperates with good taste to define the limits within which his imagination may legitimately work. i know not where to look, within the last quarter of a century or so, for more tasteful designs, greater sincerity of purpose, or happier adaptations to environment than the best creations of men like mr. h.h. richardson, mr. r.m. hunt, mr. j.w. root, mr. g.b. post, and messrs. mckim, mead, and white. some of the new residential streets of places as recent as chicago or st. paul more than hold their own, as it seems to me, with any contemporaneous thoroughfares of their own class in europe. to my own opinion let me add the valuable testimony of mr. e.a. freeman, in his "impressions of the united states" (pp. , ): i found the modern churches, of various denominations, certainly better, as works of architecture, than i had expected. they may quite stand beside the average of modern churches in england, setting aside a few of the very best.... but i thought the churches, whose style is most commonly gothic of one kind or another, decidedly less successful than some of the civil buildings. in some of these, i hardly know how far by choice, how far by happy accident, a style has been hit upon which seemed to me far more at home than any of the reproductions of gothic. much of the street architecture of several cities has very successfully caught the leading idea of the true italian style. new york, the gateway to america for, perhaps, nine out of ten visitors, is described by mr. richard grant white, the american writer, as "the dashing, dirty, demi-rep of cities." mr. joaquin miller, the poet of the sierras, calls it "an iron-fronted, iron-footed, and iron-hearted town." miss florence marryat asserts that new york is "_without any exception_ the most charming city she has ever been in." miss emily faithful admits that at first it seems rough and new, but says that when one returns to it from the west, one recognises that it has everything essential in common with his european experiences. in my own note-book i find that new york impressed me as being "like a lady in ball costume, with diamonds in her ears, and her toes out at her boots." here, then, is evidence that new york makes a pretty strong impression on her guests, and that this impression is not by any means the same in every case. new york is evidently a person of character, and of a character with many facets. to most european visitors it must, on the _whole_, be somewhat of a disappointment; and it is not really an advantageous or even a characteristic portal to the american continent. for one thing, it is too overwhelmingly cosmopolitan in the composition of its population to strike the distinctive american note. it is not alone that new york society imitates that of france and england in a more pronounced way than i found anywhere else in america, but the names one sees over the shops seem predominantly german and jewish, accents we are familiar with at home resound in our ears, the quarters we are first introduced to recall the dinginess and shabbiness of the waterside quarters of cities like london and glasgow. more intimate acquaintance finds much that is strongly american in new york; but this is not the first impression, and first impressions count for so much that it seems to me a pity that new york is for most travellers the prologue to their american experiences. the contrasts between the poverty and wealth of new york are so extreme as sometimes to suggest even london, where misery and prosperity rub shoulders in a more heartrending way than, perhaps, anywhere else in the wide world. but the contrasts that strike even the most unobservant visitor to the so-called american "metropolis" are of a different nature. when i was asked by american friends what had most struck me in america, i sometimes answered, if in malicious mood, "the fact that the principal street of the largest and richest city in the union is so miserably paved;" and, indeed, my recollections of the holes in broadway, and of the fact that in wintry weather i had sometimes to diverge into university place in order to avoid a mid-shin crossing of liquid mud in broadway, seem as strange as if they related to a dream.[ ] new york, again, possesses some of the most sumptuous private residences in the world, often adorned in particular with exquisite carvings in stone, such as europeans have sometimes furnished for a cathedral or minster, but which it has been reserved for republican simplicity to apply to the residence of a private citizen.[ ] yet it is by no means _ausgeschlossen_, as the germans say, that the pavement in front of this abode of luxury may not be seamed by huge cracks and rents that make walking after nightfall positively dangerous. fifth avenue is not, to my mind, one of the most attractive city streets in the united states, but it is, perhaps, the one that makes the greatest impression of prosperity. it is eminently solid and substantial; it reeks with respectability and possibly dulness. it is a very alderman among streets. the shops at its lower end, and gradually creeping up higher like the modest guest of the parable, make no appeal to the lightly pursed, but are as aristocratic-looking as those of hanover square. its hotels and clubs are equally suggestive of well-lined pockets. its churches more than hint at golden offertories; and the visitor is not surprised to be assured (as he infallibly will be) that the pastor of one of them preaches every sunday to "two hundred and fifty million dollars." even the beautiful roman catholic cathedral lends its aid to this impression, and encourages the faithful by a charge of fifteen to twenty-five cents for a seat. the "stoops" of the lugubrious brown sandstone houses seem to retain something more of their dutch origin than the mere name. the sunday parade here is better dressed than that of hyde park, but candour compels me to admit, at the expense of my present point, considerably less stiff and non-committal. indeed, were it not for the miserable horses of the "stage lines" fifth avenue might present a clean bill of unimpeachable affluence. madison avenue, hitherto uninvaded by shops, rivals fifth avenue in its suggestions of extreme well-to-do-ness, and should be visited, if for no other reason, to see the tiffany house, one of the most daring and withal most captivating experiments known to me in city residences. unlike those of many other american cities, the best houses of new york are ranged side by side without the interposition of the tiniest bit of garden or greenery; it is only in the striking but unfinished riverside drive, with its grand views of the hudson, that architecture derives any aid whatsoever from natural formations or scenic conditions. the student of architecture should not fail to note the success with which the problem of giving expression to a town house of comparatively simple outline has often been tackled, and he will find many charming single features, such as doors, or balconies, or windows. good examples of these are the exquisite oriel and other decorative features of the house of mr. w.k. vanderbilt, by mr. hunt, in fifth avenue, at the corner of d street, and specimens will also be found in th, th, th, d, d, th, and th streets, near their junction with fifth avenue. the w.h. vanderbilt houses (fifth avenue, between th and st streets) have been described as "brown-stone boxes with architecture appliqué;" but the applied carving, though meaningless enough as far as its position goes, is so exquisite in itself as to deserve more than a passing glance. the iron railings which surround the houses are beautiful specimens of metal-work. the house of mr. cornelius vanderbilt, a little farther up the avenue, with its red brick and slates, and its articulations and dormers of grey limestone, is a good example of an effective use of colour in domestic architecture--an effect which the clear, dry climate of new york admits and perpetuates.[ ] the row of quiet oldtime houses on the north side of washington square will interest at least the historical student of architecture, so characteristic are they of times of restfulness and peace to which new york has long been a stranger. down towards the point of the island, in the "city" proper, the visitor will find many happy creations for modern mercantile purposes, besides such older objects of architectural interest as trinity church and the city hall, praised by professor freeman and many other connoisseurs of both continents. among these business structures may be named the "post building," the building of the union trust company (no. broadway), and the guernsey building (also in broadway). at the extreme apex of manhattan island lie the historic bowling green and battery park, the charm of which has not been wholly annihilated by the intrusion of the elevated railway. here rises the huge rotunda of castle garden, through which till lately all the immigrants to new york made their entry into the new world. surely this has a pathetic interest of its own when we consider what this landing meant to so many thousands of the poor and needy. a suitable motto for its hospitable portals would have been, "imbibe new hope, all ye who enter here." as i have said, there is no lack of good americanism in new york. let the englishman who does not believe in an american school of sculpture look at st. gaudens' statue of admiral farragut in madison square, and say where we have a better or as good a single figure in any of our streets. let him who thinks that fine public picture galleries are confined to europe go to the metropolitan museum of art,[ ] with its treasures by rembrandt and rubens, holbein and van dyck, frans hals and teniers, reynolds and hogarth, meissonier and detaille, rosa bonheur and troyon, corot and breton. let the admirer of engineering marvels, after he has sufficiently appreciated the elastic strength of the brooklyn suspension bridge, betake himself to the other end of the island and enjoy the more solid, but in their way no less imposing, proportions of the washington bridge over the harlem, and let him choose his route by the ninth-avenue elevated railroad with its dizzy curve at th street. and, finally, let not the lover of the picturesque fail to enjoy the views from the already named riverside drive, the cleverly created beauties of central park, and the district known as washington heights. the englishman in new york will probably here make his first acquaintance with the american system of street nomenclature; and if he at once masters its few simple principles, it will be strange if he does not find it of great utility and convenience. the objection usually made to it is that the numbering of streets, instead of naming them, is painfully arithmetical, bald, and uninteresting; but if a man stays long enough to be really familiar with the streets, he will find that the bare numbers soon clothe themselves with association, and fifth avenue will come to have as distinct an individuality as broadway, while d street will call up as definite a picture of shopping activity as bond street or piccadilly. the chief trouble is the facility of confusing such an address as no. east th street with no. east th street; and so natural is an inversion of the kind that one is sometimes heedless enough to make it in writing one's own address. the transition from new york to boston in a chapter like this is as inevitable as the tax-collector, though perhaps less ingenuity is now spent in the invention of anecdotes typical of the contrasts between these two cities since chicago, by the capture of the world's fair, drew upon herself the full fire of the satire-shotted guns of new york's rivalry. it seems to me, however, that in many ways there is much more similarity between new york and chicago than between new york and boston, and that it is easier to use the latter couple than the former to point a moral or adorn a tale. in both new york and chicago the prevailing note is that of wealth and commerce, the dominant social impression is one of boundless material luxury, the atmosphere is thick with the emanations of those who hurry to be rich. i hasten to add that of course this is largely tempered by other tendencies and features; it would be especially unpardonable of me to forget the eminently intellectual, artistic, and refined aspects of new york life of which i was privileged to enjoy glimpses. in boston, however, there is something different. mere wealth, even in these degenerate days, does not seem to play so important a part in her society. the names one constantly hears or sees in new york are names like astor, vanderbilt, jay gould, and bradley-martin, names which, whatever other qualities they connote, stand first and foremost for mere crude wealth. in boston the prominent public names--the names that naturally occur to my mind as i think of boston as i saw it--are oliver wendell holmes, the poet and novelist; eliot, the college president; francis walker, the political economist; higginson, the generous cultivator of classical music; robert treat paine, the philanthropist; edward everett hale; and others of a more or less similar class. again, in new york and in chicago (pullman, marshall field, armour) the prominent names are emphatically men of to-day and seem to change with each generation. in boston we have the names of the first governor and other leaders of the early settlers still shining in their descendants with almost undiminished lustre. the present mayor of boston, for example, is a member of a family the name of which has been illustrious in the city's annals for two hundred years. he is the fifth of his name in the direct line to gain fame in the public service, and the third to occupy the mayor's chair. no less than sixteen immediate members of the family are recorded in the standard biographical dictionaries of america. while doubtless the attic tales of boeotian dulness were at least as often well invented as true, it is perhaps the case that there is generally some ground for the popular caricatures of any given community. i duly discounted the humorous and would-be humorous stories of boston's pedantry that i heard in new york, and found that as a rule i had done right so to do. blue spectacles are not more prominent in boston than elsewhere; its theatres do not make a specialty of greek plays; the little boys do not petition the legislature for an increase in the hours of school. there yet remains, however, a basis of truth quite large enough to show the observer how the reputation was acquired. it is a solemn fact that what would appear in england as "no spitting allowed in this car" is translated in the electric cars of boston into: "the board of health hereby adjudges that the deposit of sputum in street-cars is a public nuisance."[ ] the framer of this announcement would undoubtedly speak of the limbs of a piano and allude to a spade as an agricultural implement. and in social intercourse i have often noticed needless celerity in skating over ice that seemed to my ruder british sense quite well able to bear any ordinary weight, as well as a certain subtlety of allusiveness that appeared to exalt ingenuity of phrase at the expense of common sense and common candour. too high praise cannot easily be given to the boston symphony concerts; but it is difficult to avoid a suspicion of affectation in the severe criticism one hears of the conductor whenever he allows a little music of a lighter class than usual to appear on the programme. boston is, in its way, as prolific of contrasts as any part of the united states. there is certainly no more cultivated centre in the country, and yet the letter _r_ is as badly maltreated by the boston scholar as by the veriest cockney. to the ear of boston _centre_ has precisely the same sound as the name of the heroine of wagner's "flying dutchman," and its most cultivated graduates speak of herbert spenc_ah_'s data_r_ of ethics. the critical programmes of the symphony concerts are prepared by one of the ablest of living musical critics, and are scholarly almost to excess; yet, as the observant swiss critic, m. wagnière, has pointed out, their refined and subtle text has to endure the immediate juxtaposition of the advertisements of tea-rooms and glove-sellers. boston has the deserved reputation of being one of the best-governed cities in america, yet some of its important streets seldom see a municipal watering-cart, dust flies in clouds both summer and winter, and myriads of life-endangering bicycles shoot through its thoroughfares at night without lamps. the boston matron holds up her hands in sanctified horror at the freedom of western manners, and yet it is a local saying, founded on a solid basis of fact, that kenney & clark (a well-known firm of livery-stable keepers) are the only chaperon that a boston girl needs in going to or from a ball. the bostonians are not the least intelligent of mortals, and yet i know no other city in america which is content with such an anomalous system of hack hire, where no reduction in rate is made for the number of persons. one person may drive in a comfortable two-horse brougham to any point within boston proper for cents; two persons pay $ , three persons $ . , and so on. my advice to a quartette of travellers visiting boston is to hire _four_ carriages at once and _go in a procession_, until they find a liveryman who sees the point. one acute observer has pointed out that it is the men of new york who grow haggard, wrinkled, anxious-looking, and prematurely old in their desperate efforts to provide diamonds and balls and worth costumes and trips to europe for their debonair, handsome, easy-going, and well-nourished spouses and daughters; while the men of boston are "jolly dogs, who make money by legitimate trade instead of wild speculation, and show it in their countenances, illumined with the light of good cigars and champagne and other little luxuries," while their womankind are constantly worried by the new england conscience, and constantly creating anxieties for themselves where none exist. there is indeed a large amount of truth in this description, if allowance be made for pardonable exaggeration. it is among the women of boston that one finds its traditional mantle of intellectuality worn most universally, and it is among the women of new york that one finds the most characteristic displays of love of pleasure and social triumphs. it is, perhaps, not a mere accident that the daughters of boston's millionaires seem to marry their fellow-citizens rather than foreign noblemen. "none of _their_ money goes to gild rococo coronets." i have a good deal of sympathy with a canadian friend who exclaimed: "oh, boston! i don't include _boston_ when i speak of the united states." max o'rell has similarly noted that if you wish to hear severe criticism of america you have only to go to boston. "_là on loue boston et angleterre, et l'on débine l'amérique à dire d'experts._" it would be a mistake, however, to infer that boston is not truly american, or that it devotes itself to any voluntary imitation of england. in a very deep sense boston is one of the most intensely american cities in the union; it represents, perhaps, the finest development of many of the most characteristic ideals of americanism. its resemblances to england seem to be due to the simple fact that like causes produce like results. the original english stock by which boston was founded has remained less mixed here than, perhaps, in any other city of america; and the differences between the descendants of the puritans who emigrated and the descendants of those of them who remained at home are not complicated by a material infusion of alien blood in either case. the independence of the original settlers, their hatred of coercion and tyranny, have naturally grown with two centuries and a half of democracy; even the municipal administration has not been wholly captured by the irish voter. the bostonian has, to a very appreciable extent, solved the problem of combining the virtues of democracy with the manners of aristocracy; and i know not where you will find a better type of the american than the boston gentleman: patriotic with enlightened patriotism; finely mannered even to the class immediately below his own; energetic, but not a slave to the pursuit of wealth; liberal in his religion, but with something of the puritan conscience still lying _perdu_ beneath his universalism; distributing his leisure between art, literature, and outdoor occupations; a little cool in his initial manner to strangers, but warmly hospitable when his confidence in your merit is satisfied. we, in england, may well feel proud that the blood which flows in the veins of the ideal bostonian is as distinctly and as truly english as that of our own gladstones and morleys, our brownings and our tennysons. prof. hugo münsterberg, of berlin, writes thus of boston and chicago: "_ja, boston ist die hauptstadt jenes jungen, liebenswerthen, idealistischen amerikas und wird es bleiben; chicago dagegen ist die hochburg der alten protzigen amerikanischen dollarsucht, und die weltausstellung schliesslich ist überhaupt nicht amerika, sondern chicagosirtes europa._" whatever may be thought of the first part of this judgment, the second member of it seems to me rather unfair to chicago and emphatically so as regards the chicago exhibition. since chicago ought never to be mentioned as porkopolis without a simultaneous reference to the fact that it was also the creator of the white city, with its court of honour, perhaps the most flawless and fairy-like creation, on a large scale, of man's invention. we expected that america would produce the largest, most costly, and most gorgeous of all international exhibitions; but who expected that she would produce anything so inexpressibly poetic, chaste, and restrained, such an absolutely refined and soul-satisfying picture, as the court of honour, with its lagoon and gondolas, its white marble steps and balustrades, its varied yet harmonious buildings, its colonnaded vista of the great lake, its impressive fountain, its fairy-like outlining after dark by the gems of electricity, its spacious and well-modulated proportions which made the largest crowd in it but an unobtrusive detail, its air of spontaneity and inevitableness which suggested nature itself, rather than art? no other scene of man's creation seemed to me so perfect as this court of honour. venice, naples, rome, florence, edinburgh, athens, constantinople, each in its way is lovely indeed; but in each view of each of these there is some jarring feature, something that we have to _ignore_ in order to thoroughly lose ourselves in the beauty of the scene. the court of honour was practically blameless; the æsthetic sense of the beholder was as fully and unreservedly satisfied as in looking at a masterpiece of painting or sculpture, and at the same time was soothed and elevated by a sense of amplitude and grandeur such as no single work of art could produce. the glamour of old association that illumines athens or venice was in a way compensated by our deep impression of the pathetic transitoriness of the dream of beauty before us, and by the revelation it afforded of the soul of a great nation. for it will to all time remain impossibly ridiculous to speak of a country or a city as wholly given over to the worship of mammon which almost involuntarily gave birth to this ethereal emanation of pure and uneconomic beauty. undoubtedly there are few things more dismal than the sunless cañons which in chicago are called streets; and the luckless being who is concerned there with retail trade is condemned to pass the greater part of his life in unrelieved ugliness. things, however, are rather better in the "office" quarter; and he who is ready to admit that exigency of site gives some excuse for "elevator architecture" will find a good deal to interest him in its practice at chicago. indeed, no one can fail to wonder at the marvellous skill of architectural engineering which can run up a building of twenty stories, the walls of which are merely a veneer or curtain. few will cavil at the handsome and comfortable equipment of the best interiors; but, given the necessity of their existence, the wide-minded lover of art will find something to reward his attention even in their exteriors. in many instances their architects have succeeded admirably in steering a middle course between the ornate style of a palace on the one hand and the packing case with windows on the other; and the observer might unreservedly admire the general effect were it not for the crick in his neck that reminds him most forcibly that he cannot get far enough away for a proper estimate of the proportions. any city might feel proud to count amid its commercial architecture such features as the entrance of the phenix building, the office of the american express company, and the monumental field building, by richardson, with what mr. schuyler calls its grim utilitarianism of expression; and the same praise might, perhaps, be extended to the auditorium, the owings building, the rookery, and some others. in non-commercial architecture chicago may point with some pride to its city hall, its university, its libraries, the admirable chicago club (the old art institute), and the new art institute on the verge of lake michigan. of its churches the less said the better; their architecture, regarded as a studied insult to religion, would go far to justify the highly uncomplimentary epithet mr. stead applied to chicago. in some respects chicago deserves the name city of contrasts, just as the united states is the land of contrasts; and in no way is this more marked than in the difference between its business and its residential quarters. in the one--height, narrowness, noise, monotony, dirt, sordid squalor, pretentiousness; in the other--light, space, moderation, homelikeness. the houses in the lake shore drive, the michigan boulevard, or the drexel boulevard are as varied in style as the brown-stone mansions of new york are monotonous; they face on parks or are surrounded with gardens of their own; they are seldom ostentatiously large; they suggest comfort, but not offensive affluence; they make credible the possession of some individuality of taste on the part of their owners. the number of massive round openings, the strong rusticated masonry, the open loggie, the absence of mouldings, and the red-tiled roofs suggest to the cognoscenti that mr. h.h. richardson's spirit was the one which brooded most efficaciously over the domestic architecture of chicago. the two houses i saw that were designed by mr. richardson himself are undoubtedly not so satisfactory as some of his public buildings, but they had at least the merit of interest and originality; some of the numerous imitations were by no means successful. the parks of chicago are both large and beautiful. they contain not a few very creditable pieces of sculpture, among which mr. st. gaudens' statue of lincoln is conspicuous as a wonderful triumph of artistic genius over unpromising material. the show of flowers in the parks is not easily paralleled in public domains elsewhere. of these, rather than of its stockyards and its lightning rapidity in pig-sticking, will the visitor who wishes to think well of chicago carry off a mental picture. the man who has stood on inspiration point above oakland and has watched the lights of san francisco gleaming across its noble bay, or who has gazed down on the golden gate from the heights of the presidio, must have an exceptionally rich gallery of memory if he does not feel that he has added to its treasures one of the most entrancing city views he has ever witnessed. the situation of san francisco is indeed that of an empress among cities. piled tier above tier on the hilly knob at the north end of a long peninsula, it looks down on the one side over the roomy waters of san francisco bay (fifty miles long and ten miles wide), backed by the ridge of the coast range, while in the other direction it is reaching out across the peninsula, here six miles wide, to the placid expanse of the pacific ocean. on the north the peninsula ends abruptly in precipitous cliffs some hundreds of feet high, while a similar peninsula, stretching southwards, faces it in a similar massive promontory, separated by a scant mile of water. this is the famous golden gate, the superb gateway leading from the ocean to the shelters of the bay. to the south the eye loses itself among the fertile valleys of corn and fruit stretching away toward the mexican frontier. when we have once sated ourselves with the general effect, there still remains a number of details, picturesque, interesting, or quaint. there is the golden gate park, the cypresses and eucalypti at one end of which testify to the balminess of the climate, while the sand-dunes at its other end show the original condition of the whole surface of the peninsula, and add to our admiration of nature a sense of respectful awe for the transforming energy of man. beyond golden gate park we reach sutro heights, another desert that has been made to blossom like the rose. here we look out over the pacific to the musically named farralone islands, thirty miles to the west. then we descend for luncheon to the cliff house below, and watch the uncouth gambols of hundreds of fat sea-lions (spanish _lobos marinos_), which, strictly protected from the rifle or harpoon, swim, and plunge, and bark unconcernedly within a stone's throw of the observer. the largest of these animals are fifteen feet long and weigh about a ton; and it is said that certain individuals, recognisable by some peculiarity, are known to have frequented the rocks for many years. on our way back to the lower part of the city we use one of the cable-cars crawling up and down the steep inclines like flies on a window-pane; and we find, if the long polished seat of the car be otherwise unoccupied, that we have positive difficulty in preventing ourselves slipping down from one end of the car to the other. by this time the strong afternoon wind[ ] has set in from the sea, and we notice with surprise that the seasoned friscans, still clad in the muslins and linens that seemed suitable enough at high noon, seek by preference the open seats of the locomotive car, while we, puny visitors, turn up our coat-collars and flee to the shelter of the "trailer" or covered car. as we come over "nob hill" we take in the size of the houses of the californian millionaires, note that they are of wood (on account of the earthquakes?), and bemoan the misdirected efforts of their architects, who, instead of availing themselves of the unique chance of producing monuments of characteristically developed timber architecture, have known no better than to slavishly imitate the incongruous features of stone houses in the style of the renaissance. indeed, we shall feel that san francisco is badly off for fine buildings of all and every kind. if daylight still allows we may visit the mission dolores, one of the interesting old spanish foundations that form the origin of so many places in california, and if we are historically inclined we may inspect the old spanish grants in the surveyor-general's office. those of us whose tastes are modern and literary may find our account in identifying some of the places in r.l. stevenson's "ebb tide," and it will go hard with us if we do not also meet a few of his characters amid the cosmopolitan crowd in the streets or on the wharves. at night we may visit china without the trouble of a voyage, and perambulate a city of , celestials under the safe guidance of an irish-accented detective. so often have the features of chinatown been described--its incense-scented joss-houses, its interminable stage-plays, its opium-joints, its drug-stores with their extraordinary remedies, its curiosity shops, and its restaurants--that no repetition need be attempted here. we leave it with a sense of the curious incongruity which allows this colony of orientals to live in the most wide-awake of western countries with an apparently almost total neglect of such sanitary observances as are held indispensable in all other modern municipalities. it is certain that no more horrible sight could be seen in the extreme east than the so-called "hermit of chinatown," an insane devotee who has lived for years crouched in a miserable little outhouse, subsisting on the offerings of the charitable, and degraded almost beyond the pale of humanity by his unbroken silence, his blank immobility, and his neglect of all the decencies of life. and this is an american resident, if not an american citizen! if the reader is as lucky as the writer, he may wind up the day with a smart shock of earthquake; and if he is equally sleepy and unintelligent (which heaven forefend!), he may miss its keen relish by drowsily wondering what on earth they mean by moving that _very_ heavy grand piano overhead at that time of night. "two-thirds of them come here to die, and they can't do it." this was said by the famous mr. barnum about colorado springs; and the active life and cheerful manners of the condemned invalids who flourish in this charming little city go far to confirm the truth concealed beneath the jest. the land has insensibly sloped upwards since the traveller left the mississippi behind him, and he now finds himself in a flowery prairie , feet above the sea level, while close by one of the finest sections of the rocky mountains rears its snowy peaks to a height of , to , feet more. the climate resembles that of davos, and like it is preëminently suited for all predisposed to or already affected with consumption; but colorado enjoys more sunshine than its swiss rival, and has no disagreeable period of melting snow. the town is sheltered by the foothills, except to the southeast, where it lies open to the great plains; and, being situated where they meet the mountains, it enjoys the openness and free supply of fresh air of the seashore, without its dampness. the name is somewhat of a misnomer, as the nearest springs are those of manitou, about five miles to the north. colorado springs may be summed up as an oasis of eastern civilisation and finish in an environment of western rawness and enterprise. it has been described as "a charming big village, like the well-laid-out suburb of some large eastern city." its wide, tree-shaded streets are kept in excellent order. there is a refreshing absence of those "loose ends" of a new civilisation which even the largest of the western cities are too apt to show. no manufactures are carried on, and no "saloons" are permitted. the inhabitants consist very largely of educated and refined people from the eastern states and england, whose health does not allow them to live in their damper native climes. the tone of the place is a refreshing blend of the civilisation of the east and the unconventionalism of the west. perhaps there is no pleasanter example of extreme social democracy. the young man of the east, unprovided with a private income, finds no scope here for his specially trained capacities, and is glad to turn an honest penny and occupy his time with anything he can get. thus there are gentlemen in the conventional sense of the word among many of the so-called humbler callings, and one may rub shoulders at the charming little clubs with an oxford-bred livery-stable keeper or a harvard graduate who has turned his energies toward the selling of milk. few visitors to colorado springs will fail to carry away a grateful and pleasant impression of the english doctor who has found vigorous life and a prosperous career in the place of exile to which his health condemned him in early manhood, and who has repaid the place for its gift of vitality by the most intelligent and effective championship of its advantages. these latter include an excellent hotel and a flourishing college for delicate girls and boys. denver, a near neighbour of colorado springs (if we speak _more americano_), is an excellent example, both in theory and practice, of the confident expectation of growth with which new american cities are founded. the necessary public buildings are not huddled together as a nucleus from which the municipal infant may grow outwards; but a large and generous view is taken of the possibilities of expansion. events do not always justify this sanguine spirit of forethought. the capitol at washington still turns its back on the city of which it was to be the centre as well as the crown. in a great number of cases, however, hope and fact eventually meet together. the capitol of bismarck, chief town of north dakota, was founded in , nearly a mile from the city, on a rising site in the midst of the prairie. it has already been reached by the advancing tide of houses, and will doubtless, in no long time, occupy a conveniently central situation. denver is an equally conspicuous instance of the same tendency. the changes that took place in that city between the date of my visit to it and the reading of the proof-sheets of "baedeker's united states" a year or so later demanded an almost entire rewriting of the description. doubtless it has altered at least as much since then, and very likely the one or two slightly critical remarks of the handbook of are already grossly libellous. denver quadrupled its population between and . the value of its manufactures and of the precious ores smelted here reaches a fabulous amount of millions of dollars. the usual proportion of "million" and "two million dollar buildings" have been erected. many of the principal streets are (most wonderful of all!) excellently paved and kept reasonably clean. but the crowning glory of denver for every intelligent traveller is its magnificent view of the rocky mountains, which are seen to the west in an unbroken line of at least one hundred and fifty miles. though forty miles distant, they look, owing to the purity of the atmosphere, as if they were within a walk of two or three hours. denver is fond of calling herself the "queen city of the plains," and few will grudge the epithet queenly if it is applied to the possession of this matchless outlook on the grandest manifestations of nature. if the denver citizen brags more of his state capitol, his metropole hotel (no accent, please!), and his smelting works than of his snow-piled mountains and abysmal cañons, he only follows a natural human instinct in estimating most highly that which has cost him most trouble. mr. james bryce has an interesting chapter on the absence of a capital in the united states. by capital he means "a city which is not only the seat of political government, but is also by the size, wealth, and character of its population the head and centre of the country, a leading seat of commerce and industry, a reservoir of financial resources, the favoured residence of the great and powerful, the spot in which the chiefs of the learned professions are to be found, where the most potent and widely read journals are published, whither men of literary and scientific capacity are drawn." new york journalists, with a happy disregard of the historical connotation of language, are prone to speak of their city as a metropolis; but it is very evident that the most liberal interpretation of the word cannot elevate new york to the relative position of such european metropolitan cities as paris or london. washington, the nominal capital of the united states, is perhaps still farther from satisfying mr. bryce's definition. it certainly is a relatively small city, and it is not a leading seat of trade, manufacture, or finance. it is also true that its journals do not rank among the leading papers of the land; but, on the other hand, it must be remembered that every important american journal has its washington correspondent, and that in critical times the letters of these gentlemen are of very great weight. as the seat of the supreme judicial bench of the united states, it has as good a claim as any other american city to be the residence of the "chiefs of the learned professions;" and it is quite remarkable how, owing to the great national collections and departments, it has come to the front as the main focus of the scientific interests of the country. the cosmos club's list of members is alone sufficient to illustrate this. its attraction to men of letters has proved less cogent; but the life of an eminent literary man of (say) new orleans or boston is much more likely to include a prolonged visit to washington than to any other american city not his own. the library of congress alone, now magnificently housed in an elaborately decorated new building, is a strong magnet. in the same way there is a growing tendency for all who can afford it to spend at least one season in washington. the belle of kalamazoo or little rock is not satisfied till she has made her bow in washington under the wing of her state representative, and the senator is no-wise loath to see his wife's tea-parties brightened by a bevy of the prettiest girls from his native wilds. university men throughout the union, leaders of provincial bars, and a host of others have often occasion to visit washington. when we add to all this the army of government employees and the cosmopolitan element of the diplomatic corps, we can easily see that, so far as "society" is concerned, washington is more like a european capital than any other american city. nothing is more amusing--for a short time, at least--than a round of the teas, dinners, receptions, and balls of washington, where the american girl is seen in all her glory, with captives of every clime, from the almond-eyed chinaman to the most faultlessly correct piccadilly exquisite, at her dainty feet. i never saw a bevy of more beautiful women than officiated at one senatorial afternoon tea i visited; so beautiful were they as to make me entirely forget what seemed to my untutored european taste the absurdity of their wearing low-necked evening gowns while their guests sported hat and jacket and fur. the whole tone of washington society from the president downward is one of the greatest hospitality and geniality towards strangers. the city is beautifully laid out, and its plan may be described as that of a wheel laid on a gridiron, the rectangular arrangement of the streets having superimposed on it a system of radiating avenues, lined with trees and named for the different states of the union. the city is governed and kept admirably in order by a board of commissioners appointed by the president. the sobriquet of "city of magnificent distances," applied to washington when its framework seemed unnecessarily large for its growth, is still deserved, perhaps, for the width of its streets and the spaciousness of its parks and squares. the floating white dome of the capitol dominates the entire city, and almost every street-vista ends in an imposing public building, a mass of luxuriant greenery, or at the least a memorial statue. the little wooden houses of the coloured squatters that used to alternate freely with the statelier mansions of officialdom are now rapidly disappearing; and some, perhaps, will regret the obliteration of the element of picturesqueness suggested in the quaint contrast. the absence of the wealth-suggesting but artistically somewhat sordid accompaniments of a busy industrialism also contributes to washington's position as one of the most singularly handsome cities on the globe. among the other striking features of the american capital is the washington memorial, a huge obelisk raising its metal-tipped apex to a height of five hundred and fifty-five feet. there are those who consider this a meaningless pile of masonry; but the writer sympathises rather with the critics who find it, in its massive and heaven-reaching simplicity, a fit counterpart to the capitol and one of the noblest monuments ever raised to mortal man. when gleaming in the westering sun, like a slender, tapering, sky-pointing finger of gold, no finer index can be imagined to direct the gazer to the record of a glorious history. near the monument is the white house, a building which, in its modest yet adequate dimensions, embodies the democratic ideal more fitly, it may be feared, than certain other phases of the great republic. without cataloguing the other public buildings of washington, we may quit it with a glow of patriotic fervour over the fact that the smithsonian institute here, one of the most important scientific institutions in the world, was founded by an englishman, who, so far as is known, never even visited the united states, but left his large fortune for "the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men," to the care of that country with whose generous and popular principles he was most in sympathy. footnotes: [ ] this refers to ; things are much better now. [ ] this suggestion of topsy-turvydom in the relations of god and mammon is much intensified when we find an apartment house like the "osborne" towering high above the church-spire on the opposite side of the way, or see trinity church simply smothered by the contiguous office buildings. [ ] compare montgomery schuyler's "american architecture," an excellent though brief account and appreciation of modern american building. [ ] the position of the metropolitan museum of art is so assured that in its trustees declined a bequest of paintings (claiming to include specimens of velazquez, titian, rubens, and other great artists), because it was hampered with the condition that it had to be accepted and exhibited _en bloc_. [ ] this was changed to simple english in . [ ] it is to this wind, the temperature of which varies little all the year round, that san francisco owes her wonderfully equable climate, which is never either too hot or too cold for comfortable work or play. the mean annual temperature is about ° fahr., or rather higher than that of new york; but while the difference between the mean of the months is ° at the latter city, it is about ° only at the golden gate. the mean of july is about °, that of january about °. september is a shade warmer than july. observations extending over years show that the freezing point on the one hand and ° fahr. on the other are reached on an average only about half a dozen times a year. the hottest day of the year is more likely to occur in september than any other month. xii baedekeriana this chapter deals with subjects related to the tourist and the guidebook, and with certain points of a more personal nature connected with the preparation of "baedeker's handbook to the united states." readers uninterested in topics of so practical and commonplace a character will do well to skip it altogether. when the scheme of publishing a "baedeker" to the united states was originally entertained, the first thought was to invite an american to write the book for us. on more mature deliberation it was, however, decided that a member of our regular staff would, perhaps, do the work equally well, inasmuch as he would combine, with actual experience in the art of guidebook making, the stranger's point of view, and thus the more acutely realise, by experiment in his own _corpus vile_, the points on which the ignorant european would require advice, warning, or assistance. so far as my own voice had aught to do with this decision, i have to confess that i severely grudged the interesting task to an outsider. the opportunity of making a somewhat extensive survey of the country that stood preëminently for the modern ideas of democracy and progress was a peculiarly grateful one; and i even contrived to infuse (for my own consumption) a spice of the ideal into the homely brew of the guidebook by reflecting that it would contribute (so far as it went) to that mutual knowledge, intimacy of which is perhaps all that is necessary to ensure true friendship between the two great anglo-saxon powers. while thus reserving the editing of the book for one of our own household, we realised thoroughly that no approach to completeness would be attainable without the coöperation of the americans themselves; and i welcome this opportunity to reiterate my keen appreciation of the open-handed and open-minded way in which this was accorded. besides the signed articles by men of letters and science in the introductory part of the handbook, i have to acknowledge thousands of other kindly offices and useful hints, many of which hardly allow themselves to be classified or defined, but all of which had their share in producing aught of good that the volume may contain. so many americans have used their baedekers in europe that i found troops of ready-made sympathisers, who, half-interested, half-amused, at the attempt to baedekerise their own continent, knew pretty well what was wanted, and were able to put me on the right track for procuring information. indeed, the book could hardly have been written but for these innumerable streams of disinterested assistance, which enabled the writer so to economise his time as to finish his task before the part first written was entirely obsolete. the process of change in the united states goes on so rapidly that the attempt of a guidebook to keep abreast of the times (not easy in any country) becomes almost futile. the speed with which denver metamorphosed her outward appearance has already been commented on at page ; and this is but one instance in a thousand. towns spring up literally in a night. mcgregor in texas, at the junction of two new railways, had twelve houses the day after it was fixed upon as a town site, and in two months contained five hundred souls. towns may also disappear in a night, as johnstown (penn.) was swept away by the bursting of a dam on may , , or as chicago was destroyed by the great fire of . these are simply exaggerated examples of what is happening less obtrusively all the time. the means of access to points of interest are constantly changing; the rough horse-trail of to-day becomes the stage-road of to-morrow and the railway of the day after. the conservative clinging to the old, so common in europe, has no place in the new world; an apparently infinitesimal advantage will occasion a _bouleversement_ that is by no means infinitesimal. next to the interest and beauty of the places to be visited, perhaps the two things in which a visitor to a new country has most concern are the means of moving from point to point and the accommodation provided for him at his nightly stopping-places--in brief, its conveyances and its inns. during the year or more i spent in almost continuous travelling in the united states i had abundant opportunity of testing both of these. in all i must have slept in over two hundred different beds, ranging from one in a hotel-chamber so gorgeous that it seemed almost as indelicate to go to bed in it as to undress in the drawing-room, down through the berths of pullman cars and river steamboats, to an open-air couch of balsam boughs in the adirondack forests. my means of locomotion included a safety bicycle, an adirondack canoe, the back of a horse, the omnipresent buggy, a bob-sleigh, a "cutter," a "booby," four-horse "stages," river, lake, and sea-going steamers, horse-cars, cable-cars, electric cars, mountain elevators, narrow-gauge railways, and the vestibuled limited express from new york to chicago. perhaps it is significant of the amount of truth in many of the assertions made about travelling in the united states that i traversed about , miles in the various ways indicated above without a scratch and almost without serious detention or delay. once we were nearly swamped in a sudden squall in a mountain lake, and once we had a minute or two's pleasant experience of the iron-shod heels of our horse _inside_ the buggy, the unfortunate animal having hitched his hind-legs over the dash-board and nearly kicking out our brains in his frantic efforts to get free. these, however, were accidents that might have happened anywhere, and if my experiences by road and rail in america prove anything, they prove that travelling in the united states is just as safe as in europe.[ ] some varieties of it are rougher than anything of the kind i know in the old world; but on the other hand much of it is far pleasanter. the european system of small railway compartments, in spite of its advantage of privacy and quiet, would be simply unendurable in the long journeys that have to be made in the western hemisphere. the journey of twenty-four to thirty hours from new york to chicago, if made by the vestibuled limited, is probably less fatiguing than the day-journey of half the time from london to edinburgh. the comforts of this superb train include those of the drawing-room, the dining-room, the smoking-room, and the library. these apartments are perfectly ventilated by compressed air and lighted by movable electric lights, while in winter they are warmed to an agreeable temperature by steam-pipes. card-tables and a selection of the daily papers minister to the traveller's amusement, while bulletin boards give the latest stock exchange quotations and the reports of the government weather bureau. those who desire it may enjoy a bath _en route_, or avail themselves of the services of a lady's maid, a barber, a stenographer, and a type-writer. there is even a small and carefully selected medicine chest within reach; and the way in which the minor delicacies of life are consulted may be illustrated by the fact that powdered soap is provided in the lavatories, so that no one may have to use the same cake of soap as his neighbour. no one who has not tried both can appreciate the immense difference in comfort given by the opportunity to move about in the train. no matter how pleasant one's companions are in an english first-class compartment, their _enforced_ proximity makes one heartily sick of them before many hours have elapsed; while a conversation with daisy miller in the american parlour car is rendered doubly delightful by the consciousness that you may at any moment transfer yourself and your _bons mots_ to lydia blood at the other end of the car, or retire with gilead p. beck to the snug little smoking-room. the great size and weight of the american cars make them very steady on well-laid tracks like those of the pennsylvania railway, and thus letter-writing need not be a lost art on a railway journey. even when the permanent way is inferior, the same cause often makes the vibration less than on the admirable road-beds of england. theoretically, there is no distinction of classes on an american railway; practically, there is whenever the line is important enough or the journey long enough to make it worth while. the parlour car corresponds to our first class; and its use has this advantage (rather curious in a democratic country), that the increased fare for its admirable comforts is relatively very low, usually (in my experience) not exceeding / _d._ a mile. the ordinary fare from new york to boston ( to miles) is $ (£ ); a seat in a parlour car costs $ ( _s._), and a sleeping-berth $ . ( _s._). thus the ordinary passenger pays at the rate of about - / _d._ per mile, while the luxury of the pullman may be obtained for an additional expenditure of just about / _d._ a mile. the extra fare on even the chicago vestibuled limited is only $ ( _s._) for miles, or considerably less than / _d._ a mile. these rates are not only less than the difference between first-class and third-class fares in europe, but also compare very advantageously with the rates for sleeping-berths on european lines, being usually to per cent. lower. the parlour-car rates, however, increase considerably as we go on towards the west and get into regions where competition is less active. a good instance of this is afforded by the parlour-car fares of the canadian pacific railway, which i select because it spans the continent with its own rails from the atlantic to the pacific; the principle on the united states lines is similar. the price of a "sleeper" ticket from montreal to fort william ( miles) is $ , or about / _d._ per mile; that from banff to vancouver ( miles) is the same, or at the rate of about / _d._ per mile. the rate for the whole journey from halifax to vancouver ( , miles) is about / _d._ per mile. travellers who prefer the privacy of the european system may combine it with the liberty of the american system by hiring, at a small extra rate, the so-called "drawing-room" or "state-room," a small compartment containing four seats or berths, divided by partitions from the rest of the parlour car. the ordinary carriage or "day coach" corresponds to the english second-class carriage, or, rather, to the excellent third-class carriages on such railways as the midland. it does not, i think, excel them in comfort except in the greater size, the greater liberty of motion, and the element of variety afforded by the greater number of fellow-passengers. the seats are disposed on each side of a narrow central aisle, and are so arranged that the occupants can ride forward or backward as they prefer. each seat holds two persons, but with some difficulty if either has any amplitude of bulk. the space for the legs is also very limited. the chief discomfort, however, is the fact that there is no support for the head and shoulders, though this disability might be easily remedied by a movable head-rest. very little provision is made for hand luggage, the american custom being to "check" anything checkable and have it put in the "baggage car." rugs are entirely superfluous, as the cars are far more likely to be too warm than too cold. the windows are usually another weak point. they move vertically as ours do, but up instead of down; and they are frequently made so that they cannot be opened more than a few inches. the handles by which they are lifted are very small, and afford very little purchase; and the windows are frequently so stiff that it requires a strong man to move them. i have often seen half a dozen passengers struggle in vain with a refractory glass, and finally have to call in the help of the brawny brakeman. this difficulty, however, is of less consequence from the fact that even if you can open your window, there is sure to be some one among your forty or fifty fellow-passengers who objects to the draught. or if _you_ object to the draught of a window in front of you, you have either to grin and bear it or do violence to your british diffidence in requesting its closure. the windows are all furnished with small slatted blinds, which can be arranged in hot weather so as to exclude the sun and let in the air. the conductor communicates with the engine-driver by a bell-cord suspended from the roof of the carriages and running throughout the entire length of the train. it is well to remember that this tempting clothes-rope is not meant for hanging up one's overcoat. whatever be the reason, the plague of cinders from the locomotive smoke is often much worse in america than in england. as we proceed, they patter on the roof like hailstones, in a way that is often very trying to the nerves, and they not unfrequently make open windows a doubtful blessing, even on immoderately warm days. at intervals the brakeman carries round a pitcher of iced water, which he serves gratis to all who want it; and it is a pleasant sight on sultry summer days to see how the children welcome his coming. in some cases there is a permanent filter of ice-water with a tap in a corner of the car. at each end of the car is a lavatory, one for men and one for women. in spite, then, of the discomforts noted above, it may be asserted that the poor man is more comfortable on a long journey than in europe; and that on a short journey the american system affords more entertainment than the european. when richard grant white announced his preference for the english system because it preserves the traveller's individuality, looks after his personal comfort, and carries all his baggage, he must have forgotten that it is practically first-class passengers only who reap the benefit of those advantages. one most unpleasantly suggestive equipment of an american railway carriage is the axe and crowbar suspended on the wall for use in an accident. this makes one reflect that there are only two doors in an american car containing sixty people, whereas the same number of passengers in europe would have six, eight, or even ten. this is extremely inconvenient in crowded trains (_e.g._, in the new york elevated), and might conceivably add immensely to the horrors of an accident. the latter reflection is emphasised by the fact that there are practically no soft places to fall on, sharp angles presenting themselves on every side, and the very arm-rests of the seats being made of polished iron. there is always a smoking-car attached to the train, generally immediately after the locomotive or luggage van. labourers in their working clothes and the shabbily clad in general are apt to select this car, which thus practically takes the place of third-class carriages on european railways. on the long-distance trains running to the west there are emigrant cars which also represent our third-class cars, while the same function is performed in the south by the cars reserved for coloured passengers. in a few instances the trains are made up of first-class and second-class carriages actually so named. a "first-class ticket," however, in ordinary language means one for the universal day-coach as above described. the ticket system differs somewhat from that in vogue in europe, and rather curious developments have been the result. for short journeys the ticket often resembles the small oblong of pasteboard with which we are all familiar. for longer journeys it consists of a narrow strip of coupons, sometimes nearly two feet in length. if this is "unlimited" it is available at any time until used, and the holder may "stop over" at any intermediate station. the "limited" and cheaper ticket is available for a continuous passage only, and does not allow of any stoppages _en route_. the coupons are collected in the cars by the conductors in charge of the various sections of the line. the skill shown by these officials, passing through a long and crowded train after a stoppage, in recognising the newcomers and asking for their tickets, is often very remarkable. sometimes the conductor gives a coloured counter-check to enable him to recognise the sheep whom he has already shorn. these checks are generally placed in the hat-band or stuck in the back of the seat. the conductor collects them just before he hands over the train to the charge of his successor. as many complaints are made by english travellers of the incivility of american conductors, i may say that the first conductor i met found me, when he was on his rounds to collect his counter-checks, lolling back on my seat, with my hat high above me in the rack. i made a motion as if to get up for it, when he said, "pray don't disturb yourself, sir; i'll reach up for it." not all the conductors i met afterwards were as polite as this, but he has as good a right to pose as the type of american conductor as the overbearing ruffians who stalk through the books of sundry british tourists. in judging him it should be remembered that he democratically feels himself on a level with his passengers, that he would be insulted by the offer of a tip, that he is harassed all day long by hundreds of foolish questions from foolish travellers, that he has a great deal to do in a limited time, and that however "short" he may be with a male passenger he is almost invariably courteous and considerate to the unprotected female. though his address may sometimes sound rather familiar, he means no disrespect; and if he takes a fancy to you and offers you a cigar, you need not feel insulted, and will probably find he smokes a better brand than your own. a feature connected with the american railway system that should not be overlooked is the mass of literature prepared by the railway companies and distributed gratis to their passengers. the illustrated pamphlets issued by the larger companies are marvels of paper and typography, with really charming illustrations and a text that is often clever and witty enough to suggest that authors of repute are sometimes tempted to lend their anonymous pens for this kind of work. but even the tiniest little "one-horse" railway distributes neat little "folders," showing conclusively that its tracks lead through the elysian fields and end at the garden of eden. a conspicuous feature in all hotel offices is a large rack containing packages of these gaily coloured folders, contributed by perhaps fifty different railways for the use of the hotel guests. owing to the unlimited time for which tickets are available, and to other causes, a race of dealers in railway tickets has sprung up, who rejoice in the euphonious name of "scalpers," and often do a roaring trade in selling tickets at less than regular fares. thus, if the fare from a to b be $ and the return fare $ , it is often possible to obtain the half of a return ticket from a scalper for about $ . or a man setting out for a journey of miles buys a through ticket to the terminus of the line, which may be miles distant. on this through ticket he pays a proportionally lower rate for the distance he actually travels, and sells the balance of his ticket to a scalper. or if a man wishes to go from a to b and finds that a special excursion ticket there and back is being sold at a single fare ($ ), he may use the half of this ticket and sell the other half to a scalper in b. it is obvious that anything he can get for it will be a gain to him, while the scalper _could_ afford to give up to about $ for it, though he probably will not give more than $ . the profession of scalper may, however, very probably prove an evanescent one, as vigorous efforts are being made to suppress him by legislative enactment. americans often claim that the ordinary railway-fare in the united states is less than in england, amounting only to cents ( _d._) per mile. my experience, however, leads me to say that this assertion cannot be accepted without considerable deduction. it is true that in many states (including all the eastern ones) there is a statutory fare of cents per mile, but this (so far as i know) is not always granted for ordinary single or double tickets, but only on season, "commutation," or mileage tickets. the "commutation" tickets are good for a certain number of trips. the mileage tickets are books of small coupons, each of which represents a mile; the conductor tears out as many coupons as the passenger has travelled miles. this mileage system is an extremely convenient one for (say) a family, as the books are good until exhausted, and the coupons are available on any train (with possibly one or two exceptions) on any part of the system of the company issuing the ticket. which of our enlightened british companies is going to be the first to win the hearts of its patrons by the adoption of this neat and easy device? out west and down south the fares for ordinary tickets purchased at the station are often much higher than cents a mile; on one short and very inferior line i traversed the rate was cents ( - / _d._) per mile. i find that mr. w.m. acworth calculates the average fare in the united states as - / _d._ per mile as against - / _d._ in great britain. professor hadley, an american authority, gives the rates as . cents and cents respectively. british critics would, perhaps, be more lenient in their animadversions on american railways, if they would more persistently bear in mind the great difference in the conditions under which railways have been constructed in the old and the new world. in england, for example, the railway came _after_ the thick settlement of a district, and has naturally had to pay dearly for its privileges, and to submit to stringent conditions in regard to construction and maintenance. in the united states, on the other hand, the railways were often the first _roads_ (hence rail_road_ is the american name for them) in a new district, the inhabitants of which were glad to get them on almost any terms. hence the cheap and provisional nature of many of the lines, and the numerous deadly level crossings. the land grants and other privileges accorded to the railway companies may be fairly compared to the road tax which we willingly submit to in england as the just price of an invaluable boon. this reflection, however, need not be carried so far as to cover with a mantle of justice _all_ the railway concessions of america! two things in the american parlour-car system struck me as evils that were not only unnecessary, but easily avoidable. the first of these is that most illiberal regulation which compels the porter to let down the upper berth even when it is not occupied. the object of this is apparently to induce the occupant of the lower berth to hire the whole "section" of two berths, so as to have more ventilation and more room for dressing and undressing. presumably the parlour-car companies know their own business best; but it would seem to the average "britisher" that such a petty spirit of annoyance would be likely to do more harm than good, even in a financial way. the custom would be more excusable if it were confined to those cases in which two people shared the lower berth. the custom is so unlike the usual spirit of the united states, where the practice is to charge a liberal round sum and then relieve you of all minor annoyances and exactions, that its persistence is somewhat of a mystery. the continuance of the other evil i allude to is still less comprehensible. the united states is proverbially the paradise of what it is, perhaps, now behind the times to term the gentler sex. the path of woman, old or new, in america is made smooth in all directions, and as a rule she has the best of the accommodation and the lion's share of the attention wherever she goes. but this is emphatically not the case on the parlour car. no attempt is made there to divide the sexes or to respect the privacy of a lady. if there are twelve men and four women on the car, the latter are not grouped by themselves, but are scattered among the men, either in lower or upper berths, as the number of their tickets or the courtesy of the men dictates. the lavatory and dressing-room for men at one end of the car has two or more "set bowls" (fixed in basins), and can be used by several dressers at once. the parallel accommodation for ladies barely holds one, and its door is provided with a lock, which enables a selfish bang-frizzler and rouge-layer to occupy it for an hour while a queue of her unhappy sisters remains outside. it is difficult to see why a small portion at one end of the car should not be reserved for ladies, and separated at night from the rest of the car by a curtain across the central aisle. of course the passage of the railway officials could not be hindered, but the masculine passengers might very well be confined for the night to entrance and egress at their own end of the car. an improvement in the toilette accommodation for ladies also seems a not unreasonable demand. miss catherine bates, in her "year in the great republic," narrates the case of a man who was nearly suffocated by the fact that a slight collision jarred the lid of the top berth in which he was sleeping and snapped it to! this story _may_ be true; but in the only top berths which i know the occupant _lies_ upon the lid, which, to close, would have to spring _upwards_ against his weight! a third nuisance, or combination of benefit and nuisance, or benefit with a very strong dash of avoidable nuisance, is the train boy. this young gentleman, whose age varies from fifteen to fifty, though usually nearer the former than the latter, is one of the most conspicuous of the embryo forms of the great american speculator or merchant. he occupies with his stock in trade a corner in the baggage car or end carriage of the train, and makes periodical rounds throughout the cars, offering his wares for sale. these are of the most various description, ranging from the daily papers and current periodicals through detective stories and tales of the wild west, to chewing-gum, pencils, candy, bananas, skull-caps, fans, tobacco, and cigars. his pleasing way is to perambulate the cars, leaving samples of his wares on all the seats and afterwards calling for orders. he does this with supreme indifference to the occupation of the passenger. thus, you settle yourself comfortably for a nap, and are just succumbing to the drowsy god, when you feel yourself "taken in the abdomen," not (fortunately) by "a chunk of old red sandstone," but by the latest number of the _illustrated american_ or _scribner's monthly_. the rounds are so frequent that the door of the car never seems to cease banging or the cold draughts to cease blowing in on your bald head. mr. phil robinson makes the very sensible suggestion that the train boy should have a little printed list of his wares which he could distribute throughout the train, whereupon the traveller could send for him when wanted. another suggestion that i venture to present to this independent young trader is that he should provide himself with copies of the novels treating of the districts which the railway traverses. thus, when i tried to procure from him "ramona" in california, or "the prophet of the great smoky mountains" in tennessee, or "the hoosier schoolmaster" in ohio, or "the grandissimes" near new orleans, the nearest he could come to my modest demand was "the kreutzer sonata" or the last effort of miss laura jean libbey, a popular american novelist, who describes in glowing colours how two aristocratic englishmen, fighting a duel near london somewhere in the seventies, were interrupted by the heroine, who drove between them in a hansom _and pair_ and received the shots in its panels! out west, too, he could probably put more money in his pocket if he were disposed to put his pride there too. one pert youth in arizona preferred to lose my order for cigars rather than bring the box to me for selection; he said "he'd be darned if he'd sling boxes around for me; i could come and choose for myself." however, when criticism has been exhausted it is an undeniable fact that the american pullman cars are more comfortable and considerably cheaper than the so-called _compartiments de luxe_ of european railways. it is, perhaps, worth noting that the comfort of the engine-driver, or engineer as he is called _linguâ americanâ_, is much better catered for in the united states than in england. his cab is protected both overhead and at the sides, while his bull's-eye window permits him to look ahead without receiving the wind, dust, and snow in his eyes. the curious english conservatism which, apparently, believes that a driver will do his work better because exposed to almost the full violence of the elements always excites a very natural surprise in the american visitor to our shores. the speed of american trains is as a rule slower than that of english ones, though there are some brilliant exceptions to this rule. i never remember dawdling along in so slow and apparently purposeless a manner as in crossing the arid deserts of arizona--unless, indeed, it was in travelling by the manchester and milford line in wales. the train on the branch between raymond (a starting-point for the yosemite) and the main line went so cannily that the engine-driver (an excellent marksman) shot rabbits from the engine, while the fireman jumped down, picked them up, and clambered on again at the end of the train. the only time the train had to be stopped for him was when the engineer had a successful right and left, the victims of which expired at some distance from each other. it should be said that there was absolutely no reason to hurry on this trip, as we had "lashins" of time to spare for our connection at the junction, and the passengers were all much interested in the sport. at the other end of the scale are the trains which run from new york to philadelphia ( miles) in two hours, the train of the reading railway that makes the run of miles from camden to atlantic city in minutes, and the empire state express which runs from new york to buffalo ( - / miles) at the rate of over miles an hour, including stops. these, however, are exceptional, and the traveller may find that trains known as the "greased lightning," "cannon ball," or "g-whizz" do not exceed (if they even attain) miles an hour. the possibility of speed on an american railway is shown by the record run of - / miles in - / hours, made on the new york central railroad in (= . miles per hour, exclusive of stops), and by the run of . miles in minutes, made on the same railway in . the longest unbroken runs of regular trains are one of miles on the chicago limited train on the pennsylvania route, and one of miles by the new york central railway running up the hudson to albany. as experts will at once recognise, these are feats which compare well with anything done on this side of the atlantic. in the matter of accidents the comparison with great britain is not so overwhelmingly unfavourable as is sometimes supposed. if, indeed, we accept the figures given by mullhall in his "dictionary of statistics," we have to admit that the proportion of accidents is five times greater in the united states than in the united kingdom. the statistics collected by the railroad commissioners of massachusetts, however, reduce this ratio to five to four. the safety of railway travelling differs hugely in different parts of the country. thus mr. e.b. dorsey shows ("english and american railways compared") that the average number of miles a passenger can travel in massachusetts without being killed is , , , while in the united kingdom the number is only , , , leaving a very comfortable margin of over , , miles. on the whole, however, it cannot be denied that there are more accidents in american railway travelling than in european, and very many of them from easily preventable causes. the whole spirit of the american continent in such matters is more "casual" than that of europe; the american is more willing to "chance it;" the patriarchal régime is replaced by the every-man-for-himself-and-devil-take-the-hindmost system. when i hired a horse to ride up a somewhat giddy path to the top of a mountain, i was supplied (without warning) with a young animal that had just arrived from the breeding farm and had never even seen a mountain. many and curious, when i regained my hotel, were the enquiries as to how he had behaved himself; and it was no thanks to them that i could report that, though rather frisky on the road, he had sobered down in the most sagacious manner when we struck the narrow upward trail. in america the railway passenger has to look out for himself. there is no checking of tickets before starting to obviate the risk of being in the wrong train. there is no porter to carry the traveller's hand-baggage and see him comfortably ensconced in the right carriage. when the train does start, it glides away silently without any warning bell, and it is easy for an inadvertent traveller to be left behind. even in large and important stations there is often no clear demarcation between the platforms and the permanent way. the whole floor of the station is on one level, and the rails are flush with the spot from which you climb into the car. overhead bridges or subways are practically unknown; and the arriving passenger has often to cross several lines of rails before reaching shore. the level crossing is, perhaps, inevitable at the present stage of railroad development in the united states, but its annual butcher's bill is so huge that one cannot help feeling it might be better safeguarded. richard grant white tells how he said to the station-master at a small wayside station in england, _à propos_ of an overhead footbridge: "ah, i suppose you had an accident through someone crossing the line, and then erected that?" "oh, no," was the reply, "we don't wait for an accident." mr. white makes the comment, "the trouble in america is that we _do_ wait for the accident." when i left england in september, , we sailed down the mersey on one of those absolutely perfect autumn days, the very memory of which is a continual joy. i remarked on the beauty of the weather to an american fellow-passenger. he replied, half in fun, "yes, this is good enough for england; but wait till you see our american weather!" as luck would have it, it was raining heavily when we steamed up new york harbour, and the fog was so dense that we could not see the statue of liberty enlightening the world, though we passed close under it. the same american passenger had expatiated to me during the voyage on the merits of the american express service. "you have no trouble with porters and cabs, as in the old world; you simply point out your trunks to an express agent, give him your address, take his receipt, and you will probably find your trunks at the house when you arrive." we reached new york on a saturday; i confidently handed over my trunk to a representative of the transfer company about a.m., hied to my friend's house in brooklyn, and saw and heard nothing more of my trunk till monday morning! such was the way in which two of my most cherished beliefs about america were dissipated almost before i set foot upon her free and sacred soil! it is, however, only fair to say that if i had assumed these experiences to be really characteristic, i should have made a grievous mistake. it is true that i afterwards experienced a good many stormy days in the united states, and found that the predominant weather in all parts of the country was, to judge from my apologetic hosts, the "exceptional;" but none the less i revelled in the bright blue, clear, sunny days with which america is so abundantly blessed, and came to sympathise very deeply with the depression that sometimes overtakes the american exile during his sojourn on our fog-bound coasts. so, too, i found the express system on the whole what our friend artemus ward calls "a sweet boon." certainly it is as a rule necessary, in starting from a private house, to have one's luggage ready an hour or so before one starts one's self, and this is hardly so convenient as a hansom with you inside and your portmanteau on top; and it is also true that there is sometimes (especially in new york) a certain delay in the delivery of one's belongings. in nine cases out of ten, however, it was a great relief to get rid of the trouble of taking your luggage to or from the station, and feel yourself free to meet it at your own time and will. it was not often that i was reduced to such straits as on one occasion in brooklyn, when, at the last moment, i had to charter a green-grocer's van and drive down to the station in it, triumphantly seated on my portmanteau. the check system on the railway itself deserves almost unmitigated praise, and only needs to be understood to be appreciated. on arrival at the station the traveller hands over his impedimenta to the baggage master, who fastens a small metal disk, bearing the destination and a number, to each package, and gives the owner a duplicate check. the railway company then becomes responsible for the luggage, and holds it until reclaimed by presentation of the duplicate check. this system avoids on the one hand the chance of loss and trouble in claiming characteristic of the british system, and on the other the waste of time and expense of the continental system of printed paper tickets. on arrival at his destination the traveller may hurry to his hotel without a moment's delay, after handing his check either to the hotel porter or to the so-called transfer agent, who usually passes through the train as it reaches an important station, undertaking the delivery of trunks and giving receipts in exchange for checks. besides the city express or transfer companies, the chief duty of which is to convey luggage from the traveller's residence to the railway station or _vice versa_, there are also the large general express companies or carriers, which send articles all over the united states. one of the most characteristic of these is the adams express company, the widely known name of which has originated a popular conundrum with the query, "why was eve created?" this company began in with two men, a boy, and a wheelbarrow; now it employs , men and , wagons, and carries parcels over , miles of railway. the wells, fargo & company express operates over , miles of railway. coaching in america is, as a rule, anything but a pleasure. it is true that the chance of being held up by "road agents" is to-day practically non-existent, and that the spectacle of a crowd of yelling apaches making a stage-coach the pin-cushion for their arrows is now to be seen nowhere but in buffalo bill's wild west show. but the roads! no european who has done much driving in the united states can doubt for one moment that the required man of the hour is general wade.[ ] even in the state of new york i have been in a stage that was temporarily checked by a hole two feet deep in the centre of the road, and that had to be emptied _and held up_ while passing another part of the same road. in virginia i drove over a road, leading to one of the most frequented resorts of the state, which it is simple truth to state offered worse going than any ordinary ploughed field. the wheels were often almost entirely submerged in liquid mud, and it is still a mystery to me how the tackle held together. to be jolted off one's seat so violently as to strike the top of the carriage was not a unique experience. nor was the spending of ten hours in making thirty miles with four horses. in the yellowstone one of the coaches of our party settled down in the midst of a slough of despond on the highway, from which it was finally extricated _backwards_ by the combined efforts of twelve horses borrowed from the other coaches. misery makes strange bedfellows, and the ingredients of a christmas pudding are not more thoroughly shaken together or more inextricably mingled than stage-coach passengers in america are apt to be. the difficulties of the roads have developed the skill, courage, and readiness of the stage-coach men to an extraordinary degree, and i have never seen bolder or more dexterous driving than when california bill or colorado jack rushed his team of four young horses down the breakneck slopes of these terrible highways. after one particularly hair-raising descent the driver condescended to explain that he was afraid to come down more slowly, lest the hind wheels should skid on the smooth rocky outcrop in the road and swing the vehicle sideways into the abyss. in coming out of the yosemite, owing to some disturbance of the ordinary traffic arrangements our coach met the incoming stage at a part of the road so narrow that it seemed absolutely impossible for the two to pass each other. on the one side was a yawning precipice, on the other the mountain rose steeply from the roadside. the off-wheels of the incoming coach were tilted up on the hillside as far as they could be without an upset. in vain; our hubs still locked. we were then allowed to dismount. our coach was backed down for fifty yards or so. small heaps of stones were piled opposite the hubs of the stationary coach. our driver whipped his horses to a gallop, ran his near-wheels over these stones so that their hubs were raised _above_ those of the near-wheels of the other coach, and successfully made the dare-devil passage, in which he had not more than a couple of inches' margin to save him from precipitation into eternity. i hardly knew which to admire most--the ingenuity which thus made good in altitude what it lacked in latitude, or the phlegm with which the occupants of the other coach retained their seats throughout the entire episode. the englishman arriving in boston, say in the middle of the lovely autumnal weather of november, will be surprised to find a host of workmen in the common and public garden busily engaged in laying down miles of portable "plank paths" or "board walks," elevated three or four inches above the level of the ground. a little later, when the snowy season has well set in, he will discover the usefulness of these apparently superfluous planks; and he will hardly be astonished to learn that the whole of the northern states are covered in winter with a network of similar paths. these gangways are made in sections and numbered, so that when they are withdrawn from their summer seclusion they can be laid down with great precision and expedition. no statistician, so far as i know, has calculated the total length of the plank paths of an american winter; but i have not the least doubt that they would reach from the earth to the moon, if not to one of the planets. the river and lake steamboats of the united states are on the average distinctly better than any i am acquainted with elsewhere. the much-vaunted splendours of such scottish boats as the "iona" and "columba" sink into insignificance when compared with the wonderful vessels of the line plying from new york to fall river. these steamers deserve the name of floating hotel or palace much more than even the finest ocean-liner, because to their sumptuous appointments they add the fact that they are, except under very occasional circumstances, _floating_ palaces and not _reeling_ or _tossing_ ones. the only hotel to which i can honestly compare the "campania" is the one at san francisco in which i experienced my first earthquake. but even the veriest landsman of them all can enjoy the passage of long island sound in one of these stately and stable vessels, whether sitting indoors listening to the excellent band in one of the spacious drawing-rooms in which there is absolutely no rude reminder of the sea, or on deck on a cool summer night watching the lights of new york gradually vanish in the black wake, or the moon riding triumphantly as queen of the heavenly host, and the innumerable twinkling beacons that safeguard our course. and when he retires to his cabin, pleasantly wearied by the glamour of the night and soothed by the supple stability of his floating home, he will find his bed and his bedroom twice as large as he enjoyed on the atlantic, and may let the breeze enter, undeterred by fear of intruding wave or breach of regulation. if he takes a meal on board he will find the viands as well cooked and as dexterously served as in a fashionable restaurant on shore; he may have, should he desire it, all the elbow-room of a separate table, and nothing will suggest to him the confined limits of the cook's galley or the rough-and-ready ways of marine cookery. little inferior to the fall river boats are those which ascend the hudson from new york to albany, one of the finest river voyages in the world; and worthy to be compared with these are the lake superior steamers of the canadian pacific railway. among the special advantages of these last are the device by which meals are served in the fresh atmosphere of what is practically the upper deck, the excellent service of the neat lads who officiate as waiters and are said to be often college students turning an honest summer penny, and the frequent presence in the bill of fare of the _coregonus clupeiformis_, or lake superior whitefish, one of the most toothsome morsels of the deep. most of the other steamboat lines by which i travelled in the united states and canada seemed to me as good as could be expected under the circumstances. there is, however, certainly room for improvement in some of the boats which ply on the st. lawrence, and the alaska service will probably grow steadily better with the growing rush of tourists. another wonderful instance of british conservatism is the way in which we have stuck to the horrors of our own ferry-boat system long after america has shown us the way to cross a ferry comfortably. it is true that the american steam ferry-boats are not so graceful as ours, looking as they do like noah's arks or floating houses, and being propelled by the grotesque daddy-long-leg-like arrangement of the walking-beam engine. they are, however, far more suitable for their purpose. the steamer as originally developed was, i take it, intended for long (or at any rate longish) voyages, and was built as far as possible on the lines of a sailing-vessel. the conservative john bull never thought of modifying this shape, even when he adopted the steamboat for ferries such as that across the mersey from liverpool to birkenhead. he still retained the sea-going form, and passengers had either to remain on a lofty deck, exposed to the full fury of the elements, or dive down into the stuffy depths of an unattractive cabin. as soon, however, as brother jonathan's keen brain had to concern itself with the problem, he saw the topsy-turvyness of this arrangement. hence in his ferry-boats there are no "underground" cabins, no exasperating flights of steps. we enter the ferry-house and wait comfortably under shelter till the boat approaches its "slip," which it does end on. the disembarking passengers depart by one passage, and as soon as they have all left the boat we enter by another. a roadway and two side-walks correspond to these divisions on the boat, which we enter on the level we are to retain for the passage. in the middle is the gangway for vehicles, to the right and left are the cabins for "ladies" and "gentlemen," each running almost the whole length of the boat. there is a small piece of open deck at each end, and those who wish may ascend to an upper deck. these long-drawn-out cabins are simply but suitably furnished with seats like those in a tramway-car or american railway-carriage. the boat retraces its course without turning round, as it is a "double-ender." on reaching the other side of the river we simply walk out of the boat as we should out of a house on the street-level. the tidal difficulty is met by making the landing-stage a floating one, and of such length that the angle it forms with terra firma is never inconvenient. a swiss friend of mine, whose ocean steamer landed him on the new jersey shore of the north river, actually entered the cabin of the ferry-boat under the impression that it was a waiting-room on shore. the boat slipped away so quietly that he did not discover his mistake until he had reached the new york side of the river; and then there was no more astonished man on the whole continent! the transition from travelling facilities to the telegraphic and postal services is natural. the telegraphs of the united states are not in the hands of the government, but are controlled by private companies, of which the western union, with its headquarters in new york, is _facile princeps_. this company possesses the largest telegraph system in the world, having , offices and , miles of wire. it also leases or uses seven atlantic cables. in this, however, as in many other cases, size does not necessarily connote quality. my experiences _may_ (like the weather) have been exceptional, and the attempt to judge of this hercules by the foot i saw may be wide of the mark; but here are three instances which are at any rate suspicious: i was living at germantown, a suburb of philadelphia, and left one day about p.m. for the city, intending to return for dinner. on the way, however, i made up my mind to dine in town and go to the theatre, and immediately on my arrival at broad-street station (about . p.m.) telegraphed back to this effect. when i reached the house again near midnight, i found the messenger with my telegram ringing the bell! again, a friend of mine in philadelphia sent a telegram to me one afternoon about a meeting in the evening; it reached me in germantown, at a distance of about five miles, at o'clock the following morning. again, i left salisbury (n.c.) one morning about a.m. for asheville, having previously telegraphed to the baggage-master at the latter place about a trunk of mine in his care. my train reached asheville about or p.m. i went to the baggage-master, but found he had not received my wire. while i was talking to him, one of the train-men entered and handed it to him. _it had, apparently, been sent by hand on the train by which i had travelled!_ this telegraphic giant may, of course, have accidentally and exceptionally put his wrong foot foremost on those occasions; but such are the facts. the postal service also struck me as on the whole less prompt and accurate than that of great britain. the comparative infrequency of fully equipped post-offices is certainly an inconvenience. there are letter-boxes enough, and the commonest stamps may be procured in every drug-store (and of these there is no lack!) or even from the postmen; but to have a parcel weighed, to register a letter, to procure a money-order, or sometimes even to buy a foreign stamp or post-card, the new yorker or philadelphian has to go a distance which a londoner or glasgowegian would think distinctly excessive. it appears from an official table prepared in that about half the population of the united states live outside the free delivery service, and have to call at the post-office for their letters. on the other hand, the arrangements at the chief post-offices are very complete, and the subdivisions are numerous enough to prevent the tedious delays of the offices on the continent of europe. the registration fee (eight cents) is double that of england. the convenient "special delivery stamp" (ten cents) entitles a letter to immediate delivery by special messenger. the tendency for the establishment of slight divergency in language between england and america is seen in the terms of the post-office as in those of the railway. a letter is "mailed," not "posted;" the "postman" gives way to the "letter-carrier;" a "post-card" is expanded into a "postal-card." the stranger on arrival at new york will be amused to see the confiding way in which newspaper or book packets, too large for the orifice, are placed on the top of the street letter-boxes (affixed to lamp-posts), and will doubtless be led to speculate on the different ways and instincts of the street arabs of england and america. a second reflection will suggest to him the superior stability of the new york climate. on what day in england could we leave a postal packet of printed matter in the open air with any certainty that it would not be reduced to pulp in half an hour by a deluge of rain? no remarks on the possible inferiority of the american telegraph and postal systems would be fair if unaccompanied by a tribute to the wonderful development of the use of the telephone. new york has (or had very recently) more than twice as many subscribers to the telephonic exchanges as london, and some american towns possess one telephone for every twenty inhabitants, while the ratio in the british metropolis is : , . in the united states contained , miles of telephone wires, used by over , regular subscribers. in the united kingdom had about , miles of wire. the metropolitan telephone in new york alone has , miles of subterranean wire and about , stations. the great switch-board at its headquarters is feet long, and accommodates the lines of , subscribers. some subscribers call for connection over a hundred times a day, and about one hundred and fifty girls are required to answer the calls. the generalisations made in travellers' books about the hotels of america seem to me as fallacious as most of the generalisations about this chameleon among nations. some of the american hotels i stayed at were about the best of their kind in the world, others about the worst, others again about half-way between these extremes. on the whole, i liked the so-called "american system" of an inclusive price by the day, covering everything except such purely voluntary extras as wine; and it seems to me that an ideal hotel on this system would leave very little to wish for. the large american way of looking at things makes a man prefer to give twenty shillings per day for all he needs and consumes rather than be bothered with a bill for sixteen to seventeen shillings, including such items (not disdained even by the swellest european hotels) as one penny for stationery or a shilling for lights. the weak points of the system as at present carried on are its needless expense owing to the wasteful profusion of the management, the tendency to have cast-iron rules for the hours within which a guest is permitted to be hungry, the refusal to make any allowance for absence from meals, and the general preference for quantity over quality. it is also a pity that baths are looked upon as a luxury of the rich and figure as an expensive extra; it is seldom that a hotel bath can be obtained for less than two shillings. there would seem, however, to be no reason why the continental _table d'hôte_ system should not be combined with the american plan. the bills of fare at present offered by large american hotels, with lists of fifty to one hundred different dishes to choose from, are simply silly, and mark, as compared with the _table d'hôte_ of, say, a good parisian hotel, a barbaric failure to understand the kind of meal a lady or gentleman should want. to prepare five times the quantity that will be called for or consumed is to confess a lack of all artistic perception of the relations of means and end. the man who gloats over a list of fifty possible dishes is not at all the kind of customer who deserves encouragement. the service would also be improved if the waiters had not to carry in their heads the heterogeneous orders of six or eight people, each selecting a dozen different meats, vegetables, and condiments. the european or _à la carte_ system is becoming more and more common in the larger cities, and many houses offer their patrons a choice of the two plans; but the fixed-price system is almost universal in the smaller towns and country districts. in houses on the american system the price generally varies according to the style of room selected; but most of the inconvenience of a bedchamber near the top of the house is obviated by the universal service of easy-running "elevators" or lifts. (by the way, the persistent manner in which the elevators are used on all occasions is often amusing. an american lady who has some twenty shallow steps to descend to the ground floor will rather wait patiently five minutes for the elevator than walk downstairs.) many of the large american hotels have defects similar to those with which we are familiar in their european prototypes. they have the same, if not an exaggerated, gorgeousness of bad taste, the same plethora of ostentatious "luxuries" that add nothing to the real comfort of the man of refinement, the same pier glasses in heavy gilt frames, the same marble consoles, the same heavy hangings and absurdly soft carpets. on the other hand, they are apt to lack some of the unobtrusive decencies of life, which so often mark the distinction between the modest home of a private gentleman and the palace of the travelling public. indeed, it might truthfully be said that, _on the whole_, the passion for show is more rampant among american hotel-keepers than elsewhere. they are apt to be more anxious to have all the latest "improvements" and inventions than to ensure the smooth and easy running of what they already have. you will find a huge "teleseme" or indicator in your bedroom, on the rim of which are inscribed about one hundred different objects that a traveller may conceivably be supposed to want; but you may set the pointer in vain for your modest lemonade or wait half an hour before the waiter answers his complicated electric call. the service is sometimes very poor, even in the most pretentious establishments. on the other hand, i never saw better service in my life than that of the neat and refined white-clad maidens in the summer hotels of the white mountains, who would take the orders of half-a-dozen persons for half a dozen different dishes each, and execute them without a mistake. it is said that many of these waitresses are college-girls or even school-mistresses, and certainly their ladylike appearance and demeanour and the intelligent look behind their not infrequent spectacles would support the assertion. it gave one a positive thrill to see the margin of one's soup-plate embraced by a delicate little pink-and-white thumb that might have belonged to hebe herself, instead of the rawly red or clumsily gloved intruder that we are all too familiar with. the waiting of the coloured gentleman is also pleasant in its way to all who do not demand the episcopal bearing of the best english butler. the smiling darkey takes a personal interest in your comfort, may possibly enquire whether you have dined to your liking, is indefatigable in ministering to your wants, slides and shuffles around with a never-failing _bonhomie_, does everything with a characteristic flourish, and in his neat little white jacket often presents a most refreshing cleanliness of aspect as compared with the greasy second-hand dress coats of the european waiter. as a matter of fact, so much latitude is usually allowed for each meal (breakfast from to , dinner from to , and so on) that it is seldom really difficult to get something to eat at an american hotel when one is hungry. at some hotels, however, the rules are very strict, and nothing is served out of meal hours. at newport i came in one sunday evening about o'clock, and found that supper was over. the manager actually allowed me to leave his hotel at once (which i did) rather than give me anything to eat. the case is still more absurd when one arrives by train, having had no chance of a square meal all day, and is coolly expected to go to bed hungry! the genuine democrat, however, may take what comfort he can from the thought that this state of affairs is due to the independence of the american servants, who have their regular hours and refuse to work beyond them. the lack of smoking-rooms is a distinct weak point in american hotels. one may smoke in the large public office, often crowded with loungers not resident in the hotel, or may retire with his cigar to the bar-room; but there is no pleasant little snuggery provided with arm-chairs and smokers' tables, where friends may sit in pleasant, nicotine-wreathed chat, ringing, when they want it, for a whiskey-and-soda or a cup of coffee. american hotels, even when otherwise good, are apt to be noisier than european ones. the servants have little idea of silence over their work, and the early morning chambermaids crow to one another in a way that is very destructive of one's matutinal slumbers. then somebody or other seems to crave ice-water at every hour of the day or night, and the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of the ice-pitcher in the corridors becomes positively nauseous when one wants to go to sleep. the innumerable electric bells, always more or less on the go, are another auditory nuisance. while we are on the question of defects in american hotels, it should be noticed that the comfortable little second-class inns of great britain are practically unknown in the united states. the second-class inns there are run on the same lines as the best ones; but in an inferior manner at every point. the food is usually as abundant, but it is of poorer quality and worse cooked; the beds are good enough, but not so clean; the table linen is soiled; the sugar bowls are left exposed to the flies from week-end to week-end; the service is poor and apt to be forward; and (last, but not least) the manners of the other guests are apt to include a most superfluous proportion of tobacco-chewing, expectorating, an open and unashamed use of the toothpick, and other little amenities that probably inflict more torture on those who are not used to them than would decorous breaches of the decalogue. in criticising american hotels, it must not be forgotten that the rapid process of change that is so characteristic of america operates in this sphere with especial force. this is at work a distinct tendency to substitute the subdued for the gaudy, the refined for the meretricious, the quiet for the loud; and even now the cultured american who knows his _monde_ may spend a great part of his time in hotels without conspicuously lowering the tone of his environment. the prevalent idea that the american hotel clerk is a mannerless despot is, _me judice_, rather too severe. he is certainly apt to be rather curt in his replies and ungenial in his manner; but this is not to be wondered at when one reflects under what a fire of questions he stands all day long and from week to week; and, besides, he does generally give the information that is wanted. that he should wear diamond studs and dress gorgeously is not unnatural when one considers the social stratum from which he is drawn. do not our very cooks the same as far as they can? that he should somewhat magnify the importance of his office is likewise explicable; and, after all, how many human beings have greater power over the actual personal comforts of the fraction of the world they come into contact with? i can, however, truthfully boast that i met hotel clerks who, in moments of relief from pressure, treated me almost as an equal, and one or two who seemed actually disposed to look on me as a friend. i certainly never encountered any actual rudeness from the american hotel clerk such as i have experienced from the pert young ladies who sometimes fill his place in england; and in the less frequented resorts he sometimes took a good deal of trouble to put the stranger in the way to do his business speedily and comfortably. his omniscience is great, but not so phenomenal as i expected; i posed him more than once with questions about his abode which, it seemed to me, every intelligent citizen should have been able to answer easily. in his most characteristic development the american hotel clerk is an urbane living encyclopædia, as passionless as the gods, as unbiassed as the multiplication table, and as tireless as a corliss engine. traveller's tales as to the system of "tipping" in american hotels differ widely. the truth is probably as far from the indignant briton's assertion, based probably upon one flagrant instance in new york, that "it is ten times worse than in england and tantamount to robbery with violence," as from the patriotic american's assurance that "the thing, sir, is absolutely unknown in our free and enlightened country; no american citizen would demean himself to accept a gratuity." to judge from my own experience, i should say that the practice was quite as common in such cities as boston, new york, and philadelphia as in europe, and more onerous because the amounts expected are larger. a dollar goes no farther than a shilling. moreover, the gratuity is usually given in the form of "refreshers" from day to day, so that the vengeance of the disappointed is less easily evaded. miss bates, a very friendly writer on america, reports various unpleasantnesses that she received from untipped waiters, and tells of an american who found that his gratuities for two months at a long branch hotel (for three persons and their horses) amounted to £ . in certain other walks of life the habit of tipping is carried to more extremes in new york than in any european city i know of. thus the charge for a shave (already sufficiently high) is - / _d._, but the operator expects - / _d._ more for himself. one barber with whom i talked on the subject openly avowed that he considered himself wronged if he did not get his fee, and recounted the various devices he and his fellows practised to extract gratuities from the unwilling. as one goes west or south the system of tipping seems to fall more and more into abeyance, though it will always be found a useful smoother of the way. in california, so far as i could judge, it was almost entirely unknown, and the californian hotels are among the best in the union. among the lessons which english and other european hotels might learn from american hotels may be named the following: . the combination of the present _à la carte_ system with the inclusive or american system, by which those who don't want the trouble of ordering their repasts may be sure of finding meals, with a reasonable latitude of choice in time and fare, ready when desired. it is a sensible comfort to know beforehand exactly, or almost exactly, what one's hotel expenses will amount to. . the abolition of the charge for attendance. . a greater variety of dishes than is usually offered in any except our very largest hotels. this is especially to be desired at breakfast. without going to the american extreme of fifty or a hundred dishes to choose from, some intermediate point short of the scylla of sole and the charybdis of ham and eggs might surely be found. there is probably more pig-headed conservatism than justified fear of expense in the reluctance to follow this most excellent "american lead." the british tourist in the united states takes so kindly to the preliminary fruit and cereal dishes of america that he would probably show no objection to them on his native heath. . an extension of the system of ringing once for the boots, twice for the chambermaid, and so on. the ordinary american table of calls goes up to nine. . the provision of writing materials free for the guests of the hotels. the charge for stationery is one of the pettiest and most exasperating cheese-parings of the english boniface's system of account-keeping. if, however, he imitates the liberality of his american brother, it is to be hoped that he will "go him one better" in the matter of blotting-paper. nothing in the youthful country across the seas has a more venerable appearance than the strips of blotting-paper supplied in the writing-rooms of its hotels. nothing in its way could be more inviting or seem more appropriate than the cool and airy architecture of the summer hotels in such districts as the white mountains, with their wide and shady verandas, their overhanging eaves, their balconies, their spacious corridors and vestibules, their simple yet tasteful wood-panelling, their creepers outside and their growing plants within. mr. howells has somewhere reversed the threadbare comparison of an atlantic liner to a floating hotel, by likening a hostelry of this kind to a saloon steamer; and indeed the comparison is an apt one, so light and buoyant does the construction seem, with its gaily painted wooden sides, its glass-covered veranda decks, and its streaming flags. perhaps the nearest analogue that we have to the life of an american summer hotel is seen in our large hydropathic establishments, such as those at peebles or crieff, where the therapeutic appliances play but a subdued obbligato to the daily round of amusements. the same spirit of camaraderie generally rules at both; both have the same regular meal-hours, at which almost as little drinking is seen at the one as the other; both have their evening entertainments got up (_gotten_ up, our american cousins say, with a delightfully old fashioned flavour) by the enterprise of the most active guests. the hydropathists have to go to bed a little sooner, and must walk to the neighbouring village if they wish a bar-room; but on the whole their scheme of life is much the same. whether it is due to the american temperament or the american weather, the palm for brightness, vivacity, variety, and picturesqueness must be adjudged to the hotel. for those who are young enough to "stand the racket," no form of social gaiety can he found more amusing than a short sojourn at a popular summer hotel among the mountains or by the sea, with its constant round of drives, rides, tennis and golf matches, picnics, "germans," bathing, boating, and loafing, all permeated by flirtation of the most audacious and innocent description. the focus of the whole carnival is found in the "piazza" or veranda, and no prettier sight in its way can be imagined than the groups and rows of "rockers" and wicker chairs, each occupied by a lithe young girl in a summer frock, or her athletic admirer in his tennis flannels. the enormous extent of the summer exodus to the mountains and the seas in america is overwhelming; and a population of sixty-five millions does not seem a bit too much to account for it. i used to think that about all the americans who could afford to travel came to europe. but the american tourists in europe are, after all, but a drop in the bucket compared with the oceans of summer and winter visitors to the adirondacks and florida, manitoba springs and the coast of maine, the catskills and long branch, newport and lenox, bar harbor and california, white sulphur springs and the minnesota lakes, saratoga and richfield, the thousand isles and martha's vineyard, niagara and trenton falls, old point comfort and asheville, the yellowstone and the yosemite, alaska and the hot springs of arkansas. and everywhere that the season's visitor is expected he will find hotels awaiting him that range all the way from reasonable comfort to outrageous magnificence; while a simpler taste will find a plain boarding-house by almost every mountain pool or practicable beach in the whole wide expanse of the united states. the briton may not have yet abdicated his post as the champion traveller or explorer of unknown lands, but the american is certainly the most restless mover from one resort of civilisation to another. perhaps the most beautiful hotel in the world is the ponce de leon at st. augustine, florida, named after the spanish voyager who discovered the flowery[ ] state in , and explored its streams on his romantic search for the fountain of eternal youth. and when i say beautiful i use the word in no auctioneering sense of mere size, and height, and evidence of expenditure, but as meaning a truly artistic creation, fine in itself and appropriate to its environment. the hotel is built of "coquina," or shell concrete, in a spanish renaissance style with moorish features, which harmonises admirably with the sunny sky of florida and the historic associations of st. augustine. its colour scheme, with the creamy white of the concrete, the overhanging roofs of red tile, and the brick and terra-cotta details, is very effective, and contrasts well with the deep-blue overhead and the luxuriant verdancy of the orange-trees, magnolias, palmettos, oleanders, bananas, and date-palms that surround it. the building encloses a large open court, and is lined by columned verandas, while the minaret-like towers dominate the expanse of dark-red roof. the interior is richly adorned with wall and ceiling paintings of historical or allegorical import, skilfully avoiding crudity or garishness; and the marble and oak decorations of the four-galleried rotunda are worthy of the rest of the structure. the general effect is one of luxurious and artistic ease, with suggestions of an oriental _dolce far niente_ in excellent keeping with the idea of the winter idler's home. the ponce de leon and the adjoining and more or less similar structures of the alcazar, the cordova, and the villa zorayda form indeed an architectural group which, taken along with the semi-tropical vegetation and atmosphere, alone repays a long journey to see. but let the strictly economical traveller take up his quarters in one of the more modest hostelries of the little town, unless he is willing to pay dearly (and yet not perhaps too dearly) for the privilege of living in the most artistic hotel in the world. it is a long cry from florida to california, where stands another hotel which suggests mention for its almost unique perfections. the little town of monterey, with its balmy air, its beautiful sandy beach, its adobe buildings, and its charming surroundings, is, like st. augustine, full of interesting spanish associations, dating back to . the hotel del monte, or "hotel of the forest," one of the most comfortable, best-kept, and moderate-priced hotels of america, lies amid bluegrass lawns and exquisite grounds, in some ways recalling the parks of england's gentry, though including among its noble trees such un-english specimens as the sprawling and moss-draped live-oaks and the curious monterey pines and cypresses. its gardens offer a continual feast of colour, with their solid acres of roses, violets, calla lilies, heliotrope, narcissus, tulips, and crocuses; and one part of them, known as "arizona," contains a wonderful collection of cacti. the hotel itself has no pretension to rival the ponce de leon in its architecture or appointments, and is, i think, built of wood. it is, however, very large, encloses a spacious garden-court, and makes a pleasant enough impression, with its turrets, balconies, and verandas, its many sharp gables, dormers, and window-hoods. the economy of the interior reminded me more strongly of the amenities and decencies of the house of a refined, well-to-do, and yet not extravagantly wealthy family than of the usual hotel atmosphere. there were none of the blue satin hangings, ormolu vases, and other entirely superfluous luxuries for which we have to pay in the bills of certain hotels at paris and elsewhere; but on the other hand nothing was lacking that a fastidious but reasonable taste could demand. the rooms and corridors are spacious and airy; everything was as clean and fresh as white paint and floor polish could make them; the beds were comfortable and fragrant; the linen was spotless; there was lots of "hanging room;" each pair of bedrooms shared a bathroom; the _cuisine_ was good and sufficiently varied; the waiters were attentive; flowers were abundant without and within. the price of all this real luxury was $ to $ . ( _s._ to _s._) a day. possibly the absolute perfection of the bright and soft californian spring when i visited monterey, and the exquisite beauty of its environment, may have lulled my critical faculties into a state of unusual somnolence; but when i quitted the del monte hotel i felt that i was leaving one of the most charming homes i had ever had the good fortune to live in. the only hotel that to my mind contests with the del monte the position of the best hotel in the north american continent is the canadian pacific hotel at banff, in the national rocky mountains park of canada. here also magnificent scenery, splendid weather, and moderate charges combined to bias my judgment; but the residuum, after all due allowance made for these factors, still, after five years, assures me of most unusual excellence. two things in particular i remember in connection with this hotel. the one is the almost absolute perfection of the waiting, carried on by gentlemanly youths of about eighteen or twenty, who must, i think, have formed the _corps d'élite_ of the thousands of waiters in the service of the canadian pacific railway. the marvellous speed and dexterity with which they ministered to my wants, the absolutely neat and even dainty manner in which everything was done by them, and their modest readiness to make suggestions and help one's choice (always to the point!) make one of the pleasantest pictures of hotel life lurking in my memory. the other dominant recollection of the banff hotel is the wonderfully beautiful view from the summer-house at its northeast corner. just below the bold bluff on which this hotel stands the piercingly blue bow river throws itself down in a string of foaming white cataracts to mate with the amber and rapid-rushing spray. the level valley through which the united and now placid stream flows is carpeted with the vivid-red painter's brush, white and yellow marguerites, asters, fireweed, golden-rod, and blue-bells; to the left rise the perpendicular cliffs of tunnel mountain, while to the right mt. rundle lifts its weirdly sloping, snow-flecked peaks into the azure. in the dense green woods of the adirondacks, five miles from the nearest high road on the one side and on the other lapped by an ocean of virgin forest which to the novice seems almost as pathless as the realms of neptune, stands the adirondack lodge, probably one of the most quaint, picturesque little hotels in the world. it is tastefully built in the style of a rustic log-hut, its timber being merely rough-hewn by the axe and not reduced to monotonous symmetry by the saw-mill. it is roofed with bark, and its wide-eaved verandas are borne by tree-trunks with the bark still on. the same idea is carried out in the internal equipment, and the bark is left intact on much of the furniture. the wood retains its natural colours, and there are no carpets or paint. this charming little hotel is due to the taste or whim of a new york electrical engineer (the inventor, i believe, of the well-known "ticker"), who acts the landlord in such a way as to make the sixty or seventy inmates feel like the guests of a private host. the clerk is a medical student, the very bell-boy ("eddy") a candidate for harvard, and both mix on equal terms with the genial circle that collects round the bonfire lighted in front of the house every summer's evening. as one lazily lay there, watching the wavering play of the ruddy blaze on the dark-green pines, listening to the educated chatter of the boy who cleaned the boots, realising that a deer, a bear, or perchance even a catamount might possibly be lurking in the dark woods around, and knowing that all the material comforts of civilised life awaited one inside the house, one felt very keenly the genuine americanism of this arcadia, and thought how hard it would be to reproduce the effect even in the imagination of the european. it was in this same adirondack wilderness that i stayed in the only hotel that, so far as i know, caught on to the fact that i was a "chiel amang them takin' notes" for a guidebook. with true american enterprise i was informed, when i called for my bill, that that was all right; and i still recall with amusement the incredulous and obstinate resistance of the clerk to my insistence on paying my way. i hope that the genial proprietors do not attribute the asterisk that i gave the hotel to their well-meant efforts to give me _quid pro quo_, but credit me with a totally unbiassed admiration for their good management and comfortable quarters. mention has already been made (p. ) of a hotel at a frequented watering-place, at which the lowest purchasable quantity of sleep cost one pound sterling. it is, perhaps, superfluous to say that the rest procured at this cost was certainly not four or five times better than that easily procurable for four or five shillings; and that the luxury of this hotel appealed, not in its taste perhaps, but certainly in its effect, to the shoddy rather than to the refined demands of the traveller. shenstone certainly never associated the ease of his inn with any such hyperbolical sumptuousness as this; and it probably could not arise in any community that did not include a large class of individuals with literally more money than they knew what to do with, and desirous of any means of indicating their powers of expenditure. it has been said of another hotel at bar harbor that "anyone can stay there who is worth two millions of dollars, or can produce a certificate from the recorder of new york that he is a direct descendant of hendrik hudson or diedrich knickerbocker." many other american hotels suggest themselves to me as sufficiently individual in character to discriminate them from the ruck. such are the hygieia at old point comfort, with its southern guests in summer and its northern guests in winter; looking out from its carefully enclosed and glazed piazzas over the waste of hampton roads, where the "merrimac" wrought devastation to the vessels of the union until itself vanquished by the turret-ship "monitor;" the enormous caravansaries of saratoga, one of which alone accommodates two thousand visitors, or the population of a small town, while the three largest have together room for five thousand people; the hotel at the white sulphur springs of virginia, for nearly a century the typical resort of the wealth and aristocracy of the south, and still furnishing the eligible stranger with a most attractive picture of southern beauty, grace, warm-heartedness, and manners; the stockbridge inn in the berkshire hills, long a striking exception to the statement that no country inns of the best english type can be found in the united states, but unfortunately burned down a year or two ago; the catskill mountain house, situated on an escarpment rising so abruptly from the plain of the hudson that the view from it has almost the same effect as if we were leaning out of the car of a balloon or over the battlements of a castle two thousand feet high; the colossal auditorium of chicago, with its banquet hall and kitchen on the tenth floor; and the palace hotel of san francisco, with its twelve hundred beds and its covered and resonant central court. enough has, however, been said to show that all american hotels are not the immense and featureless barracks that many europeans believe, but that they also run through a full gamut of variety and character. the restaurant is by no means such an institution in the united states as in the continental part of europe; in this matter the american habit is more on all fours with english usage. the café of europe is, perhaps, best represented by the piazza. of course there are numerous restaurants in all the larger cities; but elsewhere the traveller will do well to stick to the meals at his hotel. the best restaurants are often in the hands of germans, italians, or frenchmen. this is conspicuously so at new york. delmonico's has a worldwide reputation, and is undoubtedly a good restaurant; but it may well be questioned whether the new york estimate of its merits is not somewhat excessive. if price be the criterion, it has certainly few superiors. the _à la carte_ restaurants are, indeed, all apt to be expensive for the single traveller, who will find that he can easily spend eight to twelve shillings on a by no means sumptuous meal. the french system of supplying one portion for two persons or two portions for three is, however, in vogue, and this diminishes the cost materially. the _table d'hôte_ restaurants, on the other hand, often give excellent value for their charges. the italians have especially devoted themselves to this form of the art, and in new york and boston furnish one with a very fair dinner indeed, including a flask of drinkable chianti, for four or five shillings. at some of the simple german restaurants one gets excellent german fare and beer, but these are seldom available for ladies. the fair sex, however, takes care to be provided with more elegant establishments for its own use, to which it sometimes admits its husbands and brothers. the sign of a large restaurant in new york reads: "women's coöperative restaurant; tables reserved for gentlemen," in which i knew not whether more to admire the uncompromising antithesis between the plain word "women" and the complimentary term "gentlemen" or the considerateness that supplies separate accommodation for the shrinking creatures denoted by the latter. perhaps this is as good a place as any to note that it is usually as unwise to patronise a restaurant which professedly caters for "gents" as to buy one's leg-coverings of a tailor who knows them only as "pants." probably the "adult gents' bible-class," which professor freeman encountered, was equally unsatisfactory. soup, poultry, game, and sweet dishes are generally as good as and often better than in english restaurants. beef and mutton, on the other hand, are frequently inferior, though the american porterhouse and other steaks sometimes recall english glories that seem largely to have vanished. the list of american fish is by no means identical with that of europe, and some of the varieties (such as salmon) seem scarcely as savoury. the stranger, however, will find some of his new fishy acquaintances decided acquisitions, and it takes no long time to acquire a very decided liking for the bass, the pompano, and the bluefish, while even the shad is discounted only by his innumerable bones. the praises of the american oyster should be sung by an abler and more poetic pen than mine! he may not possess the full oceanic flavour (coppery, the americans call it) of our best "natives," but he is large, and juicy, and cool, and succulent, and fresh, and (above all) cheap and abundant. the variety of ways in which he is served is a striking index of the fertile ingenuity of the american mind; and the man who knows the oyster only on the half-shell or _en escalope_ is a mere culinary suckling compared with him who has been brought face to face with the bivalve in stews, plain roasts, fancy roasts, fries, broils, and fricassées, to say nothing of the form "pigs in blankets," or as parboiled in its own liquor, creamed, sautéd, or pickled. wine or beer is much less frequently drunk at meals than in europe, though the amount of alcoholic liquor seen on the tables of a hotel would be a very misleading measure of the amount consumed. the men have a curious habit of flocking to the bar-room immediately after dinner to imbibe the stimulant that preference, or custom, or the fear of their wives has deprived them of during the meal. wine is generally poor and dear. the mixed drinks at the bar are fascinating and probably very indigestible. their names are not so bizarre as it is an article of the european's creed to believe. america possesses the largest brewery in the world, that of pabst at milwaukee, producing more than a million of gallons a year; and there are also large breweries at st. louis, rochester, and many other places. the beer made resembles the german lager, and is often excellent. its use is apparently spreading rapidly from the german americans to americans of other nationalities. the native wine of california is still fighting against the unfavourable reputation it acquired from the ignorance and impatience of its early manufacturers. the art of wine-growing, however, is now followed with more brains, more experience, and more capital, and the result is in many instances excellent. the _vin ordinaire_ of california, largely made from the zinfandel grape, has been described as a "peasant's wine," but when drunk on the spot compares fairly with the cheaper wines of europe. some of the finest brands of californian red wine (such as that known as las palmas), generally to be had from the producers only, are sound and well-flavoured wines, which will probably improve steadily. it is a thousand pities that the hotels and restaurants of the united states do not do more to push the sale of these native wines, which are at least better than most of the foreign wine sold in america at extravagant charges. it is also alleged that the californian and other american wines are often sold under french labels and at french prices, thus doing a double injustice to their native soil. coffee or tea is always included in the price of an american meal, and these comforting beverages (particularly coffee) appear at luncheon and dinner in the huge cups that we associate with breakfast exclusively. nor do they follow the meal, as with us, but accompany it. this practice, of course, does not hold in the really first-class hotels and restaurants. the real national beverage is, however, ice-water. of this i have little more to say than to warn the british visitor to suspend his judgment until he has been some time in the country. i certainly was not prejudiced in favour of this chilly draught when i started for the united states, but i soon came to find it natural and even necessary, and as much so from the dry hot air of the stove-heated room in winter as from the natural ambition of the mercury in summer. the habit so easily formed was as easily unlearned when i returned to civilisation. on the whole, it may be philosophic to conclude that a universal habit in any country has some solid if cryptic reason for its existence, and to surmise that the drinking of ice-water is not so deadly in the states as it might be elsewhere. it certainly is universal enough. when you ring a bell or look at a waiter, ice-water is immediately brought to you. each meal is started with a full tumbler of that fluid, and the observant darkey rarely allows the tide to ebb until the meal is concluded. ice-water is provided gratuitously and copiously on trains, in waiting-rooms, even sometimes in the public fountains. if, finally, i were asked to name the characteristic sound of the united states, which would tell you of your whereabouts if transported to america in an instant of time, it would be the musical tinkle of the ice in the small white pitchers that the bell-boys in hotels seem perennially carrying along all the corridors, day and night, year in and year out. footnotes: [ ] lady theodora guest, sister of the duke of westminster, in her book, "a round trip in north america," bears the same testimony: "over eleven thousand miles of railway travelling and miles untold of driving besides, without an accident or a semblance of one. no _contretemps_ of any kind, except the little delay at hope from the 'washout,' which did not matter the least; lovely weather, and universal kindness and courtesy from man, woman, and child." [ ] "had you seen but those roads before they were made, you would hold up your hands and bless general wade." [ ] this epithet must not confirm the usual erroneous belief that florida means "the flowery state." it is so called because discovered on easter day (spanish _pascua florida_). xiii the american note those who have done me the honour to read through the earlier pages of this volume will probably find nothing in the present chapter that has not already been implied in them, if not expressed. indeed, i should not consider these pages written to any purpose if they did not give some indication of what i believe to be the dominant trend of american civilisation. a certain amount of condensed explication and recapitulation may not, however, be out of place. in spite of the heterogeneous elements of which american civilisation consists, and in spite of the ever-ready pitfalls of spurious generalisation, it seems to me that there is very distinctly an american note, different in pitch and tone from any note in the european concert. the scale to which it belongs is not, indeed, one out of all relation to that of the older hemisphere, in the way, for example, in which the laws governing chinese music seem to stand apart from all relations to those on which the sonata appassionata is constructed. "the american," as emerson said, "is only the continuation of the english genius into new conditions, more or less propitious;" and the american note, as i understand it, is, with allowance for modifications by other nationalities, after all merely the new world incarnation of a british potentiality. to sum it up in one word is hardly practicable; even a carlylean epithet could scarcely focus the content of this idea. it includes a sense of illimitable expansion and possibility; an almost childlike confidence in human ability and fearlessness of both the present and the future; a wider realisation of human brotherhood than has yet existed; a greater theoretical willingness to judge by the individual rather than by the class; a breezy indifference to authority and a positive predilection for innovation; a marked alertness of mind and a manifold variety of interest; above all, an inextinguishable hopefulness and courage. it is easy to lay one's finger in america upon almost every one of the great defects of civilisation--even those defects which are specially characteristic of the civilisation of the old world. the united states cannot claim to be exempt from manifestations of economic slavery, of grinding the faces of the poor, of exploitation of the weak, of unfair distribution of wealth, of unjust monopoly, of unequal laws, of industrial and commercial chicanery, of disgraceful ignorance, of economic fallacies, of public corruption, of interested legislation, of want of public spirit, of vulgar boasting and chauvinism, of snobbery, of class prejudice, of respect of persons, of a preference of the material over the spiritual. in a word, america has not attained, or nearly attained, perfection. but below and behind and beyond all its weaknesses and evils, there is the grand fact of a noble national theory, founded on reason and conscience. those may scoff who will at the idea of anything so intangible being allowed to count seriously in the estimation of a nation's or an individual's happiness but the man of any imagination can surely conceive the stimulus of the constantly abiding sense of a fine national ideal. the vagaries of the congress at washington may sometimes cause a man more personal inconvenience than the doings of the parliament at westminster, but they cannot wound his self-respect or insult his reason in the same way as the idea of being ruled by a group of individuals who have merely taken the trouble to be born. the hauteur and insolence of those "above" us are always unpleasant, but they are much easier to bear when we feel that they are entirely at variance with the theory of the society in which they appear, and are at worst merely sporadic manifestations. even the tyranny of trusts is not to be compared to the tyranny of landlordism; for the one is felt to be merely an unhappy and (it is hoped) temporary aberration of well-meant social machinery, while the other seems bred in the very bone of the national existence. it is the old story of freedom and hardship being preferable to chains and luxury. the material environment of the american may often be far less interesting and suggestive than that of the european, but his mind is freer, his mental attitude more elastic. every american carries a marshal's baton in his knapsack in a way that has hardly ever been true in europe. it may not assume a more tangible shape than a feeling of self-respect that has never been wounded by the thought of personal inferiority for merely conventional reasons; but he must be a materialist indeed who undervalues this priceless possession. it is something for a country to have reached the stage of passing "resolutions," even if their conversion into "acts" lags a little; it is bootless to sneer at a real "land of promise" because it is not at once and in every way a "land of performance." there is something wonderfully rare and delicate in the finest blossoms of american civilisation--something that can hardly be paralleled in europe. the mind that has been brought up in an atmosphere theoretically free from all false standards and conventional distinctions acquires a singularly unbiassed, detached, absolute, purely human way of viewing life. in matthew arnold's phrase, "it sees life steadily and sees it whole." just this attitude seems unattainable in england; neither in my reading nor my personal experience have i encountered what i mean elsewhere than in america. we may feel ourselves, for example, the equal of a marquis, but does he? and even if he does, do a, and b, and c? no profoundness of belief in our own superiority or the superiority of a humble friend to the aristocrat can make us ignore the circumambient feeling on the subject in the same way that the man brought up in the american vacuum does. the true-born american is absolutely incapable of comprehending the sense of difference between a lord and a plebeian that is forced on the most philosophical among ourselves by the mere pressure of the social atmosphere. it is for him a fourth dimension of space; it may be talked about, but practically it has no existence. it is entirely within the bounds of possibility for an american to attempt graciously to put royalty at its ease, and to try politely to make it forget its anomalous position. the british radical philosopher may attain the height of saying, "with a great sum obtained i this 'freedom';" the american may honestly reply, "but i was free-born." it is necessary to take long views of american civilisation; not to fix our gaze upon small evils in the foreground, not to mistake an attack of moral measles for a scorbutic taint. it is quite conceivable that a philosophic observer of a century ago might almost have predicted the moral and social course of events in the united states, if he had only been informed of the coming material conditions, such as the overwhelmingly rapid growth of the country in wealth and population, coupled with a democratic form of government. even if assured that the ultimate state of the nation would be satisfactory, he would still have foreseen the difficulties hemming its progress toward the ideal: the inevitable delays, disappointments, and set-backs; the struggle between the gross and the spiritual; the troubles arising from the constant accession of new raw material before the old was welded into shape. there is nothing in the present evils of america to lead us to despair of the republic, if only we let a legitimate imagination place us on a view-point sufficiently distant and sufficiently high to enable us to look backwards and forwards over long stretches of time, and lose the effect of small roughnesses in the foreground. even m. de tocqueville exaggerated the evils existing when he wrote his famous work, and forecast catastrophes that have never arisen and seem daily less and less likely ever to arise. let it be enough for the present that america has worked out "a rough average happiness for the million," that the great masses of the people have attained a by no means despicable amount of independence and comfort. those who are apt to think that the comfort of the crowd must mean the _ennui_ of the cultured may safely be reminded of obermann's saying, that no individual life can (or ought to) be happy _passée au milieu des génerations qui souffrent_. _this_ source of unhappiness, at any rate, is less potent in the united states than elsewhere. it is only natural that material prosperity should come more quickly than emancipation from ignorance, as professor norton has noted in a masterly, though perhaps characteristically pessimistic, article in the _forum_ for february, . it may, too, be true, as the same writer remarks, that the common school system of america does little "to quicken the imagination, to refine and elevate the moral intelligence;" and the remark is valuable as a note of warning. but it may well be asked whether the american school system is in this respect unfavourably distinguished from that of any other country; and it must not be forgotten that even instruction in ordinary topics stimulates the soil for more valuable growths. the methods of the salvation army do not appeal to the dilettante; but it is more than possible that the grandchildren of the man whose imagination has been touched, if ever so slightly, by the crude appeal of trombones out of tune and the sight of poke-bonnets and backward-striding maidens, will be more intelligent and susceptible human beings than the grandchildren of the chawbacon whose mental horizon has been bounded by the bottom of his pewter mug. those who think for themselves will naturally make more mistakes than those who carefully follow the dictates of a competent authority; but there are other counterbalancing advantages which bring the enterprising mistake-maker more speedily to the goal than his impeccable rival. the poet might almost have sung "'tis better to have erred and learned than never to have erred at all." the _intellectual_ monopoly of england is, perhaps, even more dangerous than the material. the monastic societies of oxford and cambridge are too apt to insist on certain _forms_ of knowledge, and to think that real wisdom is the prerogative of the few. and we undoubtedly owe many of the healthy breezes of rebellion and scepticism in such matters to the example of america. the keen-eyed yankees distinguish more clearly than we do between the essential conditions of existence and the "stupid and vulgar accidents of human contrivance," and are consequently readier to lay irreverent hands on time-honoured abuses. if a balance could be struck between the influence of europe on america and that of america on europe, it is not by any means clear that the scale would descend in favour of the older world. there is a long list of influential witnesses in favour of the theory that the development of the democratic spirit is bound inevitably to hamper individuality and encourage mediocrity. de tocqueville, scherer, renan, maine, bourget, matthew arnold, all lend the weight of their names to this conclusion. it does not seem to me that this theory is supported by the social facts of the united states. when we have made allowance for the absence of a number of picturesque phenomena which are due to temporal and physical conditions, and would be equally lacking if the country were an autocracy or oligarchy, there remains in the united states greater room for the development of idiosyncrasy than, perhaps, in any other country. it has been paradoxically argued by an english writer that individualism could not reach its highest point except in a socialistic community; _i.e._, that the unbridled competition of the present day drives square pegs into round holes and thus forces the individual, for the sake of bread and butter, to do that which is foreign to his nature; whereas in an ideal socialism each individual would be encouraged to follow his own bent and develop his own special talent for the good of the community. to a certain extent this seems true of the united states. the career there is more open to the talents; the world is an oyster which the individual can open with many kinds of knives; what the germans call "_umsatteln_", or changing one's profession as one changes one's horse, is much more feasible in the new world than in the old. the freedom and largeness of opportunity is a stimulus to all strong minds. lincoln, as professor dowden remarks, would in the middle ages have probably continued to split rails all his life. the fact is that if the predominant power of a few great minds is diminished in a democracy, it is because, together with such minds, a thousand others are at work contributing to the total result.... it is surely for the advantage of the most eminent minds that they should be surrounded by men of energy and intellect, who belong neither to the class of hero-worshippers nor to the class of _valets de chambre_. the truth seems to be that with an increased population and the multiplicity of interests and influences at play on men, we may expect a greater diversity of mental types in the future than could be found at any period in the past. the supposed uniformity of society in a democratic age is apparent, not real; artificial distinctions are replaced by natural differences; and within the one great community exists a vast number of smaller communities, each having its special intellectual and moral characteristics. in the few essentials of social order the majority rightly has its way, but within certain broad bounds, which are fixed, there remains ample scope for the action of a multitude of various minorities.--_"new studies in literature," by prof. e. dowden._ the so-called uniformity and monotony of american life struck me as existing in appearance much more than in reality. if all my ten neighbours have pretty much the same income and enjoy pretty much the same comforts, their little social circle is certainly in a sense much more uniform than if their incomes ranged down from £ , to £ and their household state from several powdered footmen to a little maid-of-all-work; but surely in all that really matters--in thoughts, ideas, personal habits and tastes, internal storms and calms, the elements of tragedy and comedy, talents and ambitions, loves and fears--the former circle might be infinitely more varied than the latter. many critics of american life seem to have been led away by merely external similarities, and to have jumped at once to the conclusion that one philadelphian must be as much like another as each little red-brick, white-stooped house of the quaker city is like its neighbours. a single glance at the enormous number of _intelligent_ faces one sees in american society, or even in an american street, is enough to dissipate the idea that this can be a country of greater monotony than, say, england, where expressionless faces are by no means uncommon, even in the best circles. america is more monotonous than england, if a more equitable distribution of material comforts be monotony; it is not so, if the question be of originality of character and susceptibility to ideas. none the spirit of america [illustration] the macmillan company new york · boston · chicago dallas · san francisco macmillan & co., limited london · bombay · calcutta melbourne the macmillan co. of canada, ltd. toronto the spirit of america by henry van dyke professor of english at princeton university hyde lecturer, university of paris, - hon. ll.d., university of geneva hon. f.r.s.l., london new york the macmillan company _all rights reserved_ copyright, , by the macmillan company. set up and electrotyped. published february, . reprinted march, october, ; february, . norwood press j. s. cushing co.--berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a. to madame elisabeth sainte-marie perrin, _nÉe_ bazin to inscribe your name upon this volume, dear madame, is to recall delightful memories of my year in france. your sympathy encouraged me in the adventurous choice of a subject so large and simple for a course of lectures at the sorbonne. while they were in the making, you acted as an audience of one, in the long music-room at hostel and in the forest of st. gervais, and gave gentle counsels of wisdom in regard to the points likely to interest and retain a larger audience of parisians in the _amphithéâtre richelieu_. then, the university adventure being ended without mishap, your skill as a translator admirably clothed the lectures in your own lucid language, and sent them out to help a little in strengthening the ties of friendship between france and america. grateful for all the charming hospitality of your country, which made my year happy and, i hope, not unfruitful, i dedicate to you this book on the spirit of america, because you have done so much to make me understand, appreciate, and admire the true spirit of france. henry van dyke. preface this book contains the first seven of a series of twenty-six _conférences_, given in the winter of - , on the hyde foundation, at the university of paris, and repeated in part at other universities of france. they were delivered in english, and afterward translated into french and published under the title of _le génie de l'amérique_. in making this american edition it has not seemed worth while to attempt to disguise the fact that these chapters were prepared as lectures to be given to a french audience, and that their purpose, in accordance with the generous design of the founder of the chair, was to promote an intelligent sympathy between france and the united states. if the book finds readers among my countrymen, i beg them, as they read, to remember its origin. perhaps it may have an interest of its own, as a report, made in paris, of the things that seem vital, significant, and creative in the life and character of the american people. contents page introduction xi the soul of a people self-reliance and the republic fair play and democracy will-power, work, and wealth common order and social coÖperation personal development and education self-expression and literature introduction there is an ancient amity between france and america, which is recorded in golden letters in the chronicles of human liberty. in one of the crowded squares of new york there stands a statue of a young nobleman, slender, elegant, and brave, springing forward to offer his sword to the cause of freedom. the name under that figure is la fayette. in one of the broad avenues of paris there stands a statue of a plain gentleman, grave, powerful, earnest, sitting his horse like a victor and lifting high his sword to salute the star of france. the name under that figure is washington. it is well that in both lands such a friendship between two great peoples should be "immortalized by art's immortal praise." it is better still that it should be warmed and strengthened by present efforts for the common good: that the world should see the two great republics standing together for justice and fair play at algeciras, working together for the world's peace at the congress of the hague. but in order that a friendship like this should really continue and increase, there must be something more than a sentimental sympathy. there must be a mutual comprehension, a real understanding, between the two peoples. romantic love, the little _amor_ with the bow and arrows, may be as blind as the painters and novelists represent him. but true friendship, the strong god _amicitia_, is open-eyed and clear-sighted. so long as frenchmen insist upon looking at america merely as the country of the sky-scraper and the almighty dollar, so long as americans insist upon regarding france merely as the home of the yellow novel and the everlasting dance, so long will it be difficult for the ancient amity between these two countries to expand and deepen into a true and vital concord. france and america must know each other better. they must learn to look each into the other's mind, to read each the other's heart. they must recognize each other less by their foibles and more by their faiths, less by the factors of national weakness and more by the elements of national strength. then, indeed, i hope and believe they will be good and faithful friends. it is to promote this serious and noble purpose that an american gentleman, mr. james hazen hyde, has founded two chairs, one at the university of paris, and one at harvard university, for an annual interchange of professors, (and possibly of ideas,) between france and america. through this generous arrangement we have had the benefit of hearing, in the united states, mm. doumic, rod, de régnier, gaston deschamps, hugues le roux, mabilleau, anatole leroy-beaulieu, millet, le braz, tardieu, and the vicomte d'avenel. on the same basis messrs. barrett wendell, santayana, coolidge, and baker have spoken at the sorbonne and at the other french universities. this year harvard has called me from the chair of english literature at princeton university, and the authorities of the sorbonne have graciously accorded me the hospitality of this _amphithéâtre richelieu_, to take my small part in this international mission. do you ask for my credentials as an ambassador? let me omit such formalities as academic degrees, professorships, and doctorates, and present my claims in more simple and humble form. a family residence of two hundred and fifty years in america, whither my ancestors came from holland in ; a working life of thirty years which has taken me among all sorts and conditions of men, in almost all the states of the union from maine to florida and from new york to california; a personal acquaintance with all the presidents except one since lincoln; a friendship with many woodsmen, hunters, and fishermen in the forests where i spend the summers; an entire independence of any kind of political, ecclesiastical, or academic partisanship; and some familiarity with american literature, its origins, and its historical relations,--these are all the claims that i can make to your attention. they are small enough, to be sure, but such as they are you may find in them a partial explanation of the course which these lectures are to take. you will understand that if i have chosen a subject which is not strictly academic, it is because the best part of my life has been spent out of doors among men. you will perceive that my failure to speak of boston as the centre of the united states may have some connection with the accident that i am not a bostonian. you will account for the absence of a suggestion that any one political party is the only hope of the republic by the fact that i am not a politician. you will detect in my attitude towards literature the naïve conviction that it is not merely an art existing for art's sake, but an expression of the inner life and a factor in the moral character. finally, you will conclude, with your french logicality of mind, that i must be an obstinate idealist, because i am going to venture to lecture to you on _the spirit of america_. that is as much as to say that i believe man is led by an inner light, and that the ideals, moral convictions, and vital principles of a people are the most important factors in their history. all these things are true. they cannot be denied or concealed. i would willingly confess them and a hundred more, if i might contribute but a little towards the purpose of these lectures: to help some of the people of france to understand more truly the real people of america,--a people of idealists engaged in a great practical task. i the soul of a people the spirit of america i the soul of a people there is a proverb which affirms that in order to know a man you have only to travel with him for a week. almost all of us have had experiences, sometimes happy and sometimes the reverse, which seem to confirm this saying. a journey in common is a sort of involuntary confessional. there is a certain excitement, a confusion and quickening of perceptions and sensations, in the adventures, the sudden changes, the new and striking scenes of travel. the bonds of habit are loosened. impulses of pleasure and of displeasure, suddenly felt, make themselves surprisingly visible. wishes and appetites and prejudices which are usually dressed in a costume of words so conventional as to amount to a disguise now appear unmasked, and often in very scanty costume, as if they had been suddenly called from their beds by an alarm of fire on a steamboat, or, to use a more agreeable figure, by the announcement in a hotel on the righi of approaching sunrise. there is another thing which plays, perhaps, a part in this power of travel to make swift disclosures. i mean the vague sense of release from duties and restraints which comes to one who is away from home. much of the outward form of our daily conduct is regulated by the structure and operation of the social machinery in which we quite inevitably find our place. but when all this is left behind, when a man no longer feels the pressure of the neighbouring wheels, the constraint of the driving-belt which makes them all move together, nor the restraint of the common task to which the collective force of all is applied, he is "outside of the machine." the ordinary sight-seeing, uncommercial traveller--the tourist, the globe-trotter--is not usually a person who thinks much of his own responsibilities, however conscious he may be of his own importance. his favourite proverb is, "when you are in rome, do as the romans do." but in the application of the proverb, he does not always inquire whether the particular thing which he is invited to do is done by the particular kind of roman that he would like to be, if he lived in rome, or by some other kind of roman quite different, even contrary. he is liberated. he is unaccountable. he is a butterfly visiting a strange garden. he has only to enjoy himself according to his caprice and to accept the invitations of the flowers which please him most. this feeling of irresponsibility in travel corresponds somewhat to the effect of wine. the tongue is loosened. unexpected qualities and inclinations are unconsciously confessed. a new man, hitherto unknown, appears upon the scene. and this new man often seems more natural, more spontaneous, more vivid, than our old acquaintance. "at last," we say to ourselves, "we know the true inwardness, the real reality of this fellow. he is not acting a part now. he is coming to the surface. we see what a bad fellow, or what a good fellow, he is. _in vino et in viatore veritas!_" but is it quite correct, after all, this first impression that travel is the great revealer of character? is it the essential truth, the fundamental truth, _la vraie verité_, that we discover through this glass? or is it, rather, a novel aspect of facts which are real enough, indeed, but not fundamental,--an aspect so novel that it presents itself as more important than it really is? to put the question in brief, and in a practical form, is a railway train the place to study character, or is it only a place to observe characteristics? there is, of course, a great deal of complicated and quarrelsome psychology involved in this seeming simple question,--for example, the point at issue between the determinists and libertarians, the philosophers of the unconscious and the philosophers of the ideal,--all of which i will prudently pass by, in order to make a very practical and common-sense observation. ordinary travel usually obscures and confuses quite as much as it reveals in the character of the traveller. his excitement, his moral detachment, his intellectual dislocation, unless he is a person of extraordinary firmness and poise, are apt to make him lose himself much more than they help him to find himself. in these strange and transient experiences his action lacks meaning and relation. he is carried away. he is uprooted. he is swept along by the current of external novelty. this may be good for him or bad for him. i do not ask this question. i am not moralizing. i am observing. the point is that under these conditions i do not see the real man more clearly, but less clearly. to paraphrase a greek saying, i wish not to study philip when he is a little exhilarated, but philip when he is sober: not when he is at a persian banquet, but when he is with his macedonians. moreover, if i mistake not, the native environment, the chosen or accepted task, the definite place in the great world-work, is part of the man himself. there are no human atoms. relation is inseparable from quality. absolute isolation would be invisibility. displacement is deformity. you remember what emerson says in his poem, _each and all_:-- "the delicate shells lay on the shore: the bubbles of the latest wave fresh pearls to their enamel gave, and the bellowing of the savage sea greeted their safe escape to me. i wiped away the weeds and foam, i fetched my sea-born treasures home, but the poor, unsightly, noisome things had left their beauty on the shore with the sun and the sand and the wild uproar." so i would see my man where he belongs, in the midst of the things which have produced him and which he has helped to produce. i would understand something of his relation to them. i would watch him at his work, the daily labour which not only earns his living but also moulds and forms his life. i would see how he takes hold of it, with reluctance or with alacrity, and how he regards it, with honour or with contempt. i would consider the way in which he uses its tangible results; to what purpose he applies them; for what objects he spends the fruit of his toil; what kind of bread he buys with the sweat of his brow or his brain. i would trace in his environment the influence of those who have gone before him. i would read the secrets of his heart in the uncompleted projects which he forms for those who are to come after him. in short, i would see the roots from which he springs, and the hopes in which his heart flowers. thus, and thus only, the real man, the entire man, would become more clear to me. he might appear more or less admirable. i might like him more, or less. that would make no difference. the one thing that is sure is that i should know him better. i should know the soul of the man. if this is true, then, of the individual, how much more is it true of a nation, a people? the inward life, the real life, the animating and formative life of a people is infinitely difficult to discern and understand. there are a hundred concourses of travel in modern europe where you may watch "the passing show" of all nations with vast amusement,--on the _champs-elysées_ in may or june, in the park of _aix-les-bains_ in midsummer, at the italian lakes in autumn, in the colonnade of shepherd's hotel at cairo in january or february, on the pincian hill at rome in march or april. take your seats, ladies and gentlemen, at this continuous performance, this international _vaudeville_, and observe british habits, french manners, german customs, american eccentricities, whatever interests you in the varied entertainment. but do not imagine that in this way you will learn to know the national personality of england, or france, or germany, or america. that is something which is never exported. some drop of tincture or extract of it, indeed, may pass from one land to another in a distinct and concentrated individuality, as when a lafayette comes to america, or a franklin to france. some partial portrait and imperfect image of it, indeed, may be produced in literature. and there the reader who is wise enough to separate the head-dress from the head, and to discern the figure beneath the costume, may trace at least some features of the real life represented and expressed in poem or romance, in essay or discourse. but even this literature, in order to be vitally understood, must be interpreted in relation to the life of the men who have produced it and the men for whom it was produced. authors are not algebraic quantities,--_x_, _y_, _z_, &c. they express spiritual actions and reactions in the midst of a given environment. what they write is in one sense a work of art, and therefore to be judged accurately by the laws of that art. but when this judgment is made, when the book has been assigned its rank according to its substance, its structure, its style, there still remains another point of view from which it is to be considered. the book is a document of life. it is the embodiment of a spiritual protest, perhaps; or it is the unconscious confession of an intellectual ambition; or it is an appeal to some popular sentiment; or it is the expression of the craving for some particular form of beauty or joy; or it is a tribute to some personal or social excellence; or it is the record of some vision of perfection seen in "the light that never was, on sea or land, the consecration, and the poet's dream." in every case, it is something that comes out of a heritage of ideals and adds to them. the possessor of this heritage is the soul of a people. this soul of a people lives at home. it is for this reason that america has been imperfectly understood, and in some respects positively misunderstood in europe. the american tourists, who have been numerous (and noticeable) on all the european highways of pleasure and byways of curiosity during the last forty years, have made a vivid impression on the people of the countries which they have visited. they are recognized. they are remembered. it is not necessary to inquire whether this recognition contains more of admiration or of astonishment, whether the forms which it often takes are flattering or the reverse. on this point i am sufficiently american myself to be largely indifferent. but the point on which i feel strongly is that the popular impression of america which is derived only or chiefly from the observation of american travellers is, and must be, deficient, superficial, and in many ways misleading. if this crowd of american travellers were a hundred times as numerous, it would still fail to be representative, it would still be unable to reveal the spirit of america, just because it is composed of travellers. i grant you that it includes many, perhaps almost all, of the different types and varieties of americans, good, bad, and mediocre. you will find in this crowd some very simple people and some very complicated people; country folk and city folk; strenuous souls who come to seek culture and relaxed souls who come to spend money; millionnaires and school-teachers, saloon-keepers and university professors; men of the east and men of the west; yankees, knickerbockers, hoosiers, cavaliers, and cowboys. surely, you say, from such a large collection of samples one ought to be able to form an adequate judgment of the stuff. but no; on the contrary, the larger the collection of samples, seen under the detaching and exaggerating conditions of travel, the more confused and the less sane and penetrating your impression will be, unless by some other means you have obtained an idea of the vital origin, the true relation, the common inheritance, and the national unity of these strange and diverse travellers who come from beyond the sea. understand, i do not mean to say that european scholars and critics have not studied american affairs and institutions to advantage and thrown a clear light of intelligence, of sympathy, of criticism, upon the history and life of the united states. a philosophical study like that of tocqueville, a political study like that of mr. james bryce, a series of acute social observations like those of m. paul bourget, m. andré tardieu, m. paul boutmy, m. weiller, an industrial study like that of m. d'avenel, or a religious study like that of the abbé klein,--these are of great value. but they are quite apart, quite different, from the popular impression of america in europe, an impression which is, and perhaps to some extent must naturally be, based upon the observations of americans _en voyage_, and which by some strange hypnotism sometimes imposes itself for a while upon the american travellers themselves. i call this the international postal-card view of america. it is often amusing, occasionally irritating, and almost always confusing. it has flashes of truth in it. it renders certain details with the accuracy of a kodak. but, like a picture made by the kodak, it has a deficient perspective and no atmosphere. the details do not fit together. they are irrelevant. they are often contradictory. for example, you will hear statements made about america like the following:-- 'the americans worship the almighty dollar more than the english revere the ponderous pound or the french adore _les beaux écus sonnants_. _per contra_, the americans are foolish spendthrifts who have no sense of the real value of money.' 'america is a country without a social order. it is a house of one story, without partitions, in which all the inhabitants are on a level. _per contra_, america is the place where class distinctions are most sharply drawn, and where the rich are most widely and irreconcilably separated from the poor.' 'the united states is a definite experiment in political theory, which was begun in , and which has succeeded because of its philosophical truth and logical consistency. _per contra_, the united states is an accident, a nation born of circumstances and held together by good fortune, without real unity or firm foundation.' 'the american race is a new creation, aboriginal, autochthonous, which ought to express itself in totally new and hitherto unheard-of forms of art and literature. _per contra_, there is no american race, only a vast and absurd _mélange_ of incongruous elements, cast off from europe by various political convulsions, and combined by the pressure of events, not into a people, but into a mere population, which can never have a literature or an art of its own.' 'america is a lawless land, where every one does what he likes and pays no attention to the opinion of his neighbour. _per contra_, america is a land of prejudice, of interference, of restriction, where personal liberty is constantly invaded by the tyranny of narrow ideas and traditions, embodied in ridiculous laws which tell a man how many hours a day he may work, what he may drink, how he may amuse himself on sunday, and how fast he may drive his automobile.' 'finally, america is the home of materialism, a land of crude, practical worldliness, unimaginative, irreverent, without religion. but _per contra_, america is the last refuge of superstition, of religious enthusiasm, of unenlightened devotion, even of antique bigotry, a land of spiritual dreamers and fanatics, who, as brillat-savarin said, have "forty religions and only one sauce."' have i sharpened these contrasts and contradictions a little? have i overaccented the inconsistencies in this picture postal-card view of america? perhaps so. yet it is impossible to deny that the main features of this incoherent view are familiar. we see the reflection of them in the singular choice and presentation of the rare items of american news which find their way into the columns of european newspapers. we recognize them in the talk of the street and of the _table-d'hôte_. i remember very well the gravity and earnestness with which a learned german asked me, some years ago, whether, if he went to america, it would be a serious disadvantage to him in the first social circles to eat with his knife at the dinner-table. he was much relieved by my assurance that no one would take notice of it. i recall also the charming naïveté with which an english lady inquired, "have you any good writers in the states?" the answer was: "none to speak of. we import most of our literature from australia, by way of the cape of good hope." sometimes we are asked whether we do not find it a great disadvantage to have no language of our own; or whether the justices of the supreme court are usually persons of good education; or whether we often meet buffalo bill in new york society; or whether shakespeare or bernard shaw is most read in the states. to such inquiries we try to return polite answers, although our despair of conveying the truth sometimes leads us to clothe it in a humorous disguise. but these are minor matters. it is when we are seriously interrogated about the prospect of a hereditary nobility in america, created from the descendants of railway princes, oil magnates, and iron dukes; or when we are questioned as to the probability that the next president, or the one after the next, may assume an imperial state and crown, or perhaps that he may abolish the constitution and establish communism; or when we are asked whether the germans, or the irish, or the scandinavians, or the jews are going to dominate the united states in the twentieth century; or when we are told that the industrial and commercial forces which created the republic are no longer coöperant but divisive, and that the nation must inevitably split into several fragments, more or less hostile, but certainly rival; it is when such questions are gravely asked, that we begin to feel that there are some grave misconceptions, or at least that there is something important lacking, in the current notion of how america came into being and what america really is. i believe that the thing which is lacking is the perception of the spirit of america as the creative force, the controlling power, the characteristic element of the united states. the republic is not an accident, happy or otherwise. it is not a fortuitous concourse of emigrants. it is not the logical demonstration of an abstract theory of government. it is the development of a life,--an inward life of ideals, sentiments, ruling passions, embodying itself in an outward life of forms, customs, institutions, relations,--a process as vital, as spontaneous, as inevitable, as the growth of a child into a man. the soul of a people has made the american nation. it is of this spirit of america, in the past and in the present, and of some of its expressions, that i would speak in these conferences. i speak of it in the past because i believe that we must know something of its origins, its early manifestations, its experiences, and its conflicts in order to understand what it truly signifies. the spirit of a people, like the spirit of a man, is influenced by heredity. but this heredity is not merely physical, it is spiritual. there is a transmission of qualities through the soul as well as through the flesh. there is an intellectual paternity. there is a kinship of the mind as well as of the body. the soul of the people in america to-day is the lineal descendant of the soul of the people which made america in the beginning. just at what moment of time this soul came into being, i do not know. some theologians teach that there is a certain point at which the hidden physical life of an infant receives a _donum_ of spiritual life which makes it a person, a human being. i do not imagine that we can fix any such point in the conception and gestation of a people. certainly it would be difficult to select any date of which we could say with assurance, "on that day, in that year, the exiles of england, of scotland, of holland, of france, of germany, on the shores of the new world, became one folk, into which the spirit of america entered." but just as certainly it is clear that the mysterious event came to pass. and beyond a doubt the time of its occurrence was long before the traditional birthday of the republic, the th of july, . the declaration of independence did not create--it did not even pretend to create--a new state of things. it simply recognized a state of things already existing. it declared "that these united colonies _are_, and of right ought to be, free and independent states." the men who framed this declaration were not ignorant, nor careless in the use of words. when practically the same men were called, a few years later, to frame a constitution for the united states, they employed quite different language: "we, the people of the united states, ... do ordain and establish this constitution." that is the language of creation. it assumes to bring into being something which did not previously exist. but the language of the declaration of independence is the language of recognition. it sets forth clearly a fact which has already come to pass, but which has hitherto been ignored, neglected or denied. what was that fact? nothing else than the existence of a new people, separate, distinct, independent, in the thirteen american colonies. at what moment in the troubled seventeenth century, age of european revolt and conflict, the spirit of liberty brooding upon the immense wilderness of the new world, engendered this new life, we cannot tell. at what moment in the philosophical eighteenth century, age of reason and reflection, this new life began to be self-conscious and to feel its way toward an organic unity of powers and efforts, we cannot precisely determine. but the thing that is clear and significant is that independence existed before it was declared. the soul of the american people was already living and conscious before the history of the united states began. i call this fact significant, immensely significant, because it marks not merely a verbal distinction but an essential difference, a difference which is vital to the true comprehension of the american spirit in the past and in the present. a nation brought to birth by an act of violence, if such a thing be possible,--or let us rather say, a nation achieving liberty by a sharp and sudden break with its own past and a complete overturning of its own traditions, will naturally carry with it the marks of such an origin. it will be inclined to extreme measures and methods. it will be particularly liable to counter-revolutions. it will often vibrate between radicalism and reactionism. but a nation "conceived in liberty," to use lincoln's glorious phrase, and pursuing its natural aims, not by the method of swift and forcible change, but by the method of normal and steady development, will be likely to have another temperament and a different history. it will at least endeavour to practice moderation, prudence, patience. it will try new experiments slowly. it will advance, not indeed without interruption, but with a large and tranquil confidence that its security and progress are in accordance with the course of nature and the eternal laws of right reason. now this is true in the main of the united states. and the reason for this large and tranquil confidence, at which europeans sometimes smile because it looks like bravado, and for this essentially conservative temper, at which europeans sometimes wonder because it seems unsuitable to a democracy,--the reason, i think, is to be found in the history of the soul of the people. the american revolution, to speak accurately and philosophically, was not a revolution at all. it was a resistance. the americans did not propose to conquer new rights and privileges, but to defend old ones. the claim of washington and adams and franklin and jefferson and jay and schuyler and witherspoon was that the kings of england had established the colonies in certain liberties which the parliament was endeavouring to take away. these liberties, the americans asserted, belonged to them not only by natural right, but also by precedent and ancient tradition. the colonists claimed that the proposed reorganization of the colonies, which was undertaken by the british parliament in , was an interruption of their history and a change in the established conditions of their life. they were unwilling to submit to it. they united and armed to prevent it. they took the position of men who were defending their inheritance of self-government against a war of subjugation disguised as a new scheme of imperial legislation. whether they were right or wrong in making this claim, whether the arguments by which they supported it were sound or sophistical, we need not now consider. for the present, the point is that the claim was made, and that the making of it is one of the earliest and clearest revelations of the spirit of america. no doubt in that struggle of defence which we are wont to call, for want of a better name, the revolution, the colonists were carried by the irresistible force of events far beyond this position. the privilege of self-government which they claimed, the principle of "no taxation without representation," appeared to them, at last, defensible and practicable only on the condition of absolute separation from great britain. this separation implied sovereignty. this sovereignty demanded union. this union, by the logic of events, took the form of a republic. this republic continues to exist and to develop along the normal lines of its own nature, because it is still animated and controlled by the same spirit of america which brought it into being to embody the soul of the people. i am quite sure that there are few, even among americans, who appreciate the literal truth and the full meaning of this last statement. it is common to assume that the spirit of is an affair of the past; that the native american stock is swallowed up and lost in our mixed population; and that the new united states, beginning, let us say, at the close of the civil war, is now controlled and guided by forces which have come to it from without. this is not true even physically, much less is it true intellectually and morally. the blended strains of blood which made the american people in the beginning are still the dominant factors in the american people of to-day. men of distinction in science, art, and statesmanship have come from abroad to cast their fortunes in with the republic,--men like gallatin and agassiz and guyot and lieber and mccosh and carl schurz,--and their presence has been welcomed, their service received with honour. of the total population of the united states in more than per cent were of foreign birth or parentage. but the native stock has led and still leads america. there is a popular cyclopædia of names, called _who's who in america_, which contains brief biographies of some , living persons, who are supposed to be more or less distinguished, in one way or another, in the various regions in which they live. it includes the representatives of foreign governments in the united states, and some foreign authors and business men. it is not necessary to imagine that all who are admitted to this quasi-golden book of "who's-who-dom" are really great or widely famous. there are perhaps many of whom we might inquire, which is who, and why is he somewhat? but, after all, the book includes most of the successful lawyers, doctors, merchants, bankers, preachers, politicians, authors, artists, and teachers,--the people who are most influential in their local communities and best known to their fellow-citizens. the noteworthy fact is that . per cent are native americans. i think that a careful examination of the record would show that a very large majority have at least three generations of american ancestry on one side or the other of the family. of the men elected to the presidency of the united states there has been only one whose ancestors did not belong to america before the revolution,--james buchanan, whose father was a scotch-irish preacher who came to the new world in . all but four of the presidents of the united states could trace their line back to americans of the seventeenth century. but it is not upon these striking facts of physical heredity that i would rest my idea of an american people, distinct and continuous, beginning a conscious life at some time antecedent to and still guiding the development of the united states. i would lay far more stress upon intellectual and spiritual heredity, that strange process of moral generation by which the qualities of the spirit of america have been communicated to millions of immigrants from all parts of the world. since about twenty-six million persons have come to the united states from foreign lands. at the present moment, in a population which is estimated at about ninety millions, there are probably between thirteen and fifteen millions who are foreign-born. it is an immense quantity for any nation to digest and assimilate, and it must be confessed that there are occasional signs of local dyspepsia in the large cities. but none the less it may be confidently affirmed that the foreign immigration of the past has been thoroughly transformed into american material, and that the immigration of the present is passing through the same process without any alarming interruption. i can take you into quarters of new york where you might think yourself in a russian ghetto, or into regions of pennsylvania which would seem to you like hungarian mining towns. but if you will come with me into the public schools, where the children of these people of the old world are gathered for education, you will find yourself in the midst of fairly intelligent and genuinely patriotic young americans. they will salute the flag for you with enthusiasm. they will sing "columbia" and "the star spangled banner" with more vigour than harmony. they will declaim webster's apostrophe to the union, or cry with patrick henry, "give me liberty or give me death." what is more, they will really feel, in some dim but none the less vital way, the ideals for which these symbols stand. give them time, and their inward allegiance will become clearer, they will begin to perceive how and why they are americans. they will be among those wise children who know their own spiritual fathers. last june it fell to my lot to deliver the commencement address at the college of the city of new york, a free institution which is the crown of the public school system of the city. only a very small proportion of the scholars had names that you could call american, or even anglo-saxon. they were french and german, polish and italian, russian and hebrew. yet as i spoke on the subject of citizenship, suggested by the recent death of that great american, ex-president grover cleveland, the response was intelligent, immediate, unanimous, and eager. there was not one of that crowd of young men who would have denied or surrendered his right to trace his patriotic ancestry, his inherited share in the spirit of america, back to lincoln and webster, madison and jefferson, franklin and washington. here, then, is the proposition to which i dedicate these conferences. there is now, and there has been since before the revolution, a spirit of america, the soul of a people, and it is this which has made the united states and which still animates and controls them. i shall try to distinguish and describe a few, four or five of the essential features, qualities, ideals,--call them what you will,--the main elements of that spirit as i understand it. i shall also speak of two or three other traits, matters of temperament, perhaps, more than of character, which seem to me distinctly american. then because i am neither a politician nor a jurist, i shall pass from the important field of civil government and national institutions, to consider some of the ways in which this soul of the american people has expressed itself in education and in social effort and in literature. in following this course i venture to hope that it may be possible to correct, or at least to modify, some of the inaccuracies and inconsistencies in the popular view of america which prevails in some quarters of europe. perhaps i may be able to suggest, even to americans, some of the real sources of our national unity and strength. "_un américain_" says andré tardieu, in his recent book, "_est toujours plus proche qu'on ne croit d'un contradicteur américain_." why? that is what i hope to show in these lectures. i do not propose to argue for any creed, nor to win converts for any political theory. in these conferences i am not a propagandist, nor a preacher, nor an advocate. not even a professor, strictly speaking. just a man from america who is trying to make you feel the real spirit of his country, first in her life, then in her literature. i should be glad if in the end you might be able to modify the ancient proverb a little and say, _tout comprendre, c'est un peu aimer_. ii self-reliance and the republic ii self-reliance and the republic the other day i came upon a new book with a title which seemed to take a good ideal for granted: _the new american type_. the author began with a description of a recent exhibition of portraits in new york, including pictures of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries. he was impressed with the idea that "an astonishing change had taken place in men and women between the time of president washington and president mckinley; bodies, faces, thoughts, had all been transformed. one short stairway from the portraits of reynolds to those of sargent ushered in changes as if it had stretched from the first pharaoh to the last ptolemy." from this interesting text the author went on into an acute and sparkling discussion of the different pictures and the personalities whom they presented, and so into an attempt to define the new type of american character which he inferred from the modern portraits. now it had been my good fortune, only a little while before, to see another exhibition of pictures which made upon my mind a directly contrary impression. this was not a collection of paintings, but a show of living pictures: a twelfth night celebration, in costume, at the century club in new york. four or five hundred of the best-known and most influential men in the metropolis of america had arrayed themselves in the habiliments of various lands and ages for an evening of fun and frolic. there were travellers and explorers who had brought home the robes of the orient. there were men of exuberant fancy who had made themselves up as roman senators or spanish toreadors or provençal troubadours. but most of the costumes were english or dutch or french of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. the astonishing thing was that the men who wore them might easily have been taken for their own grandfathers or great-grandfathers. there was a puritan who might have fled from the oppressions of archbishop laud, a cavalier who might have sought a refuge from the severities of cromwell's parliament, a huguenot who might have escaped from the pressing attentions of louis xiv in the dragonnades, a dutch burgher who might have sailed from amsterdam in the _goede vrouw_. there were soldiers of the colonial army and members of the continental congress who might have been painted by copley or stuart or trumbull or peale. the types of the faces were not essentially different. there was the same strength of bony structure, the same firmness of outline, the same expression of self-reliance, varying from the tranquillity of the quiet temperament to the turbulence of the stormy temperament. they looked like men who were able to take care of themselves, who knew what they wanted, and who would be likely to get it. they had the veritable air and expression of their ancestors of one or two hundred years ago. and yet, as a matter of fact, they were intensely modern americans, typical new yorkers of the twentieth century. reflecting upon this interesting and rather pleasant experience, i was convinced that the author of _the new american type_ had allowed his imagination to run away with his judgment. no such general and fundamental change as he describes has really taken place. there have been modifications and developments and degenerations, of course, under the new conditions and influences of modern life. there have been also great changes of fashion and dress,--the wearing of mustaches and beards,--the discarding of wigs and ruffles,--the sacrifice of a somewhat fantastic elegance to a rather monotonous comfort in the ordinary costume of men. these things have confused and misled my ingenious author. he has been bewildered also by the alteration in the methods of portraiture. he has mistaken a change in the art of the painters for a change in the character of their subjects. it is a well-known fact that something comes into a portrait from the place and the manner in which it is made. i have a collection of pictures of charles dickens, and it is interesting to observe how the scotch ones make him look a little like a scotchman, and the london ones make him look intensely english, and the american ones give him a touch of broadway in , and the photographs made in paris have an unmistakable suggestion of the _boulevards_. there is a great difference between the spirit and method of reynolds, hoppner, latour, vanloo, and those of sargent, holl, duran, bonnat, alexander, and zorn. it is this difference that helps to conceal the essential likeness of their sitters. i was intimately acquainted with benjamin franklin's great-grandson, a surgeon in the american navy. put a fur cap and knee breeches on him, and he might easily have sat for his great-grandfather's portrait. in character there was a still closer resemblance. you can see the same faces at any banquet in new york to-day that rembrandt has depicted in his "night-watch," or franz hals in his "banquet of the civic guard." but there is something which interests me even more than this persistence of visible ancestral features in the americans of to-day. it is the continuance from generation to generation of the main lines, the essential elements, of that american character which came into being on the western continent. it is commonly assumed that this character is composite, that the people who inhabit america are a mosaic, made up of fragments brought from various lands and put together rather at haphazard and in a curious pattern. this assumption misses the inward verity by dwelling too much upon the outward fact. undoubtedly there were large and striking differences between the grave and strict puritans who peopled the shores of massachusetts bay, the pleasure-loving cavaliers who made their tobacco plantations in virginia, the liberal and comfortable hollanders who took possession of the lands along the hudson, the skilful and industrious frenchmen who came from old rochelle to new rochelle, the peaceful and prudent quakers who followed william penn, the stolid germans of the rhine who made their farms along the susquehanna, the vigorous and aggressive scotch-irish presbyterians who became the pioneers of western pennsylvania and north carolina, the tolerant catholics who fled from english persecution to lord baltimore's maryland. but these outward differences of speech, of dress, of habits, of tradition, were, after all, of less practical consequence than the inward resemblances and sympathies of spirit which brought these men of different stocks together as one people. they were not a composite people, but a blended people. they became in large measure conscious of the same aims, loyal to the same ideals, and capable of fighting and working together as americans to achieve their destiny. i suppose that the natural process of intermarriage played an important part in this blending of races. this is an affair to which the conditions of life in a new country, on the frontiers of civilization, are peculiarly favourable. love flourishes when there are no locksmiths. in a community of exiles the inclinations of the young men towards the young women easily overstep the barriers of language and descent. quite naturally the english and scotch were united with the dutch and french in the holy state of matrimony, and the mothers had as much to do as the fathers with the character-building of the children. but apart from this natural process of combination there were other influences at work bringing the colonists into unity. there was the pressure of a common necessity--the necessity of taking care of themselves, of making their own living in a hard, new world. there was the pressure of a common danger--the danger from the fierce and treacherous savages who surrounded them and continually threatened them with pillage and slaughter. there was the pressure of a common discipline--the discipline of building up an organized industry, a civilized community in the wilderness. yet i doubt whether even these potent forces of compression, of fusion, of metamorphosis, would have made one people of the colonists quite so quickly, quite so thoroughly, if it had not been for certain affinities of spirit, certain ideals and purposes which influenced them all, and which made the blending easier and more complete. most of the colonists of the seventeenth century, you will observe, were people who in one way or another had suffered for their religious convictions, whether they were puritans or catholics, episcopalians or presbyterians, quakers or anabaptists. the almost invariable effect of suffering for religion is to deepen its power and to intensify the desire for liberty to practise it. it is true that other motives, the love of adventure, the desire to attain prosperity in the affairs of this world, and in some cases the wish to escape from the consequences of misconduct or misfortune in the old country, played a part in the settlement of america. nothing could be more absurd than the complacent assumption that all the ancestors from whom the "colonial dames" or the "sons of the revolution" delight to trace their descent were persons of distinguished character and fervent piety. but the most characteristic element of the early emigration was religious, and that not by convention and conformity, but by conscience and conviction. there was less difference among the various colonies in this respect than is generally imagined. the new englanders, who have written most of the american histories, have been in the way of claiming the lion's share of the religious influence for the puritans. but while massachusetts was a religious colony with commercial tendencies, new amsterdam was a commercial colony with religious principles. the virginia parson prayed by the book, and the pennsylvania quaker made silence the most important part of his ritual, but alike on the banks of the james and on the shores of the delaware the ultimate significance and value of life were interpreted in terms of religion. now one immediate effect of such a ground-tone of existence is to increase susceptibility and devotion to ideals. the habit of referring constantly to religious sanctions is one that carries with it a tendency to intensify the whole motive power of life in relation to its inward conceptions of what is right and desirable. men growing up in such an atmosphere may easily become fanatical, but they are not likely to be feeble. moreover, the american colonists, by the very conditions of natural selection which brought them together, must have included more than the usual proportion of strong wills, resolute and independent characters, people who knew what they wanted to do and were willing to accept needful risks and hardships in order to do it. the same thing, at least to some extent, holds good of the later immigration into the united states. most of the immigrants must have been rich in personal energy, clear in their conviction of what was best for them to do. otherwise they would have lacked the force to break old ties, to brave the sea, to face the loneliness and uncertainty of life in a strange land. discontent with their former condition acted upon them not as a depressant but as a tonic. the hope of something unseen, untried, was a stimulus to which their wills reacted. whatever misgivings or reluctances they may have had, upon the whole they were more attracted than repelled by the prospect of shaping a new life for themselves, according to their own desire, in a land of liberty, opportunity, and difficulty. we come thus to the first and most potent factor in the soul of the american people, _the spirit of self-reliance_. this was the dominant and formative factor of their early history. it was the inward power which animated and sustained them in their first struggles and efforts. it was deepened by religious conviction and intensified by practical experience. it took shape in political institutions, declarations, constitutions. it rejected foreign guidance and control, and fought against all external domination. it assumed the right of self-determination, and took for granted the power of self-development. in the ignorant and noisy it was aggressive, independent, cocksure, and boastful. in the thoughtful and prudent it was grave, firm, resolute, and inflexible. it has persisted through all the changes and growth of two centuries, and it remains to-day the most vital and irreducible quality in the soul of america,--_the spirit of self-reliance_. you may hear it in its popular and somewhat vulgar form--not without a characteristic touch of humour--in the yankee's answer to the intimation of an englishman that if the united states did not behave themselves well, great britain would come over and whip them. "what!" said the yankee, "ag'in?" you may hear it in deeper, saner, wiser tones, in lincoln's noble asseveration on the battle-field of gettysburg, that "government of the people, by the people, for the people _shall not_ perish from the earth." but however or whenever you hear it, the thing which it utters is the same,--the inward conviction of a people that they have the right and the ability, and consequently the duty, to regulate their own life, to direct their own property, and to pursue their own happiness according to the light which they possess. it is obvious that one may give different names to this spirit, according to the circumstances in which it is manifested and observed. it may be called the spirit of independence when it is shown in opposition to forces of external control. professor barrett wendell, speaking from this chair four years ago, said that the first ideal to take form in the american consciousness was "the ideal of liberty." but his well-balanced mind compelled him immediately to limit and define this ideal as a desire for "the political freedom of america from all control, from all coercion, from all interference by any power foreign to our own american selves." and what is this but self-reliance? professor münsterberg, in his admirable book, _the americans_, calls it "the spirit of self-direction." he traces its influence in the development of american institutions and the structure of american life. he says: "whoever wishes to understand the secret of that baffling turmoil, the inner mechanism and motive behind all the politically effective forces, must set out from only one point. he must appreciate the yearning of the american heart after self-direction. everything else is to be understood from this." but this yearning after self-_direction_, it seems to me, is not peculiar to americans. all men have more or less of it by nature. all men yearn to be their own masters, to shape their own life, to direct their own course. the difference among men lies in the clearness and the vigour with which they conceive their own right and power and duty so to do. back of the temper of independence, back of the passion for liberty, back of the yearning after self-direction, stands the spirit of self-reliance, from which alone they derive force and permanence. it was this spirit that made america, and it is this spirit that preserves the republic. emerson has expressed it in a sentence: "we will walk on our own feet; we will work with our own hands; we will speak our own minds." it is undoubtedly true that the largest influence in the development of this spirit came from the puritans and pilgrims of the new england colonies, bred under the bracing and strengthening power of that creed which bears the name of a great frenchman, john calvin, and trained in that tremendous sense of personal responsibility which so often carries with it an intense feeling of personal value and force. yet, after all, if we look at the matter closely, we shall see that there was no very great difference among the colonists of various stocks and regions in regard to their confidence in themselves and their feeling that they both could and should direct their own affairs. the virginians, languishing and fretting under the first arbitrary rule of the london corporation which controlled them with military severity, obtained a "great charter of privileges, orders, and laws" in . this gave to the little body of settlers, about a thousand in number, the right of electing their own legislative assembly, and thus laid the foundation of representative government in the new world. a little later, in , fearing that the former despotism might be renewed, the virginia assembly sent a message to the king, saying, "rather than be reduced to live under the like government, we desire his majesty that commissioners be sent over to hang us." in the virginia company was dissolved, and the colony passed under a royal charter, but they still preserved and cherished the rights of self-rule in all local affairs, and developed an extraordinary temper of jealousy and resistance towards the real or imagined encroachments of the governors who were sent out by the king. in the virginians practically rebelled against the authority of great britain because they conceived that they were being reduced to a condition of dependence and servitude. they felt confident that they were able to make their own laws and to choose their own leaders. they were distinctly not conscious of any inferiority to their brethren in england, and with their somewhat aristocratic tendencies they developed a set of men like lee and henry and washington and bland and jefferson and harrison, who had more real power than any of the royal governors. in new amsterdam, where the most liberal policy in regard to the reception of immigrants prevailed, but where for a long time there was little or no semblance of popular government, the inhabitants rebelled in against the tyranny of the agents of the dutch west india company which ruled them from across the sea,--ruled them fairly well, upon the whole, but still denied free play to their spirit of self-reliance. the conflicts between the bibulous and dubious director van twiller and his neighbours, between the fiery and arbitrary william kieft and his eight men, between the valiant, obstinate, hot-tempered, and dictatorial peter stuyvesant and his nine men, have been humorously narrated by washington irving in his _knickerbocker_. but underneath the burlesque chronicle of bickerings and wranglings, complaints and protests, it is easy to see the stirrings of the sturdy spirit which confides in self and desires to have control of its own affairs. in the vertoogh or remonstrance of the seven men representing the burghers of manhattan, brewckelen, amersfoort, and pavonia was sent to the states general of the netherlands. it demanded first that their high mightinesses should turn out the west india company and take direct control of new netherland; second, that a proper municipal government should be granted to new amsterdam; and third, that the boundaries of the province should be settled by treaty with friendly powers. this document also called attention, by way of example, to the freedom of their neighbours in new england, "where neither patrouns, nor lords, nor princes are known, but only the people." the west india company was powerful enough to resist these demands for a time, but in new amsterdam was incorporated as a city. ten years later it passed under english sovereignty, and the history of new york began. one of its first events was the protest of certain towns on long island against a tax which was laid upon them in order to pay for the repair of the fort in new york. they appealed to the principle of "no taxation without representation," which they claimed had been declared alike by england and by the dutch republic. for nearly twenty years, however, this appeal and others like it were disregarded, until at last the spirit of self-reliance became irresistible. a petition was sent to the duke of york declaring that the lack of a representative assembly was "an intolerable grievance." the duke, it is said, was out of patience with his uneasy province, which brought him in no revenue except complaints and protests. "i have a mind to sell it," said he, "to any one who will give me a fair price." "what," cried his friend william penn, "sell new york! don't think of such a thing. just give it self-government, and there will be no more trouble." the duke listened to the quaker, and in the first assembly of new york was elected. the charters which were granted by the stuart kings to the american colonies were for the most part of an amazingly liberal character. no doubt the royal willingness to see restless and intractable subjects leave england had something to do with this liberality. but the immediate effect of it was to encourage the spirit of self-reliance. in some of the colonies, as in connecticut and rhode island, the people elected their own governors as well as made their own laws. when governor fletcher of new york found the people of connecticut unwilling to comply with his demands in , he wrote back to england angrily: "the laws of england have no effect in this colony. they set up for a free state." even in those colonies where the governors and the judges were appointed by the crown, the people were quick to suspect and bitter to resent any invasion of their liberties or contradiction of their will as expressed through the popular assemblies; and these assemblies prudently retained, as a check upon executive authority, the right of voting, and paying, or not paying, the salaries of the governor and other officers. the policy of great britain in regard to the american dependencies, while it vacillated somewhat, was, in the main, to leave them quite independent. various motives may have played a part at different times in this policy. indifference and a feeling of contempt may have had something to do with it. english liberalism and republican sympathy may have had something to do with it. a shrewd willingness to let them prosper by their own efforts, in their own way, in order that they might make a better market for english manufactures, may have had something to do with it. thus lord morley tells us: "walpole was content with seeing that no trouble came from america. he left it to the duke of newcastle, and the duke left it so much to itself that he had a closet full of despatches from american governors, which had lain unopened for years." but whatever may have been the causes of this policy, its effect was to intensify and spread the spirit of self-reliance among the people of america. a group of communities grew up along the western shore of the atlantic which formed the habit of defending themselves, of developing their own resources, of regulating their own affairs. it has been well said that they were colonies only in the greek sense: communities which went forth from the mother-country like children from a home, to establish a self-sustaining and equal life. they were not colonies in the roman sense, suburbs of the empire, garrisoned and ruled from the sole centre of authority. they felt, all of them, that they understood their own needs, their own opportunities, their own duties, their own dangers and hopes, better than any one else could understand them. "those who feel," said franklin, when he appeared before the committee of parliament in london, "can best judge." they issued money, they made laws and constitutions, they raised troops, they built roads, they established schools and colleges, they levied taxes, they developed commerce,--and this last they did to a considerable extent in violation or evasion of the english laws of navigation. they acknowledged, indeed they fervently protested, for a long time, their allegiance to great britain and their loyalty to the crown; but they conceived their allegiance as one of equality, and their loyalty as a voluntary sentiment largely influenced by gratitude for the protection which the king gave them in the rights of internal self-government. this self-reliant spirit extended from the colonies into the townships and counties of which they were composed. each little settlement, each flourishing village and small city, had its own local interests, and felt the wish and the ability to manage them. and in these communities every man was apt to be conscious of his own importance, his own value, his own ability and right to contribute to the discussion and settlement of local problems. the conditions of life, also, had developed certain qualities in the colonists which persisted and led to a general temper of personal independence and self-confidence. the men who had cleared the forests, fought off the indians, made homes in the wilderness, were inclined to think themselves _capable de tout_. they valued their freedom to prove this as their most precious asset. "i have some little property in america," said franklin. "i will freely spend nineteen shillings in the pound to defend the right of giving or refusing the other shilling; and, after all, if i cannot defend that right, i can retire cheerfully with my little family into the boundless woods of america, which are sure to furnish freedom and subsistence to any man who can bait a hook or pull a trigger." it is rather startling to think of franklin as gaining his living as a hunter or a fisherman; but no doubt he could have done it. the wonderful prosperity and the amazing growth of the colonies fostered this spirit of self-reliance. their wealth was increasing more rapidly, in proportion, than the wealth of england. their population grew from an original stock of perhaps a hundred thousand immigrants to two million in , a twenty-fold advance; while in the same period of time england had only grown from five millions to eight millions, less than twofold. the conflicts with the french power in canada also had a powerful influence in consolidating the colonies and teaching them their strength. the first congress in which they were all invited to take part was called in new york in to coöperate in war measures against canada. three long, costly, and bloody french-indian wars, in which the colonists felt they bore the brunt of the burden and the fighting, drew them closer together, made them conscious of their common interests and of their resources. but their victory in the last of these wars had also another effect. it opened the way for a change of policy on the part of great britain towards her american colonies,--a change which involved their reorganization, their subordination to the authority of the british parliament, and the "weaving" of them, as ex-governor pownall put it, into "a grand marine dominion consisting of our possessions in the atlantic and in america united into one empire, into one centre where the seat of government is." this was undoubtedly imperialism. and it was because the americans felt this that the spirit of self-reliance rose against the new policy and stubbornly resisted every step, even the smallest, which seemed to them to lead in the direction of subjugation and dependency. followed ten years of acrimonious and violent controversy and eight years of war,--about what? the stamp act? the paint, paper, and glass act? the tax on tea? the boston port bill? no; but at bottom about the right and intention of the colonies to continue to direct themselves. you cannot possibly understand the american revolution unless you understand this. and without an understanding of the causes and the nature of the revolution, you cannot comprehend the united states of to-day. take, for example, the division of opinion among the colonists themselves,--a division far more serious and far more nearly equal in numbers than is commonly supposed. it was not true, as the popular histories of the revolution used to assume, that all the brave, the wise, the virtuous, and the honest were on one side, and all the cowardly, the selfish, the base, and the insincere were on the other. there was probably as much sincerity and virtue among the loyalists as among the patriots. there was certainly as much intelligence and education among the patriots as among the loyalists. the difference was this. the loyalists were, for the most part, families and individuals who had been connected, socially and industrially, with the royal source of power and order, through the governors and other officials who came from england or were appointed there. naturally they felt that the protection, guidance, and support of england were indispensable to the colonies. the patriots were, for the most part, families and individuals whose intimate relations had been with the colonial assemblies, with the popular efforts for self-development and self-rule, with the movements which tended to strengthen their confidence in their own powers. naturally they felt that freedom of action, deliverance from external control, and the fullest opportunity of self-guidance were indispensable to the colonies. the names chosen by the two parties--"loyalist" and "patriot"--were both honourable, and seem at first sight almost synonymous. but there is a delicate shade of difference in their inward significance. the loyalist is one who sincerely owns allegiance to a sovereign power, which _may_ be external to him, but to which he feels bound to be loyal. the patriot is one who has found his own country, _of which he is a part_, and for which he is willing to live and die. it was because the patriotic party appealed primarily to the spirit of self-reliance that they carried the majority of the american people with them, and won the victory, not only in the internal conflict, but also in the war of independence. i am not ignorant nor unmindful of the part which european philosophers and political theorists played in supplying the patriotic party in america with logical arguments and philosophic reasons for the practical course which they followed. the doctrines of john locke and algernon sidney were congenial and sustaining to men who had already resolved to govern themselves. from holland aid and comfort came in the works of grotius. italy gave inspiration and support in the books of beccaria and burlamaqui on the essential principles of liberty. the french intellect, already preparing for another revolution, did much to clarify and rationalize american thought through the sober and searching writings of montesquieu, and perhaps even more to supply it with enthusiastic eloquence through the dithyrambic theories of rousseau. the doctrines of natural law, and the rights of man, and the pursuit of happiness, were freely used by the patriotic orators to enforce their appeals to the people. it is impossible not to recognize the voice of the famous genevese in the words of alexander hamilton: "the sacred rights of men are not to be rummaged for among old parchments or musty records. they are written as with a sunbeam in the whole volume of human nature by the hand of divinity itself, and can never be erased by mortal power." but it still remains true that the mainspring of american independence is not to be found in any philosophic system or in any political theory. it was a vital impulse, a common sentiment in the soul of a people conscious of the ability and the determination to manage their own affairs. the logic which they followed was the logic of events and results. they were pragmatists. the spirit of self-reliance led them on, reluctantly, inevitably, step by step, through remonstrance, recalcitrance, resistance, until they came to the republic. "permit us to be as free as yourselves," they said to the people of great britain, "and we shall ever esteem a union with you to be our greatest glory and our greatest happiness." "no," answered parliament. "protect us as a loving father," they said to the king, "and forbid a licentious ministry any longer to riot in the ruins of mankind." "no," answered the king. "very well, then," said the colonists, "we are, and of right ought to be, free and independent. we have governed ourselves. we are able to govern ourselves. we shall continue to govern ourselves, under such forms as we already possess; and when these are not sufficient, _we will make such forms as shall, in the opinion of the representatives of the people, best conduce to the happiness and safety of their constituents in particular and of america in general_." this resolution of the continental congress, on may , , gives the key-note of all subsequent american history. republicanism was not adopted because it was the only conceivable, or rational, or legitimate, form of government. it was continued, enlarged, organized, consolidated, because it was the form in which the spirit of self-reliance in the whole people found itself most at home, most happy and secure. the federal union of the states was established, after long and fierce argument, under the pressure of necessity, because it was evidently the only way to safeguard the permanence and freedom of those states, as well as to "establish justice, ensure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity." the amendments to the constitution which were adopted in (and without the promise of which the original document never would have been accepted) were of the nature of a bill of rights, securing to every citizen liberty of conscience and speech, protection against arbitrary arrest, imprisonment, or deprivation of property, and especially reserving to the respective states or to the people all powers not delegated to the united states. the division of the general government into three branches--legislative, executive, and judicial; the strict delimitation of the powers committed to these three branches; the careful provision of checks and counterchecks intended to prevent the predominance of any one branch over the others; all these are features against which political theorists and philosophers may bring, and have brought, strong arguments. they hinder quick action; they open the way to contests of authority; they are often a serious drawback in international diplomacy. but they express the purpose of a self-reliant people not to let the ultimate power pass from their hands to any one of the instruments which they have created. and for this purpose they have worked well, and are still in working order. for this reason the americans are proud of them to a degree which other nations sometimes think unreasonable, and attached to them with a devotion which other nations do not always understand. do not mistake me. in saying that american republicanism is not the product of philosophical argument, of abstract theory, of reasoned conviction, i do not mean to say that americans do not believe in it. they do. now and then you will find one of them who says that he would prefer a monarchy or an aristocracy. but you may be sure that he is an eccentric, or a man with a grievance against the custom-house, or a fond person who feels confident of his own place in the royal family or at least in the nobility. you may safely leave him out in trying to understand the real spirit of america. the people as a whole believe in the republic very firmly, and at times very passionately. and the vital reason for this belief is because it springs out of life and is rooted in life. it comes from that spirit of self-reliance which has been and is still the strongest american characteristic, in the individual, the community, and the nation. it seems to me that we must apprehend this in order to comprehend many things that are fundamental in the life of america and the character of her people. let me speak of a few of these things, and try to show how they have their roots in this quality of self-reliance. take, for example, the singular political construction of the nation,--a thing which europeans find it almost impossible to understand without a long residence in america. it is a united country composed of states which have a distinct individual life and a carefully guarded sovereignty. massachusetts, new york, virginia, illinois, texas, california, even the little states like rhode island and maryland, are political entities just as real, just as conscious of their own being, as the united states, of which each of them forms an integral part. they have their own laws, their own courts, their own systems of domestic taxation, their own flags, their own militia, their own schools and universities. "the american citizen." professor münsterberg rightly says, "in daily life is first of all a member of his special state." this distinction of local life is not to be traced to an original allegiance to different owners or lords, a duke of savoy or burgundy, a king of prussia or saxony. it is quite unlike the difference among the provinces of the french republic or the states of the german empire. it is primarily the result of a local spirit of self-reliance, a habit of self-direction, in the people who have worked together to build up these states, to develop their resources, to give them shape and substance. this is the true explanation of state pride, and of the sense of an individual life in the different commonwealths which compose the nation. every one knows that this feeling was so strong immediately after the revolution that it nearly made the union impossible. every one knows that this feeling was so strong in the middle of the nineteenth century that it nearly destroyed the union. but every one does not know that this feeling is still extant and active,--an essential and potent factor in the political life of america. the civil war settled once for all the open and long-disputed question of the nature of the tie which binds the states together. the union may be a compact, but it is an indissoluble compact. the united states is not a confederacy. it is a nation. yet the local sovereignty of the states which it embraces has not been touched. the spirit of self-reliance in each commonwealth guards its rights jealously, and the law of the nation protects them. it was but a little while ago that a proposal was made in congress to unite the territories of arizona and new mexico and admit them to the union as one state. but the people of arizona protested. they did not wish to be mixed up with people of new mexico, for whom they professed dislike and even contempt. they would rather stay out than come in under such conditions. the protest was sufficient to block the proposed action. i have been reading lately a series of recent decisions by the supreme court, touching on various questions, like the right of one state to make the c.o.d. shipment of whiskey from another state a penal offence, or the right of the united states to interfere with the state of colorado in the use of the water of the arkansas river for purposes of irrigation. in all of these decisions, whether on whiskey or on water, i find that the great principle laid down by chief justice marshall is clearly admitted and sustained: "the government of the united states is one of enumerated powers." further powers can be obtained only by a new grant from the people. "one cardinal rule," says justice brewer, "underlying all the relations of the states to each other is that of equality of right. each state stands on the same level with all the rest. it can impose its own legislation on none of the others, and is bound to yield its own views to none." now it is evident that this peculiar structure of the nation necessarily permits, perhaps implies, a constant rivalry between two forms of the spirit of self-reliance,--the local form and the general form. emphasize the one, and you have a body of public opinion which moves in the direction of strengthening, enhancing, perhaps enlarging, the powers given to the central government. emphasize the other, and you have a body of public opinion which opposes every encroachment upon the powers reserved to the local governments, and seeks to strengthen the whole by fortifying the parts of which it is composed. here you have the two great political parties of america. they are called to-day the republican and the democratic. but the names mean nothing. in fact, the party which now calls itself democratic bore the name of republican down to ; and those who were called successively federalists and whigs did not finally take the name of republicans until . in reality, political opinion, or perhaps it would be more correct to say political feeling, divides on this great question of the centralization or the division of power. the controversy lies between the two forms of the spirit of self-reliance; that which is embodied in the consciousness of the whole nation and that which is embodied in the consciousness of each community. the democrats naturally speak for the latter; the republicans for the former. of course in our campaigns and elections the main issue is often confused and beclouded. new problems and disputes arise in which the bearing of proposed measures is not clear. the parties have come to be great physical organizations, with vested interests to defend, with an outward life to perpetuate. like all human institutions, both of them have the instinct of self-preservation. they both try to follow the tide of popular sentiments. they both insert planks in their platforms which seem likely to win votes. sometimes they both hit upon the same planks, and it is very difficult to determine the original ownership. at present, for example, the great industrial and commercial trusts and corporations are very unpopular. the democrats and the republicans both declare their intention to correct and restrain them. each party claims to be the original friend of the people, the real st. george who will certainly slay the dragon of trusts. thus we have had the amusing spectacle of mr. bryan commending and praising mr. roosevelt for his conversion to truly democratic principles and policies, and adding that the democrats were the right men to carry them out, while mr. taft insisted that the popular measures were essentially republican, and that his party was the only one which could be trusted to execute them wisely and safely. but, in spite of these temporary bewilderments, you will find, in the main, that the republicans have a tendency towards centralizing measures, and therefore incline to favour national banks, a protective tariff, enlargement of executive functions, colonial expansion, a greater naval and military establishment, and a consequent increase of national expenditure; while the democrats, as a rule, are on the side of non-centralizing measures, and therefore inclined to favour a large and elastic currency, free trade or tariff for revenue only, strict interpretation of the constitution, an army and navy sufficient for police purposes, a progressive income tax, and a general policy of national economy. the important thing to remember is that these two forms of the spirit of self-reliance, the general and the local, still exist side by side in american political life, and that it is probably a good thing to have them represented in two great parties, in order that a due balance may be kept between them. the tendency to centralization has been in the lead, undoubtedly, during the last forty years. it is in accord with what is called the spirit of the age. but the other tendency is still deep and strong in america,--stronger i believe than anywhere else in the world. the most valuable rights of the citizen (except in territories and colonies), his personal freedom, family relations, and property, are still protected mainly by the state in which he lives and of which he is a member,--a state which is politically unknown to any foreign nation, and which exists only for the other states which are united with it! a curious condition of affairs! yet it is real. it is historically accountable. it belongs to the spirit of america. for the people of that country think with tocqueville that "those who dread the license of the mob, and those who fear absolute power, ought alike to desire the gradual development of provincial liberties." this is the way in which america was made. this is how americans wish to keep it. an attempt of either party in power to destroy the principle for which the other stands would certainly fail. the day when it seemed possible to dissolve the union is past. the day when the union will absorb and obliterate the states is not in sight. but it is not only in this relation of the states and the nation that you may see the workings of the spirit of which i am speaking. within each state the spirit of self-reliance is developed and cherished in city, county, and township. public improvements, roads and streets, police, education,--these are the important things which, as a rule, the state leaves to the local community. the city, the county, the township, attend to them. they must be paid for out of the local pocket. and the local talent of the citizens feels able and entitled to regulate them. sometimes it is well done. sometimes it is very badly done. but the doing of it is a privilege which a self-reliant people would be loath to resign. each man wishes to have his share in the discussion. the habit of argument is universal. the confidence in the ultimate judgment of the community is general. the assurance of ability to lead is frequent. and through the local office, the small task, the way lies open to larger duties and positions in the state and the nation. it is not true that every native-born newsboy in america thinks that he _can_ become president. but he knows that he _may_ if he can; and perhaps it is this knowledge, or perhaps it is something in his blood, that often encourages him to try how far he can go on the way. i suppose it is true that there are more ambitious boys in america than in any other country of the world. at the same time this spirit of self-reliance works in another and different direction. within the seemingly complicated politics of nation, state, and town, each typical american is a person who likes to take care of himself, to have his own way, to manage his own affairs. he is not inclined to rely upon the state for aid and comfort. he wants not as much government as possible, but as little. he dislikes interference. sometimes he resents control. he is an individual, a person, and he feels very strongly that personal freedom is what he most needs, and that he is able to make good use of a large amount of it. now it is evident that such a spirit as this has its weakness as well as its strength. it leads easily to overconfidence, to ignorant self-assurance, to rashness in undertaking tasks, and to careless haste in performing them. it is good to be a person, but not good that every person should think himself a personage. it is good to be ready for any duty, but not good to undertake any duty without making ready for it. there are many americans who have too little respect for special training, and too much confidence in their power to solve the problems of philosophy and statesmanship extemporaneously. no doubt there is a popular tendency to disregard exceptional powers and attainments, and to think that one man is as good as another. no doubt you can find in america some cases of self-reliance so hypertrophied that it amounts to impudence towards the laws of the universe. this is socially disagreeable, politically dangerous, and morally regrettable. yet we must not forget the other side. the spirit of self-reliance is not to be judged by its failures, but by its successes. it has enabled america to assert an independence which the rest of the world, except france, thought impossible; to frame a government which the rest of the world, including france, thought impracticable; and to survive civil storms and perils which all the world thought fatal. it has animated the american people with a large and cheerful optimism which takes for granted that great things are worth doing, and tries to do them. it has made it easier to redeem a continent from the ancient wilderness and to build on new ground a civilized state sufficient to itself. the spirit of self-reliance has fallen into mistakes, but it has shunned delays, evasions, and despairs. it has begotten explorers, pioneers, inventors. it has trained masters of industry in the school of action. it has saved the poor man from the fetters of his poverty, and delivered the lowly man from the prison of his obscurity. perhaps it has spoiled the worst material; but it has made the most of the average material; and it has bettered the best material. it has developed in such leaders as franklin, washington, jefferson, lincoln, lee, grant, and cleveland a very noble and excellent manhood, calm, steady, equal to all emergencies. somehow it has brought out of the turmoil of events and conflicts the soul of an adult people, ready to trust itself and to advance into the new day without misgiving. iii fair play and democracy iii fair play and democracy it is no mistake to think of america as a democratic country. but if you wish to understand the nature and quality of the democracy which prevails there,--its specific marks, its peculiarities, and perhaps its inconsistencies,--you must trace it to its source in _the spirit of fair play_. therefore it will be profitable to study this spirit a little more carefully, to define it a little more clearly, and to consider some illustrations of its working in american institutions, society, and character. the spirit of fair play, in its deepest origin, is a kind of religion. it is true that religious organizations have not always shown it so that it could be identified by people outside. but this has been the fault of the organizations. at bottom, fair play is a man's recognition of the fact that he is not alone in the universe, that the world was not made for his private benefit, that the law of being is a benevolent justice which must regard and rule him as well as his fellow-men with sincere impartiality, and that any human system or order which interferes with this impartiality is contrary to the will of the supreme wisdom and love. is not this a kind of religion, and a very good kind? do we not instinctively recognize a divine authority in its voice when it says: "whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them"? but in its practical operation in everyday affairs this spirit is not always conscious of its deep origin. it is not usually expressed in terms of religion, any more than an ordinary weighing-machine is inscribed with the formula of gravitation. it appears simply as the wish to conduct trade with just weights and measures, to live in a state which affords equal protection and opportunity to all its citizens, to play a game in which the rules are the same for every player, and a good stroke counts, no matter who makes it. the anglo-saxon race has fallen into the habit of claiming this spirit of fair play as its own peculiar property. the claim does not illustrate the quality which it asserts. certainly no one can defend the proposition that the growth of this spirit in america was due exclusively, or even chiefly, to english influence. it was in new england and in virginia that ecclesiastical intolerance and social exclusiveness were most developed. in the middle colonies like new york, pennsylvania, and delaware, where the proportion of colonists from holland, france, and germany was much larger, a more liberal and tolerant spirit prevailed. but, after all, it must be acknowledged that in the beginning there was no part of america where the spirit of self-reliance really carried with it that necessary complement,--the spirit of fair play. this was a thing of much slower growth. indeed, it was not until the american people, passionately desiring self-rule, were brought into straits where they needed the help of every man to fight for independence, that they began to feel the right of every man to share equally in the benefits and privileges of that self-rule. i pass by the discussion of the reasons why this second trait in the soul of the people developed later than the first. i pass by the tempting opportunity to describe the absurd pretensions of colonial aristocracy. i pass by the familiar theme of the inflexible prejudices of puritan theocracy, which led men to interpret liberty of conscience as the right to practise their own form of worship and to persecute all others. i pass by the picturesque and neglected spectacle of the violence of the mobs which shouted for liberty--a violence which reminds one of the saying of rivarol that "the crowd never believes that it has liberty until it attacks the liberties of others." all this i pass by for want of time, and come at once to the classic utterance of the spirit of fair play in america--i mean the declaration of independence. if i must apologize for discussing a document so familiar, it is because familiarity, not being illuminated by intelligence, has bred in these latter days a certain kind of contempt. a false interpretation has led the enthusiastic admirers of the declaration of independence to complain that it has been abandoned, and its scornful despisers to say that it ought to be abandoned. the declaration, in fact, has been as variously and as absurdly explained as the writings of st. paul, of whom a french critic said that "the only man of the second century who understood st. paul was marcion, and he _mis_understood him." take the famous sentence from the beginning of that document. "we hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new form of government, laying its foundations on such principles and organizing its power in such form as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." now what have we here? a defence of revolution, no doubt, but not a sweeping and unqualified defence. it is carefully guarded and limited by the condition that revolution is justified only when government becomes destructive of its own ends,--the security and the happiness of the people. and what have we here in the way of political doctrine? an assertion of the common rights of man as derived from his creator, no doubt, and an implication that the specific prerogatives of rulers are not of divine origin. but there is no denial that the institution of government among men has a divine sanction. on the contrary, such a sanction is distinctly implied in the statement that government is necessary for the security of rights divinely given. there is no assertion of the divinity or even the superiority of any particular form of government, republican or democratic. on the contrary, "just powers" are recognized as derivable from the consent of the people. according to this view, a happy and consenting people under george iii or louis xvi would be as rightly and lawfully governed as a happy people under a congress and a president. and what have we here in the way of social theory? an assertion of equality, no doubt, and a very flat-footed and peremptory assertion. "all men are created equal." but equal in what? in strength, in ability, in influence, in possessions. not a word of it. the assertion of such a thing in an assembly which contained men as different as george washington, with his lofty stature and rich estate, and samuel adams, for whose unimpressive person his friends were sometimes obliged to supply lodging and raiment, would have been a palpable absurdity. "but," says professor wendell, "the declaration only asserts that men are created equal, not that they must remain so." not at all. it implies that what equality exists by creation ought to remain by protection. it is, and ought to be, inalienable. but what is that equality? not of person; for that would be to say that all men are alike, which is evidently false. not of property; for that would be to say that all men are on a level, which never has been true, and, whether it is desirable or not, probably never will be true. the equality which is asserted among men refers simply to the rights which are common to men: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. here government must make no distinctions, no exceptions. here the social order must impose no arbitrary and unequal deprivations and barriers. the life of all is equally sacred, the liberty of all must be equally secure, in order that the right of all to pursue happiness may be equally open. _equality of opportunity_: that is the proposition of the declaration of independence. and when you come to look at it closely, it does not seem at all unreasonable. for it proposes no alteration in the laws of the universe,--only a principle to be observed in human legislation. it predicts no utopia of universal prosperity,--only a common adventure of equal risks and hopes. it has not the accent of that phrase, "liberty, equality, fraternity, or death," which chamfort translated so neatly, "be my brother or i will kill you." it proceeds rather upon the assumption that fraternity already exists. it says, "we are brothers; therefore let us deal squarely with one another." it is, in fact, nothing more and nothing less than the voice of the spirit of fair play speaking gravely of the deepest interests of man. here, in this game of life, it says, as we play it in america, the rules shall be the same for all. the penalties shall be the same for all. the prizes, so far as we can make it so, shall be open to all. and let the best man win. this, so far as i can see it, or feel it, or comprehend it, is the sum total of democracy in america. it is not an abstract theory of universal suffrage and the infallibility of the majority. for, as a matter of fact, universal suffrage never has existed in the united states and does not exist to-day. each state has the right to fix its own conditions of suffrage. it may require a property qualification; and in the past many states imposed this condition. it may require an educational qualification; and to-day some states are imposing this condition. it may exclude the chinese; and california, oregon, and nevada make this exclusion. it may admit only natives and foreigners who have been naturalized, as the majority of the states do. it may admit also foreigners who have merely declared their intention of becoming naturalized, as eleven of the states do. it may permit only men to vote, or it may expressly grant the suffrage to every citizen, male or female, as idaho, wyoming, colorado, and utah do. the only thing that the law of the nation says upon the subject is that when citizenship is established, the right to vote shall not be denied or abridged on account of race, colour, or previous condition of servitude. it is entirely possible, therefore, that within this condition, suffrage should expand or contract in the united states according to the will of the people. woman suffrage might come in next year without the change of a word in the constitution. all that would be necessary would be a change in the mind of the women, the majority of whom at present do not want to vote, and would not do it if you paid them. on the other hand, educational and property qualifications might be proposed which would reduce the suffrage by a quarter or a third; but this, again, is not likely to happen. the point is that suffrage in america is not regarded as a universal and inalienable human right, but as a political privilege granted on the ground of fair play in order to make the rights of the people more secure. the undeniable tendency has been to widen the suffrage; for americans, as a rule, have a large confidence in the reasonableness of human nature, and believe that public opinion, properly and deliberately ascertained, will prove to be a wise and safe guide. but they recognize that a popular election may not always represent public opinion, that a people, like an individual, may and probably will need time to arrive at the best thought, the wisest counsel. president grover cleveland, a confirmed and inflexible democrat, but not an obstreperous or flamboyant one, often said to me, "you can trust the best judgment of the rank and file, but you cannot always reach that best judgment in a hurry." james russell lowell said pretty much the same thing: "an appeal to the reason of the people has never been known to fail in the long run." _the long run_,--that is the needful thing in the successful working of popular suffrage. and that the americans have tried to gain by the division and distribution of powers, by the interposition of checks and delays, by lodging extraordinary privileges of veto in the hands of governors of states, and of the president of the united states. in short, by making swift action difficult and sudden action impossible, they have sought to secure fair play, even from the crowd, for every man and every interest. there are some of us who think that this might have been done more easily and more certainly if the bounds of suffrage had not been made so wide. we doubt, for example, whether a group of day-labourers coming from italy with their _padrone_ are really protected in their natural rights by having the privilege of a vote before they can understand the language of the land in which they cast it. so far from being a protection, it seems to us like a danger. it exposes them to the seductions of the demagogue and to the control of the boss. the suffrage of the ignorant is like a diamond hung round the neck of a little child who is sent out into the street: an invitation to robbers. it is like a stick of dynamite in the hands of a foolish boy: a prophecy of explosion. there are some of us who think that "coming of age" might be measured by intelligence as well as by years; that it would be easier to get at the mind of the people if the vote were cast by the people who have minds; that a popular election would come nearer to representing public opinion if there were some way of sifting out at least a considerable part of those electors who can neither read nor write, nor understand the constitution under which they are voting. but whatever may be the thoughts and wishes of the more conservative americans upon this subject, two things are certain. one is that the privilege of voting is a thing which is easy to give away and very hard to take back. the other sure thing is that the spirit of america will never consent to any restriction of the suffrage which rests upon artificial distinctions, or seems to create ranks and orders and estates within the body politic. if any conditions are imposed, they must be the same for all. if the privilege should be in any way narrowed, it must still be open alike to all who will make the necessary effort to attain it. this is fair play; and this, so far as the suffrage and popular sovereignty are concerned, is what american democracy means. not that every man shall count alike in the affairs of state, but that every man shall have an equal chance to make himself count for what he is worth. mark you, i do not say that this result has been fully accomplished in the united states. the machinery of parties interferes with it. the presentation of men and of measures from a purely partisan point of view interferes with it. in any national election it is reasonably sure that either the republican party or the democratic party will win. the policies and the candidates of both have been determined in committee or caucus, by processes which the ordinary citizen does not understand and cannot touch. but what if he does not like the results on either side? what if neither party seems to him clear or consistent or satisfactory? still he must go with one or the other, or else be content to assert his individuality and lose his electoral efficiency by going in with one of the three or four little parties which stand for moral protest, or intellectual whim, or political vagary, without any possible chance of carrying the election. a thoughtful man sometimes feels as if he were almost helpless amid the intricacies of the system by which his opinion on national affairs is asked. he sits with his vote in his hand as if it were some strange and antiquated instrument, and says to himself, "now what, in heaven's name, am i going to do with this?" in the large cities, especially, this sense of impotence is likely to trouble the intelligent and conscientious american. for here a species of man has developed called the _boss_, who takes possession of the political machinery and uses it for his own purposes. he controls the party through a faction, and the faction through a gang, and the gang through a ring, and the ring by his own will, which is usually neither sweet nor savoury. he virtually owns the public franchises, the public offices, the public payroll. like rob roy or robin hood, he takes tribute from the rich and distributes it to the poor,--for a consideration; namely, their personal loyalty to him. he leads his followers to the polls as a feudal chief led his retainers to battle. and the men whom he has chosen, the policies which he approves, are the ones that win. what does this mean? the downfall of democracy? no; only the human weakness of the system in which democracy has sought to reach its ends; only the failure in duty, in many cases, of the very men who ought to have watched over the system in order to prevent its corruption. it is because good men in america too often neglect politics that bad men sometimes control them. and, after all, when the evil goes far enough, it secretes its own remedy,--popular discontent, a reform movement, a peaceful revolution. the way is open. speech is free. there is no need of pikes and barricades and firebrands. there is a more powerful weapon in every man's hand. persuade him to use it for his own good. combine the forces of intelligence and conscience, and the city which sees its own interest will find out how to secure it. but the trouble, with such a mass of voters, is to produce this awakening, to secure this combination of better forces. it is a trouble which americans often feel deeply, and of which they sometimes complain bitterly. but after all, if you can get down to the bottom of their minds, you will find that they would rather take their trouble in this form than in any other. they feel that there is something wholesome and bracing in the idea that people must want good government before they can get it. and for the sake of this they are willing, upon the whole, and except during intervals, to give that eternal vigilance which is the price of fair play. it is not, however, of democracy as it has taken shape in political forms that i would speak; but rather of democracy as a spirit, a sentiment existing in the soul of the american people. the root of it is the feeling that the openings of life, so far as they are under human control, ought to be equal for all. the world may be like a house of many stories, some higher, some lower. but there shall be no locked doors between those stories. every stairway shall be unbarred. every man shall have his chance to rise. every man shall be free to pursue his happiness, and protected in the enjoyment of his liberty, and secure in the possession of his life, so far as he does not interfere with others in the same rights. this does not mean that all shall be treated alike, shall receive the same rewards. for, as plato says, "the essence of equality lies in treating unequal things unequally." but it means what the first napoleon called _la carrière ouverte aux talents_. nay, it means a little more than that. for it goes beyond the talents, to the mediocrities, to the inefficiencies, and takes them into its just and humane and unprejudiced account. it means what president roosevelt meant when he spoke of "_the square deal for everybody_." the soul of the american people answered to his words because he had expressed one of their dominant ideals. you must not imagine that i propose to claim that this ideal has been perfectly realized in america. it is not true that every man gets justice there. it is not true that none are oppressed or unfairly treated. it is not true that every one finds the particular stairway which he wishes to climb open and unencumbered. but where is any ideal perfectly realized except in heaven and in the writings of female novelists? it is of the real desire and purpose, the good intention, the aim and temper of the american people, that i speak. and here i say, without doubt, the spirit of fair play has been, and still is, one of the creative and controlling factors of america. if you should ask me for the best evidence to support this statement, i should at once name the constitution and the supreme court of the united states. here is an original institution, created and established by the people at the very birth of the nation, peculiar in its character and functions, i believe, to america, and embodying in visible form the spirit of fair play. the laws under which a man must live in america are of three kinds. there is first the common law, which prevails in all the states except louisiana, which is still under the napoleonic code. the common law, inherited from england, is contained in the mass of decisions and precedents handed down by the duly established courts from generation to generation. it is supposed to cover the principles which are likely to arise in almost all cases. but when a new principle appears, the judge must decide it according to his conscience and create the legal right. the second source of law is found in statutes of the united states enacted by congress, in the constitutions of the different states, and in the statutes enacted by the state legislatures. here we have definite rules and regulations, not arising out of differences or disputes between individuals, but framed on general principles, and intended to cover all cases that may arise under them. the third source of law is the constitution of the united states, which is supreme and sovereign over all other laws. it is the enactment of the whole people. congress did not create it. it created congress. no legislation, whether of a state or of the nation, can impair or contravene its authority. it can only be changed by the same power which made it,--the people of the united states, expressing their will, first through a two-thirds majority of the national house and senate, and then directly through the vote of three-fourths of the forty-six states. any statute which conflicts with the constitution is invalid. any state constitution which fails to conform to it is, in so far forth, non-existent. any judicial decision which contradicts it is of no binding force. over all the complexities of legislation and the perplexities of politics in america stands this law above the laws, this ultimate guarantee of fair play. the thing to be noted in the constitution is this: brief as it is for the creative document of a great nation, it contains an ample _bill of rights_, protecting every man alike. the constitution, as originally framed in , had omitted to do this fully, though it prohibited the states from passing any law to impair the validity of contracts, from suspending the writ of habeas corpus in time of peace, and from other things contrary to the spirit of fair play. but it was evident at once that the constitution would not be ratified by a sufficient number of the states unless it went much farther. massachusetts voiced the spirit of america in presenting a series of amendments covering the ground of equal dealing with all men in the matters most essential to individual freedom and security. in these amendments, numbered from i to x, were passed by congress, and in they became part of the constitution. what do they do? they guarantee religious liberty, freedom of speech and of the press, and the right of popular assembly and petition. they protect every man, in time of peace, from criminal indictment except by a grand jury, from secret trial, from compulsion to testify against himself, from being tried again for an offence of which he has been once acquitted, and from the requisition of excessive bail and the infliction of cruel or unusual punishments. they guarantee to him the right to be tried by an impartial jury of his peers and neighbours in criminal cases and in all suits under common law when the amount in controversy exceeds twenty dollars in value. they protect his house from search except under legal and specific warrant, and his property from appropriation for public use without just compensation. they assure him that he shall not be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law. the remarkable thing about these provisions for fair play is not so much their nature as the place where they are put. in england there is a bill of rights, embodied in various enactments, which covers pretty much the same ground. but these, as mr. james bryce says, "are merely ordinary laws, which could be repealed by parliament at any moment in exactly the same way as it can repeal a highway act or lower the duty on tobacco." but in america they are placed upon a secure and lofty foundation, they are lifted above the passing storms of party politics. no state can touch them. no act of congress can touch them. they belong to the law above laws. nor is this all. a supreme tribunal, coördinate with the national executive and legislature, independent and final in its action, is created by the constitution itself to interpret and apply this supreme law. the nine judges who compose this court are chosen from the highest ranks of the legal profession, appointed by the president, and confirmed by the senate. they hold office for life. their court room is in the centre of the national capitol, between the wings appropriated to the senate and the house. it is to that quiet chamber, so rich, so noble in its dignity and simplicity, so free from pomp and ostentation, so remote from turmoil and confusion, so filled with the tranquil glory of intelligence and conscience, so eloquent of confidence in the power of justice to vindicate itself,--it is to that room that i would take a foreigner who asked me why i believe that democracy in america has the promise of endurance. those nine men, in their black judicial robes (the only officials of the nation who have from the beginning worn a uniform of office), are the symbols of the american conscience offering the ultimate guarantee of fair play. to them every case in law and equity arising under the constitution, treaties and laws of the united states, every case of admiralty and marine jurisdiction, every case between citizens of different states, or between two states, every case in which the united states itself is a party, may be brought for final decision. for more than a hundred years this court has discharged its high functions without a suspicion of corruption or a shadow of reproach. twenty-one times it has annulled the action of congress and declared it _ultra vires_. more than two hundred times it has found that state statutes were contrary to the constitution and therefore practically non-existent. and these decisions are not made in the abstract, on theory, but in the concrete, on actual cases when the principle of fair play under the constitution is at stake. let me illustrate this. in a law was passed by congress taxing all incomes over a certain sum at certain rates. this was, in effect, not a tax based proportionally upon population, but a special tax upon a part of the population. it was also a direct tax levied by the national legislature. there was no necessity of discussing the abstract question of the wisdom or righteousness of such taxation. the only question was whether it was fair play under the constitution. a citizen of new york refused to pay the tax; the case was brought to the supreme court and argued by mr. choate, the late american ambassador to great britain. the court held that congress had no power to impose such a tax, because the constitution forbids that body to lay any direct tax, "unless in proportion to the census." by this one decision the income-tax law became null, as if it had never been. again, a certain citizen had obtained from the state of georgia a grant of land upon certain terms. this grant was subsequently repealed by the state by a general statute. a case arose out of the conveyance of this land by a deed and covenant, and was carried to the supreme court. the court held that the statute of the state which took the citizen's land away from him was null, because it "impaired the obligation of a contract," which the constitution expressly forbids. again, in , congress passed a measure commonly called the sherman anti-trust act, declaring "every contract, combination in the form of trusts or otherwise, or conspiracy in restraint of trade or commerce among the several states" to be illegal. this was undoubtedly intended to prevent the merger of railroads and manufacturing concerns into gigantic trusts with monopolistic powers. the american spirit has always understood liberty as including the right of the citizen to be free in the enjoyment of all his faculties, to live and work where he will, and in so doing to move freely from state to state. so far as the trusts were combinations in restraint of this right, the statute properly declared them illegal, and the supreme court so interpreted and applied it. but it soon became evident that combinations of labour might restrain trade just as much as combinations of capital. a strike or a boycott might paralyze an industry or stop a railroad. the supreme court did not hesitate to apply the same rule to the employees as to the employers. it held that a combination whose professed object is to arrest the operation of railroads whose lines extend from a great city into adjoining states until such roads accede to certain demands made upon them, whether such demands are in themselves reasonable or unreasonable, just or unjust, is certainly an unlawful conspiracy in restraint of commerce among the states. again and again the supreme court has interfered to prevent citizens of all the states from being deprived by the action of any state of those liberties which belong to them in common. again and again its decisions have expressed and illustrated the fundamental american conviction which is summed up in the strong words of justice bradley: "the right to follow any of the common occupations of life is an inalienable right." i have not spoken of the other federal courts and of the general machinery of justice in the united states, because there is not time to do so. if it were possible to characterize the general tendency in a sentence, i would say that it lays the primary emphasis on the protection of rights, and the secondary emphasis on the punishment of offences. looking at the processes of justice from the outside, and describing things by their appearance, one might say that in many parts of the continent of europe an accused man looks guilty till he is proved innocent; in america he looks innocent until his guilt is established. the american tendency has its serious drawbacks,--legal delays, failures to convict, immunity of criminals, and so on. these are unpleasant and dangerous things. yet, after all, when the thoughtful american looks at his country quietly and soberly he feels that a fundamental sense of justice prevails there not only in the courts but among the people. the exceptions are glaring, but they are still exceptions. and when he remembers the immense and inevitable perils of a republic, he reassures himself by considering the past history and the present power of the supreme court, that great bulwark against official encroachment, legislative tyranny, and mobocracy,--that grave and majestic symbol of the spirit of fair play. a republic with such an institution at the centre of its national conscience has at least one instrument of protection against the dangers which lurk in the periphery of its own passions. if you should ask me for a second illustration of the spirit of fair play in america, i should name religious liberty and the peaceful independence of the churches within the state. i do not call it the "separation of church and state," because i fear that in france the phrase might carry a false meaning. it might convey the impression of a forcible rupture, or even a feeling of hostility, between the government and the religious bodies. nothing of that kind exists in america. the state extends a firm and friendly protection to the adherents of all forms of religious belief or unbelief, defending all alike in their persons, in the possession of their property, and in their chosen method of pursuing happiness, whether in this world or in the next. it requires only that they shall not practise as a part of their cult anything contrary to public morality, such as polygamy, or physical cruelty, or neglect of children. otherwise they are all free to follow the dictates of conscience in worshipping or in not worshipping, and in so doing they are under the shield of government. this is guaranteed not only by the constitution of the united states, but also by the separate state constitutions, so far as i know, without exception. moreover, the general confidence and good-will of the state towards the churches is shown in many ways. property used for religious purposes is exempted from taxation,--doubtless on the ground that these purposes are likely to promote good citizenship and orderly living. religious marriage is recognized, but not required; and the act of a minister of any creed is, in this particular, as valid and binding as if he were a magistrate. but such marriages must be witnessed and registered according to law, and no church can annul them. it is the common practice to open sessions of the legislature, national and state, with an act of prayer; but participation in this act is voluntary. the president, according to ancient custom, appoints an annual day of national thanksgiving in the month of november, and his proclamation to this effect is repeated by the governors of the different states. but here, again, it is a proclamation of liberty. the people are simply recommended to assemble in their various places of worship, and to give thanks according to their conscience and faith. the laws against blasphemy and against the disturbance of public worship which exist in most of the states offer an equal protection to a jewish synagogue, a catholic cathedral, a buddhist temple, a protestant church, and a quaker meeting-house; and no citizen is under any compulsion to enter any one of these buildings, or to pay a penny of taxation for their support. each religious organization regulates its own affairs and controls its own property. in cases of dispute arising within a church the civil law has decided, again and again, that the rule and constitution of the church itself shall prevail. but what of the religious bodies which exist under this system? do not imagine that they are small, feeble, or insignificant; that they are content to be merely tolerated; that they feel themselves in any way impotent or slighted. they include the large majority of the american people. twelve millions are adherents of the catholic church. the adherents of the protestant churches are estimated to number between forty and fifty millions. but neither as a whole, nor in any of their separate organizations, do the religious people of america feel that they are deprived of any real rights or robbed of any just powers. it is true that the different churches are sometimes very jealous of one another. but bad as that may be for them, from a political point of view it is rather a safeguard. it is true that ecclesiastics sometimes have dreams, and perhaps schemes, which look towards the obtaining of special privileges or powers for their own organization. but that is because ecclesiastics are human and fallible. in the main, you may say with confidence that there is no party or sect in america that has the slightest wish to see church and state united, or even entangled. the american people are content and happy that religion should be free and independent. and this contentment arises from three causes. first, religious liberty has come naturally, peacefully, in a moderate and friendly temper, with consideration for the conscience and the rights of all, and at the same time, if i mistake not, with a general recognition that the essence of religion, personal faith in a spiritual life and a divine law, is a purifying, strengthening, elevating factor in human society. second, the churches have prospered in freedom; they are well-to-do, they are active, they are able to erect fine edifices, to support their clergy, to carry on benevolent and missionary enterprises on an immense scale, costing many millions of dollars every year. the voluntary system has its great disadvantages and drawbacks,--its perils, even. but upon the whole, religious people in america, catholics, protestants, and jews alike, feel that these are more than counterbalanced by the devotion which is begotten and nourished by the very act of making gifts and sacrifices, and by the sober strength which comes into a man's faith when he is called to support it by his works. men value what they pay for. but this is true only when they pay for what they really want. third, and chiefly, religious liberty commends itself to the americans because they feel that it is the very highest kind of fair play. that a man should have freedom in the affairs of his soul is certainly most vital to his pursuit of happiness. the noble example of tolerance which was set to the american colonies by the quakers of pennsylvania, the baptists of rhode island, and the catholics of maryland, prevailed slowly but surely over the opposite example of the puritans of massachusetts and the anglicans of virginia. the saying of william of orange, "conscience is god's province," has become one of the watchwords of america. in a country which, as a matter of fact, is predominantly christian and protestant, there is neither establishment nor proscription of any form of faith. in the president's cabinet ( ) i personally know a jew, a catholic, a presbyterian, an episcopalian, and a methodist. the president himself is a member of one of the smallest denominations in the country, the dutch reformed. nor is unfaith penalized or persecuted. a recent writer on america has said that "an avowed atheist is not received in any social circles above that of the ordinary saloon." well, an atheist avowed in definite and unmistakable terms, a man who positively affirms that there is no god, is a very difficult person to find in this world of mystery. but a positivist, a free-thinker, a voltairean, a sceptic, an agnostic, an antisupernaturalist of any kind, has the same rights and privileges as any other man. in america, if his life is clean and his manners decent, he goes everywhere. you may meet him in the best clubs, and in social circles which are at the farthest remove from the saloon. this is not because people like his opinions, but because they feel he is entitled to form them for himself. they take it for granted that it is as impossible to correct unbelief by earthly penalties as it is to deprive faith of its heavenly rewards. i do not say that this is the right attitude, the only reasonable attitude. i do not wish to persuade any one to adopt it. i say only that it is the characteristic attitude of the americans, and that sincerely religious people hold it, in the catholic church and in the protestant church. it may be that the spirit of fair play has blinded them. it may be that it has enlightened them. be that as it may, they have passed beyond the point of demanding freedom of conscience for themselves to that of conceding it to others. and in this they think that they are acting in accordance with the divine will and example. an anecdote will illustrate this attitude better than many paragraphs of explanation. in the older american colleges, which were independent of state control, the original course of study was uniform and prescribed, and chapel services were held which the students were required to attend. elective studies came in. the oldest of the universities made attendance at chapel voluntary. "i understand," said a critic to the president of the university, "that you have made god an elective in your college." the president thought for a moment. "no," said he, "we understand that he has made himself elective everywhere." there are certain singular limitations in the spirit of fair play in america of which i must say a word in order to play fair. chief among these is the way in which the people of the colonies and of the united states dealt for many years with the races which have not a white skin. the american indians, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, undoubtedly sinned as much as they were sinned against. they were treacherous, implacable, unspeakably cruel, horribly bloodthirsty. it is no wonder that the colonists regarded them as devils. it is no wonder that the feeling of mistrust and resentment persisted from one generation to another. but the strange thing is that when the indians were subjugated and for the most part pacified, america still treated them from a hostile and alien point of view, denied them the rights of citizenship, took their property from them, and made it very difficult for them to pursue happiness in any reasonable form. for many years this treatment continued. it was so glaring that a book was written which described the indian policy of the united states, not altogether unjustly, as _a century of dishonor_. to-day all this is changed. the scattered and diminished remnants of the red men are admitted to citizenship if they wish it, and protected in their rights, and private benevolence vies with government in seeking to better their condition. the african race, introduced into america for industrial reasons, multiplied more rapidly there than in its native home, and soon became a large factor in the population. but it was regarded and treated from a point of view totally different from that which controlled the treatment of the white factors. it did not share in the rights enumerated in the declaration of independence. it was an object of commerce, a source of wealth, a necessity of agriculture. the system of domestic slavery held practically all of the negroes in bondage (in spite of the fact that the northern states abandoned it, and many of the best men in the south disliked it and protested against it) until the third quarter of the nineteenth century. it was approved, or at least tolerated, by the majority of the people until the civil war did away with it. it has left as a legacy of retribution the most difficult and dangerous problem of america,--perhaps the greatest and most perplexing problem that any nation has ever had to face. nine millions of negroes, largely ignorant and naturally ill-fitted for self-government, are domiciled in the midst of a white population which in some sections of the south they outnumber. how to rule, protect, and educate this body of coloured people; how to secure them in their civil rights without admitting them to a racial mixture--that is the problem. the oriental races, recently coming to america in increasing numbers, receive from the people a welcome which cannot be described as cordial. the exclusion of the chinese from citizenship, and in some states from immigration, is but a small symptom of the general situation. if any considerable number of burmese or east indians or japanese should come, the situation would be the same, and it would be intensified with the increase of the numbers. they would not find the americans inclined to make an open career for the oriental talents. understand, i am not now condemning this state of affairs, nor am i defending it. that is not my business. i am simply trying to describe it. how is it to be reconciled with the spirit of fair play? i do not know. perhaps reconciliation is impossible. but a partial understanding of the facts is possible, if you take into account _the doctrine of inferior races_. this doctrine is not held or defended by all americans. some on religious grounds, some on philosophic grounds, would deny it. but on the mass of the people it has a firm, though in part an unrecognized, hold. they believe--or perhaps feel would be a better word--that the white race has an innate superiority to the coloured races. from this doctrine they have proceeded to draw conclusions, and curiously enough they have put them in the form of fair play. the indians were not to be admitted to citizenship because they were the wards of the nation. the negroes were better off under slavery because they were like children, needing control and protection. they must still be kept in social dependence and tutelage because they will be safer and happier so. the orientals are not fit for a share in american citizenship, and they shall not be let in because they will simply give us another inferior race to be taken care of. i do not propose to discuss the philosophical consistency of such arguments. it is difficult to imagine what place rousseau would have found for them in his doctrine of the state of nature and the rights of man. the truth is that the spirit of america has never been profoundly impressed with the idea of philosophical consistency. the republic finds herself face to face not with a theory but with a condition. it is the immense mass of the african population that creates the difficulty for america. she means to give equal civil rights to her nine million negroes. she does not mean to let the black blood mix with the white. whatever social division may be necessary to prevent this immense and formidable adulteration must be maintained intact. here, it seems to me, is the supreme test which the spirit of america has to meet. in a certain sense the problem appears insoluble because it involves an insoluble race. but precisely here, in the necessity of keeping the negro race distinct, and in the duty of giving it full opportunity for self-development, fair play may find the occasion for a most notable and noble triumph. i have left but a moment in which to speak of the influence of the kind of democracy which exists in america upon social conditions. in a word: it has produced a society of natural divisions without closed partitions, a temper of independence which shows itself either as self-assertion or self-respect according to the quality of the man, and an atmosphere of large opportunity which promotes general good humour. in america, as elsewhere, people who have tastes and capacities in common consort together. an uneducated man will not find himself at ease in the habitual society of learned men who talk principally about books. a poor man will not feel comfortable if he attempts to keep company with those whose wealth has led them to immerse themselves in costly amusements. this makes classes, if you like, ranks, if you choose to call them so. moreover you will find that certain occupations and achievements which men have generally regarded with respect confer a kind of social distinction in america. men who have become eminent in the learned professions, or in the army or navy, or in the higher sort of politics; men who have won success in literature or the other fine arts; men who have done notable things of various kinds,--such persons are likely to know each other better and to be better known to the world than if they had done nothing. furthermore there are families in which this kind of thing has gone on from generation to generation; and others in which inherited wealth, moderate or great, has opened the way to culture and refinement; and others in which newly acquired wealth has been used with generosity and dignity; and others in which the mere mass of money has created a noteworthy establishment. these various people, divided among themselves by their tastes, their opinions, and perhaps as much as anything else by their favourite recreations, find their way into the red book of _who's who_, into the blue book of the social register. here, if you have an imaginative turn of mind, you may discover (and denounce, or applaud, or ridicule) the beginnings of an aristocracy. but if you use that word, remember that it is an aristocracy without legal privilege or prerogative, without definite boundaries, and without any rule of primogeniture. therefore it seems to exist in the midst of democracy without serious friction or hostility. the typical american does not feel injured by the fact that another man is richer, better known, more influential than himself, unless he believes that the eminence has been unfairly reached. he respects those who respect themselves and him. he is ready to meet the men who are above him without servility, and the men who are beneath him without patronage. true, he is sometimes a little hazy about the precise definition of "above" and "beneath." his feeling that all the doors are open may lead him to act as if he had already passed through a good many of them. there is at times an "i-could-if-i-would" air about him which is rather disconcerting. there are great differences among americans, of course, in regard to manners, ranging all the way from the most banal formality to the most exquisite informality. but in general you may say that manners are taken rather lightly, too lightly, perhaps, because they are not regarded as very real things. their value as a means of discipline is often forgotten. the average american will not blush very deeply over a social blunder; he will laugh at it as a mistake in a game. but to really hurt you, or to lower his own independence, would make him feel badly indeed. the free-and-easy atmosphere of the streets, the shops, the hotels, all public places, always strikes the foreigner, and sometimes very uncomfortably. the conductor on the railway car will not touch his hat to you; but, on the other hand, he does not expect a fee from you. the workman on the street of whom you ask a question will answer you as an equal, but he will tell you what you want to know. in the country the tone of familiarity is even more marked. if you board for the summer with a yankee farmer, you can see that he not only thinks himself as good as you are, but that he cultivates a slightly artificial pity for you as "city folks." in american family life there is often an absence of restraint and deference, in school and college life a lack of discipline and subordination, which looks ugly, and probably is rather unwholesome. one sometimes regrets in america the want of those tokens of respect which are the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. but, on the other hand, there is probably more good feeling, friendliness, plain human kindness, running around loose in america than anywhere else in the world. the sense of the essential equality of manhood takes away much of the sting of the inequalities of fortune. the knowledge of the open door reduces the offence of the stairway. it is pleasant and wholesome to live with men who have a feeling of the dignity and worth of their own occupations. our letter-carrier at princeton never made any difference in his treatment of my neighbour president cleveland and myself. he was equally kind to both of us, and i may add equally cheerful in rendering little friendly services outside of his strict duty. my guides in the backwoods of maine and the adirondacks regard me as a comrade who curiously enough makes his living by writing books, but who also shows that he knows the real value of life by spending his vacation in the forest. as a matter of fact, they think much more of their own skill with the axe and paddle than of my supposed ability with the pen. they have not a touch of subservience in their manner or their talk. they do their work willingly. they carry their packs, and chop the wood, and spread the tents, and make the bed of green boughs. and then, at night, around the camp-fire, they smoke their pipes with me, and the question is, who can tell the best story? iv will-power, work, and wealth iv will-power, work, and wealth the spirit of america is best known in europe by one of its qualities,--_energy_. this is supposed to be so vast, so abnormal, that it overwhelms and obliterates all other qualities, and acts almost as a blind force, driving the whole nation along the highroad of unremitting toil for the development of physical power and the accumulation of material wealth. _la vie intense_--which is the polite french translation of "the strenuous life"--is regarded as the unanimous choice of the americans, who are never happy unless they are doing something, and never satisfied until they have made a great deal of money. the current view in europe considers them as a well-meaning people enslaved by their own restless activity, bound to the service of gigantic industries, and captive to the adoration of a golden idol. but curiously enough they are often supposed to be unconscious both of the slavery and of the idolatry; in weaving the shackles of industrious materialism they imagine themselves to be free and strong; in bowing down to the almighty dollar they ignorantly worship an unknown god. this european view of american energy, and its inexplicable nature, and its terrible results, seems to have something of the fairy tale about it. it is like the story of a giant, dreadful, but not altogether convincing. it lacks discrimination. in one point, at least, it is palpably incorrect. and with that point i propose to begin a more careful, and perhaps a more sane, consideration of the whole subject. it is evidently not true that america is ignorant of the dangers that accompany her immense development of energy and its application in such large measure to material ends. only the other day i was reading a book by an american about his country, which paints the picture in colours as fierce and forms as flat as the most modern of french decadent painters would use. the author says: "there stands america, engaged in this superb struggle to dominate nature and put the elements into bondage to man. involuntarily all talents apply themselves to material production. no wonder that men of science no longer study nature for nature's sake; they must perforce put her powers into harness; no wonder that professors no longer teach knowledge for the sake of knowledge; they must make their students efficient factors in the industrial world; no wonder that clergymen no longer preach repentance for the sake of the kingdom of heaven; they must turn churches into prosperous corporations, multiplying communicants and distributing christmas presents by the gross. industrial civilization has decreed that statesmanship shall consist of schemes to make the nation richer, that presidents shall be elected with a view to the stock-market, that literature shall keep close to the life of the average man, and that art shall become national by means of a protective tariff.... "the process of this civilization is simple: the industrial habit of thought moulds the opinion of the majority, which rolls along, abstract and impersonal, gathering bulk till its giant figure is selected as the national conscience. as in an ecclesiastical state of society decrees of a council become articles of private faith, and men die for homoöusion or election, so in america the opinions of the majority, once pronounced, become primary rules of conduct.... the central ethical doctrine of industrial thought is that material production is the chief duty of man." the author goes on to show that the acceptance of this doctrine has produced in america "_conventional sentimentality_" in the emotional life, "_spiritual feebleness_" in the religious life, "_formlessness_" in the social life, "_self-deception_" in the political life, and a "slovenly" intelligence in all matters outside of business. "we accept sentimentality," he says, "because we do not stop to consider whether our emotional life is worth an infusion of blood and vigour, rather than because we have deliberately decided that it is not. we neglect religion, because we cannot spare time to think what religion means, rather than because we judge it only worth a conventional lip service. we think poetry effeminate, because we do not read it, rather than because we believe its effect injurious. we have been swept off our feet by the brilliant success of our industrial civilization; and, blinded by vanity, we enumerate the list of our exports, we measure the swelling tide of our national prosperity; but we do not stop even to repeat to ourselves the names of other things." this rather sweeping indictment against a whole civilization reminds me of the way in which one of my students once defined rhetoric. "rhetoric," said this candid youth, "is the art of using words so as to make statements which are not entirely correct look like truths which nobody can deny." the description of america given by her sad and angry friend resembles one of those relentless portraits which are made by rustic photographers. the unmitigated sunlight does its worst through an unadjusted lens; and the result is a picture which is fearfully and wonderfully made. "it looks like her," you say, "it looks horribly like her. but thank god i never saw her look just like that." no one can deny that the life of america has developed more rapidly and more fully on the industrial side than on any other. no one can deny that the larger part, if not the better part, of her energy and effort has gone into the physical conquest of nature and the transformation of natural resources into material wealth. no one can deny that this undue absorption in one side of life has resulted in a certain meagreness and thinness on other sides. no one can deny that the immense prosperity of america, and her extraordinary success in agriculture, manufactures, commerce, and finance have produced a swollen sense of importance, which makes the country peddler feel as if he deserved some credit for the $ , , balance of foreign trade in favour of the united states in , and the barber's apprentice congratulate himself that american wealth is reckoned at $ , , , , nearly twice that of the next richest country in the world. this feeling is one that has its roots in human nature. the very cabin-boy on a monstrous ocean steamship is proud of its tonnage and speed. but that this spirit is not universal nor exclusive, that there are some americans who are not satisfied--who are even rather bitterly dissatisfied--with $ , , , as a statement of national achievement, the book from which i have quoted may be taken as a proof. there are still better proofs to be found, i think, in the earnestly warning voices which come from press and pulpit against the dangers of commercialism, and in the hundreds of thousands of noble lives which are freely consecrated to ideals in religion, in philanthropy, in the service of man's intellectual and moral needs. these services are ill-paid in america, as indeed they are everywhere, but there is no lack of men and women who are ready and glad to undertake them. i was talking to a young man and woman the other day, both thoroughbred americans, who had resolved to enter upon the adventure of matrimony together. the question was whether he should accept an opening in business with a fair outlook for making a fortune, or take a position as teacher in a school with a possible chance at best of earning a comfortable living. they asked my advice. i put the alternative as clearly as i could. on the one hand, a lot of money for doing work that was perfectly honest, but not at all congenial. on the other hand, small pay in the beginning, and no chance of ever receiving more than a modest competence for doing work that was rather hard but entirely congenial. they did not hesitate a moment. "we shall get more out of life," they said with one accord, "if our work makes us happy, than if we get big pay for doing what we do not love to do." they were not exceptional. they were typical of the best young americans. the noteworthy thing is that both of them took for granted the necessity of _doing something_ as long as they lived. the notion of a state of idleness, either as a right or as a reward, never entered their blessed young minds. in later lectures i shall speak of some of the larger evidences in education, in social effort, and in literature, which encourage the hope that the emotional life of america is not altogether a "conventional sentimentality," nor her spiritual life a complete "feebleness," nor her intelligence entirely "slovenly." but just now we have to consider the real reason and significance of the greater strength, the fuller development of the industrial life. let us try to look at it clearly and logically. my wish is not to accuse, nor to defend, but first of all to understand. the astonishing industrial advance of the united states, and the predominance of this motive in the national life, come from the third element in the spirit of america, _will-power_, that vital energy of nature which makes an ideal of activity and efficiency. "the man who does things" is the man whom the average american admires. no doubt the original conditions of the nation's birth and growth were potent in directing this will-power, in transforming this energy into forces of a practical and material kind. a new land offered the opportunity, a wild land presented the necessity, a rich land held out the reward, to men who were eager to do something. but though the outward circumstances may have moulded and developed the energy, they did not create it. mexico and south america were new lands, wild lands, rich lands. they are not far inferior, if at all, to the united states in soil, climate, and natural resources. they presented the same kind of opportunity, necessity, and reward to their settlers and conquerors. yet they have seen nothing like the same industrial advance. why? there may be many reasons. but i am sure that the most important reasons lie in the soul of the people, and that one of them is the lack, in the republics of the south, of that strong and confident will-power which has made the americans a nation of hard and quick workers. this fondness for the active life, this impulse to "do things," this sense of value in the thing done, does not seem to be an affair of recent growth in america. it is an ancestral quality. the men of the revolution were almost all of them busy and laborious persons, whether they were rich or poor. read the autobiography of benjamin franklin, and you will find that he was as proud of the fact that he was a good printer and that he invented a new kind of stove as of anything else in his career. one of his life mottoes under the head of industry is: "lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions." washington, retiring from his second term in the presidency, did not seek a well-earned ease, but turned at once to the active improvement of his estate. he was not only the richest man, he was one of the best practical farmers in america. his diary shows how willingly and steadily he rode his daily rounds, cultivated his crops, sought to improve the methods of agriculture and the condition and efficiency of his work-people. and this primarily not because he wished to add to his wealth,--for he was a childless man and a person of modest habits,--but because he felt "_il faut cultiver son jardin_." after the nation had defended its independence and consolidated its union, its first effort was to develop and extend its territory. it was little more than a string of widely separated settlements along the atlantic coast. some one has called it a country without an interior. the history of the pioneers who pushed over the mountains of the blue ridge and the alleghanies, into the forests of tennessee and kentucky, into the valleys of the ohio and the mississippi, and so on to the broad rolling prairies of the west, is not without an interest to those who feel the essential romance of the human will in a world of intractable things. the transformation of the indian's hunting trail into the highroad, with its train of creaking, white-topped wagons, and of the highroad into the railway, with its incessant, swift-rushing caravans of passengers and freight; the growth of enormous cities like chicago and st. louis in places that three generations ago were a habitation for wild geese and foxes; the harnessing of swift and mighty rivers to turn the wheels of innumerable factories; the passing of the great american desert, which once occupied the centre of our map, into the pasture-ground of countless flocks and herds, and the grain-field where the bread grows for many nations,--all this, happening in a hundred years, has an air of enchantment about it. what wonder that the american people have been fascinated, perhaps even a little intoxicated, by the effect of their own will-power? in they were comparatively a poor people, with only $ , , , of national wealth, less than $ _per capita_. in they had become a rich people, with $ , , , of national wealth, more than $ _per capita_. in they manufactured $ , , , worth of goods, in $ , , , worth. in they imported $ , , worth of merchandise and exported $ , , worth. in the figures had changed to $ , , , of merchandise exports and $ , , , of imports. that is to say, in one year america sold to other nations six dollars' worth _per capita_ more than she needed to buy from them. i use these figures, not because i find them particularly interesting or philosophically significant, but because the mere size of them illustrates, and perhaps explains, a point that is noteworthy in the development of will-power in the american people: and that is its characteristic spirit of _magnificence_. i take this word for want of a better, and employ it, according to its derivation, to signify the desire to do things on a large scale. this is a spirit which is growing everywhere in the modern civilized world. everywhere, if i mistake not, quantity is taking precedence of quality in the popular thought. everywhere men are carried away by the attraction of huge enterprises, immense combinations, enormous results. one reason is that nature herself seems to have put a premium upon the mere mass of things. in the industrial world it appears as if napoleon were right in his observation that "god is on the side of the big battalions." another reason is the strange, almost hypnotic, effect that number has upon the human mind. but while the spirit of "the large scale" is gaining all over the world, among the americans it seems to be innate and most characteristic. perhaps the very size of their country may have had something to do with this. the habit of dealing with land in terms of the square mile and the quarter-section, instead of in the terms of the _are_ and the _hectare_; the subconscious effect of owning the longest river and the largest lakes in the world may have developed a half-humorous, half-serious sense of necessity for doing things magnificently in order to keep in proportion with the natural surroundings. a well-known american wit, who had a slight impediment in his speech, moved his residence from baltimore to new york. "do you make as many jokes here," asked a friend, "as you used to make in baltimore?" "m-m-more!" he answered; "b-b-bigger town!" to produce more corn and cotton than all the rest of the world together, to have a wheat crop which is more than double that of any other country; to mine a million tons of coal a year in excess of any rival; to double germany's output of steel and iron and to treble great britain's output,--these are things which give the american spirit the sense of living up to its opportunities. it likes to have the tallest buildings in the world. new york alone contains more than twenty-five architectural eruptions of more than twenty stories each. there is an edifice now completed which is feet in height. one is planned which will be feet tall, feet taller than the eiffel tower. this new building will not be merely to gratify (or to shock) the eye like the parisian monument of magnificence in architecture. "the eiffel tower," says the american, "is not a real sky-scraper, _gratte-ciel_; it is only a sky-tickler, _chatouille-ciel_; nothing more than a _jeu d'esprit_ which man has played with the law of gravitation. but our american tall building will be strictly for business, a serious affair, the office of a great life-insurance company." there is a single american factory which makes railway locomotives every year. there is a company for the manufacture of harvesting-machines in chicago whose plant covers acres, whose employees number , , and whose products go all over the world. undoubtedly it was the desire to promote industrial development that led to the adoption of the protective tariff as an american policy. the people wanted to do things, to do all sorts of things, and to do them on a large scale. they were not satisfied to be merely farmers, or miners, or fishermen, or sailors, or lumbermen. they wished to exercise their energy in all possible ways, and to secure their prosperity by learning how to do everything necessary for themselves. they began to lay duties upon goods manufactured in europe in order to make a better market at home for goods manufactured in america. "protection of infant industries" was the idea that guided them. there have been occasional intervals when the other idea, that of liberty for needy consumers to buy in the cheapest market, has prevailed, and tariffs have been reduced. but in general the effort has been not only to raise a large part of the national income by duties on imports, but also to enhance the profits of native industries by putting a handicap on foreign competition. there can be no question that the result has been to foster the weaker industries and make them strong, and actually to create some new fields for american energy to work in. for example, in there was not a pound of tin-plate made in the united states, and , , , pounds a year were imported. the mckinley tariff put on an import duty of per cent. in only a little over , , pounds of tin-plate were imported, and nearly , , pounds were made in america. the same thing happened in the manufacture of watches. a duty of per cent on the foreign article gave the native manufacturer a profit, encouraged the development of better machinery, and made the american watch tick busily around the world. now ( ) the duty is per cent _ad valorem_. no one in the united states would deny these facts. no one, outside of academic circles, would call himself an absolute, unmitigated, and immediate free-trader. but a great many people, probably the majority of the democratic party, and a considerable number in the republican party, say to-day that many of the protective features of the tariff have largely accomplished their purpose and gone beyond it; that they have not only nourished weak industries, but have also overstimulated strong ones; that their continuance creates special privileges in the commercial world, raises the cost of the necessities of life to the poor man, tends to the promotion of gigantic trusts and monopolies, and encourages overproduction, with all its attendant evils enhanced by an artificially sustained market. they ask why a ton of american steel rail should cost twenty-six or twenty-seven dollars in the country where it is made, and only twenty dollars in europe. they inquire why a citizen of chicago or st. louis has to pay more for an american sewing-machine or clock than a citizen of stockholm or copenhagen pays for the same article. they say that a heavy burden has been laid upon the common people by a system of indirect taxation, adopted for a special purpose, and maintained long after that purpose has been fulfilled. they claim that for every dollar which this system yields to the national revenue it adds four or five dollars to the profits of the trusts and corporations. if they are cautious by temperament, they say that they are in favour of moderate tariff revision. if they are bold, they announce their adherence to the doctrine of "tariff for revenue only." the extent to which these views have gained ground among the american people may be seen in the platforms of both political parties in the presidential contest of . both declare in favour of a reduction in the tariff. the republicans are for continued protective duties, with revision of the schedules and the adoption of maximum and minimum rates, to be used in obtaining advantages from other nations. the democrats are for placing products which are controlled by trusts on the free list; for lowering the duty upon all the necessaries of life at once; and for a gradual reduction of the schedules to a revenue basis. the democrats are a shade more radical than the republicans. but both sides are a little reserved, a little afraid to declare themselves frankly and unequivocally, a good deal inclined to make their first appeal to the american passion for industrial activity and prosperity. personally i should like to see this reserve vanish. i should like to see an out-and-out campaign on the protection which our industries need compared with that which they want and get. it would clear the air. it would be a campaign of education. i remember what the greatest iron-master of america--mr. andrew carnegie--said to me in when i was travelling with him in egypt. it was in the second term of cleveland's administration, when the prospect of tariff reduction was imminent. i asked him if he was not afraid that the duty on steel would be reduced to a point that would ruin his business. "not a bit," he answered, "and i have told the president so. the tariff was made for the protection of infant industries. but the steel business of america is not an infant. it is a giant. it can take care of itself." since that time the united states steel corporation has been formed, with a capitalization of about fifteen hundred million dollars of bonds and stock, and the import duty on manufactured iron and steel is per cent _ad valorem_. another effect of the direction of american energy to industrial affairs has been important not only to the united states but to all the nations of the world. i mean the powerful stimulus which it has given to invention. people with restless minds and a strong turn for business are always on the lookout for new things to do and new ways of doing them. the natural world seems to them like a treasure-house with locked doors which it is their duty and privilege to unlock. no sooner is a new force discovered than they want to slip a collar over it and put it to work. no sooner is a new machine made than they are anxious to improve it. the same propensity makes a public ready to try new devices, and to adopt them promptly as soon as they prove useful. "yankee notions" is a slang name that was once applied to all sorts of curious and novel trifles in a peddler's stock. but to-day there are a hundred yankee notions without the use of which the world's work would go on much more slowly. the cotton-gin takes the seeds from seven thousand pounds of cotton in just the same time that a hand picker formerly needed to clean a pound and a half. an american harvesting-machine rolls through a wheat-field, mowing, threshing, and winnowing the wheat, and packing it in bags, faster than a score of hands could do the work. the steamboat, the sewing-machine, the electric telegraph, the type-writer, the telephone, the incandescent light,--these are some of the things with which american ingenuity and energy have been busy for the increase of man's efficiency and power in the world of matter. the mysterious force or fluid which franklin first drew quietly to the earth with his little kite and his silken cord has been put to a score of tasks which franklin never dreamed of. and in the problem of aerial navigation, which is now so much in the air everywhere, it looks as if american inventors might be the first to reach a practical solution. i do not say that this indicates greatness. i say only that it shows the presence in the spirit of america of a highly developed will-power, strong, active, restless, directed with intensity to practical affairs. the american inventor is not necessarily, nor primarily, a man who is out after money. he is hunting a different kind of game, and one which interests him far more deeply: a triumph over nature, a conquest of time or space, the training of a wild force, or the discovery of a new one. he likes money, of course. most men do. but the thing that he most loves is to take a trick in man's long game with the obstinacy of matter. edison is a typical american in this. he has made money, to be sure; but very little in comparison with what other men have made out of his inventions. and what he gains by one experiment he is always ready to spend on another, to risk in a new adventure. his real reward lies in the sense of winning a little victory over this secretive world, of taking another step in the subjugation of things to the will of man. there is probably no country where new inventions, labour-saving devices, improved machinery, are as readily welcomed and as quickly taken up as in america. the farmer wants the newest plough, the best reaper and mower. his wife must have a sewing-machine of the latest model; his daughter a pianola; his son an electric runabout or a motor-cycle. the factories are always throwing out old machinery and putting in new. the junk-heap is enormous. the waste looks frightful; and so it would be, if it were not directed to a purpose which in the end makes it a saving. american cities are always in a state of transition. good buildings are pulled down to make room for better ones. my wife says that "new york will be a delightful place to live in when it is finished." but it will never be finished. it is like tennyson's description of the mystical city of camelot:-- "always building, therefore never to be built at all." but unlike camelot, it is not built to music,--rather to an accompaniment of various and dreadful noise. even natural catastrophes which fall upon cities in america seem to be almost welcomed as an invitation to improve them. a fire laid the business portion of baltimore in ashes a few years ago. before the smoke had dispersed, the baltimoreans were saying, "now we can have wider streets and larger stores." an earthquake shook san francisco to pieces. the people were stunned for a little while. then they rubbed the dust out of their eyes, and said, "this time we shall know how to build better." the high stimulation of will-power in america has had the effect of quickening the general pace of life to a rate that always astonishes and sometimes annoys the european visitor. the movement of things and people is rapid, incessant, bewildering. there is a rushing tide of life in the streets, a nervous tension in the air. business is transacted with swift despatch and close attention. the preliminary compliments and courtesies are eliminated. whether you want to buy a paper of pins, or a thousand shares of stock, it is done quickly. i remember that i once had to wait an hour in the ottoman bank at damascus to get a thousand francs on my letter of credit. the courteous director gave me coffee and delightful talk. in new york the transaction would not have taken five minutes,--but there would have been no coffee nor conversation. of course the rate of speed varies considerably in different parts of the country. in the south it is much slower than in the north and the west. in the rural districts you will often find the old-fashioned virtues of delay and deliberation carried to an exasperating point of perfection. even among the american cities there is a difference in the rapidity of the pulse of life. new york and chicago have the name of the swiftest towns. philadelphia has a traditional reputation for a calm that borders on somnolence. "how many children have you?" some one asked a chicagoan. "four," was his answer; "three living, and one in philadelphia." i was reading only a few day ago an amusing description of the impression which the american _pas-redoublé_ of existence made upon an amiable french observer, m. hugues le roux, one of the lecturers who came to the united states on the hyde foundation. he says:-- "everywhere you see the signs of shopkeepers who promise to do a lot of things for you '_while you wait_.' the tailor will press your coat, the hatter will block your hat, the shoemaker will mend your shoe,--_while you wait_. at the barber shops the spectacle becomes irresistibly comic. the american throws himself back in an arm-chair to be shaved, while another artist cuts his hair; at the same time his two feet are stretched out to a bootblack, and his two hands are given up to a manicure.... "if 'step lively' is the first exclamation that a foreigner hears on leaving the steamship, 'quick' is the second. everything here is quick. in the business quarter you read in the windows of the restaurants, as their only guarantee of culinary excellence, this alluring promise: 'quick lunch!'... "the american is born 'quick'; works 'quick'; eats 'quick'; decides 'quick'; gets rich 'quick'; and dies 'quick.' i will add that he is buried 'quick.' funerals cross the city _au triple galop_." so far as it relates to the appearance of things, what the philosopher would call the phenomenal world, this is a good, though slightly exaggerated, description. i have never been so fortunate as to see a man getting a "shave" and a "hair-cut" at the same moment; and it seems a little difficult to understand precisely how these two operations could be performed simultaneously, unless the man wore a wig. but if it can be done, no doubt the americans will learn to have it done that way. as for the hair-cutter, the manicure, and the bootblack, the combination of their services is already an accomplished fact, made possible by the kindness of nature in placing the head, the hands, and the feet at a convenient distance from one another. even the parisian barbers have taken advantage of this fact. they sell you a bottle of hair tonic at the same time. it is true that the american moves rapidly. but if you should infer from these surface indications that he is always in a hurry, you would make a mistake. his fundamental philosophy is that you must be quick sometimes if you do not wish to be hurried always. you must condense, you must eliminate, you must save time on the little things in order that you may have more time for the larger things. he systematizes his correspondence, the labour of his office, all the details of his business, not for the sake of system, but for the sake of getting through with his work. over his desk hangs a printed motto: "this is my busy day." he does not like to arrive at the railway station fifteen minutes before the departure of his train, because he has something else that he would rather do with those fifteen minutes. he does not like to spend an hour in the barber-shop, because he wishes to get out to his country club in good time for a game of golf and a shower-bath afterward. he likes to have a full life, in which one thing connects with another promptly and neatly, without unnecessary intervals. his characteristic attitude is not that of a man in a hurry, but that of a man concentrated on the thing in hand in order to save time. president roosevelt has described this american trait in his familiar phrase, "the strenuous life." in a man of ardent and impetuous temperament it may seem at times to have an accent of overstrain. yet this is doubtless more in appearance than in reality. there is probably no man in the world who has comfortably gotten through with more work and enjoyed more play than he has. but evidently this american type of life has its great drawbacks and disadvantages. in eliminating the intervals it is likely to lose some of the music of existence. in laying such a heavy stress upon the value of action it is likely to overlook the part played by reflection, by meditation, by tranquil consideration in a sane and well-rounded character. the critical faculty is not that in which americans excel. by this i do not mean to say that they do not find fault. they do, and often with vigour and acerbity. but fault-finding is not criticism in the true sense of the word. criticism is a disinterested effort to see things as they really are, to understand their causes, their relations, their effects. in this effort the french intelligence seems more at home, more penetrating, better balanced than the american. minds of the type of sainte beuve or brunetière are not common, i suppose, even in france. but in america they are still more rare. clear, intelligent, thoroughgoing, well-balanced critics are not much in evidence in the united states; first, because the genius of the country does not tend to produce them; and second, because the taste of the people does not incline to listen to them. there is a spirit in the air which constantly cries, "act, act!" "let us still be up and doing." the gentle voice of that other spirit which whispers, "consider, that thou mayest be wise," is often unheard or unheeded. it is plain that the restless impulse to the active life, coming from the inward fountain of will-power, must make heavy drafts upon its source, and put a severe strain upon the channels by which it is conveyed. the nerves are worn and frayed by constant pressure. america is the country of young men, but many of them look old before their time. nervous exhaustion is common. neurasthenia, i believe, is called "the american disease." yet, curiously enough, it was in france that the best treatment of this disease was developed, and one of the most famous practitioners, dr. charcot, died, if i mistake not, of the complaint to the cure of which he had given his life. in spite of the fact that nervous disorders are common among americans, they do not seem to lead to an unusual number of cases of mental wreck. i have been looking into the statistics of insanity. the latest figures that i have been able to find are as follows: in the united states had , insane persons in a population of , , . in great britain and ireland had , in a population of , , . in france had , in a population of , , . that would make about insane persons in , for great britain, in every , for france, in every , for america. nor does the wear and tear of american life, great as it may be, seem to kill people with extraordinary rapidity. as a matter of fact, m. le roux was led away by the allurements of his own style when he wrote that the american "dies quick." in the annual death-rate per in austria was , in italy , in germany , in france , in belgium , in great britain , and in the united states . in america the average age at death in was years; in it was years. other things, such as climate, sanitation, hygiene, have to be taken into account in reading these figures. but after making all allowance for these things, the example of america does not indicate that an active, busy, quick-moving life is necessarily a short one. on the contrary, hard work seems to be wholesome. employed energy favours longevity. but what about the amount of pleasure, of real joy, of inward satisfaction that a man gets out of life? who can make a general estimate in a matter which depends so much upon individual temperament? certainly there are some deep and quiet springs of happiness which look as if they were in danger of being choked and lost, or at least which do not flow as fully and freely as one could wish, in america. the tranquil pleasure of the household where parents and children meet in intimate, well-ordered, affectionate and graceful fellowship--the _foyer_, as the best french people understand and cherish it--is not as frequent in america as it might be, nor as it used to be. there are still many sweet and refreshing homes, to be sure. but "the home" as a national institution, the centre and the source of life, is being crowded out a little. children as well as parents grow too busy for it. human intercourse, also, suffers from the lack of leisure, and detachment, and delight in the interchange of ideas. the average american is not silent. he talks freely and sometimes well, but he usually does it with a practical purpose. political debate and business discussion are much more in his line than general conversation. thus he too often misses what montaigne and samuel johnson both called one of the chief joys of life,--"a good talk." i remember one morning, after a certain dinner in new york, an acquaintance who was one of the company met me, and said, "do you know that we dined last night with thirty millions of dollars?" "yes," i said, "and we had conversation to the amount of about thirty cents." popular recreations and amusements, pleasures of the simpler kind such as are shared by masses of people on public holidays, do not seem to afford as much relaxation and refreshment in america as they do in germany or france. children do not take as much part in them. there is an air of effort about them, as if the minds of the people were not quite free from care. the englishman is said to take his pleasure sadly. the american is apt to take his strenuously. understand, in all this i am speaking in the most general way, and of impressions which can hardly be defined, and which certainly cannot be mathematically verified. i know very well that there are many exceptions to what i have been saying. there are plenty of quiet rooms in america, club-rooms, college-rooms, book-rooms, parlours, where you will find the best kind of talk. there are houses full of children who are both well-bred and happy. there are people who know how to play, with a free heart, not for the sake of winning, but for the pleasure of the game. yet i think it true that a strong will-power directed chiefly to industrial success has had a hardening effect upon the general tone of life. unless you really love work for its own sake, you will not be very happy in america. the idea of a leisure class is not fully acclimatized there. men take it for granted that there must be something useful for them to do in the world, even though they may not have to earn a living. this brings me to the last point of which i wish to speak: the result of will-power and work in the production of wealth, and the real status of the almighty dollar in the united states. the enormous increase of wealth has been accompanied by an extraordinary concentration of it in forms which make it more powerful and impressive. moody's _manual of corporation statistics_ says that there are four hundred and forty large industrial, franchise, and transportation trusts, of an important and active character, with a floating capital of over twenty billion dollars. when we remember that each of these corporations is in the eye of the law a person, and is able to act as a person in financial, industrial, and political affairs, we begin to see the tremendous significance of the figures. but we must remember also that the growth of individual fortunes and of family estates has been equally extraordinary. millionnaires are no longer counted. it is the multi-millionnaires who hold the centre of the stage. the _new york world almanac_ gives a list of sixteen of these families of vast wealth, tracing the descent of their children and grandchildren with scrupulous care, as if for an _almanach de gotha_. i suppose that another list might be made twice as large,--three or four times as large,--who knows how large,--of people whose fortune runs up into the tens of millions. these men have a vast power in american finance and industry, not only by the personal possession of money, but also through the control of the great trusts, railroads, banks, in which they have invested it. the names of many of them are familiar throughout the country. their comings and goings, their doings, opinions, and tastes are set forth in the newspapers. their houses, their establishments, in some cases are palatial; in other cases they are astonishingly plain and modest. but however that may be, the men themselves, as a class, are prominent, they are talked about, they hold the public attention. what is the nature of this attention? is it the culminating rite in the worship of the almighty dollar? no; it is an attention of curiosity, of natural interest, of critical consideration. the dollar _per se_ is no more almighty in america than it is anywhere else. it has just the same kind of power that the franc has in france, that the pound has in england: the power to buy the things that can be bought. there are foolish people in every country who worship money for its own sake. there are ambitious people in every country who worship money because they have an exaggerated idea of what it can buy. but the characteristic thing in the attitude of the americans toward money is this: not that they adore the dollar, but that they admire the energy, the will-power, by which the dollar has been won. they consider the multi-millionnaire much less as the possessor of an enormous fortune than as the successful leader of great enterprises in the world of affairs, a master of the steel industry, the head of a great railway system, the developer of the production of mineral oil, the organizer of large concerns which promote general prosperity. he represents to them achievement, force, courage, tireless will-power. a man who is very rich merely by inheritance, who has no manifest share in the activities of the country, has quite a different place in their attention. they are entertained, or perhaps shocked, by his expenditures, but they regard him lightly. it is the man who does things, and does them largely, in whom they take a serious interest. they are inclined, perhaps, to pardon him for things that ought not to be pardoned, because they feel so strongly the fascination of his potent will, his practical efficiency. it is not the might of the dollar that impresses them, it is the might of the man who wins the dollar magnificently by the development of american industry. this, i assure you, is the characteristic attitude of the typical american toward wealth. it does not confer a social status by itself in the united states any more than it does in england or in france. but it commands public attention by its relation to national will-power. of late there has come into this attention a new note of more searching inquiry, of sharper criticism, in regard to the use of great wealth. is it employed for generous and noble ends, for the building and endowment of hospitals, of public museums, libraries, and art galleries, for the support of schools and universities, for the education of the negro? then the distributer is honoured. is it devoted even to some less popular purpose, like egyptian excavations, or polar expeditions, or the endowment of some favourite study,--some object which the mass of the people do not quite understand, but which they vaguely recognize as having an ideal air? then the donor is respected even by the people who wonder why he does that particular thing. is it merely hoarded, or used for selfish and extravagant luxury? then the possessor is regarded with suspicion, with hostility, or with half-humorous contempt. there is, in fact, as much difference in the comparative standing of multi-millionnaires in america as there is in the comparative standing of lawyers or politicians. even in the same family, when a great fortune is divided, the heir who makes a good and fine use of the inheritance receives the tribute of affection and praise, while the heir who hoards it, or squanders it ignobly, receives only the tribute of notoriety,--which is quite a different thing. the power of discrimination has not been altogether blinded by the glitter of gold. the soul of the people in america accepts the law of the moral dividend which says _richesse oblige_. here i might stop, were it not for the fact that still another factor is coming into the attitude of the american people toward great wealth, concentrated wealth. there is a growing apprehension that the will-power of one man may be so magnified and extended by the enormous accumulation of the results of his energy and skill as to interfere with the free exercise of the will-power of other men. there is a feeling that great trusts carry within themselves the temptation to industrial oppression, that the liberty of individual initiative may be threatened, that the private man may find himself in a kind of bondage to these immense and potent artificial personalities created by the law. beyond a doubt this feeling is spreading. beyond a doubt it will lead to some peaceful effort to regulate and control the great corporations in their methods. and if that fails, what then? probably an effort to make the concentration of large wealth in a few hands more difficult if not impossible. and if that fails, what then? who knows? but i think it is not likely to be anything of the nature of communism. the ruling passion of america is not equality, but personal freedom for every man to exercise his will-power under a system of self-reliance and fair play. v common order and social coÖperation v common order and social coÖperation it is a little strange, and yet it seems to be true, that for a long time america was better understood by the french than by the english. this may be partly due to the fact that the french are more idealistic and more excitable than the english; in both of which qualities the americans resemble them. it may also be due in part to the fact that the american revolution was in a certain sense a family quarrel. a prolonged conflict of wills between the older and the younger members of the same household develops prejudices which do not easily subside. the very closeness of the family relation intensifies the misunderstanding. the seniors find it extremely difficult to comprehend the motives of the juniors, or to believe that they are really grown up. they seem like naughty and self-confident children. a person outside of the family is much more likely to see matters in their true light. at all events, in the latter part of the eighteenth century, when dr. samuel johnson was calling the americans "a race of convicts, who ought to be thankful for anything we allow them short of hanging," and declaring that he was willing to love all mankind _except the americans_, whom he described as "rascals--robbers--pirates," a frenchman, named crèvecoeur, who had lived some twenty years in new york, gave a different portrait of the same subject. "what then is the american," he asks, "this new man? he is either a european or the descendant of a european, hence that strange mixture of blood which you will find in no other country. i could point out to you a family whose grandfather was an englishman, whose wife was dutch, whose son married a frenchwoman, and whose present four sons have now wives of four different nations.... here individuals of all nations are melted into a new race of men whose labours and posterity will one day cause great changes in the world. americans are the western pilgrims, who are carrying along with them that great mass of arts, sciences, vigour, and industry which began long since in the east. they will finish the great circle." this is the language of compliment, of course. it is the saying of a very polite prophet; and even in prophecy one is inclined to like pleasant manners. yet that is not the reason why it seems to americans to come much nearer to the truth than dr. johnson's remarks, or charles dickens's _american notes_, or mrs. trollope's _domestic manners of the americans_. it is because the frenchman has been clear-sighted enough to recognize that the americans started out in life with an inheritance of civilized ideals, manners, aptitudes, and powers, and that these did not all come from one stock, but were assembled from several storehouses. this fact, as i have said before, is fundamental to a right understanding of american character and history. but it is particularly important to the subject of this lecture: _the sentiment of common order_, and the building-up of a settled, decent, sane life in the community. suppose, for example, that a family of barbarians, either from some native impulse, or under the influence of foreign visitors, should begin to civilize themselves. their course would be slow, irregular, and often eccentric. it would alternate between servile imitation and wild originality. sometimes it would resemble the costume of that australian chief who arrayed himself in a stove-pipe hat and polished boots and was quite unconscious of the need of the intermediate garments. but suppose we take an example of another kind,--let us say such a family as that which was made famous fifty years ago by a well-known work of juvenile fiction, _the swiss family robinson_. they are shipwrecked on a desert island. they carry ashore with them their tastes, their habits, their ideas of what is desirable and right and fitting for decent people in the common life. it is because their souls are not naked that they do not wish their bodies to become so. it is because there is already a certain order and proportion in their minds that they organize their tasks and their time. the problem before them is not to think out a civilized existence, but to realize one which already exists within them, and to do this with the materials which they find on their island, and with the tools and implements which they save from their wrecked ship. here you have precisely the problem which confronted the americans. they began housekeeping in a wild land, but not as wild people. an english lady once asked eugene field of chicago whether he knew anything about his ancestors. "not much, madam," he replied, "but i believe that mine lived in trees when they were first caught." this was an illustration of conveying truth by its opposite. the english pilgrims who came from norwich and plymouth, the hollanders who came from amsterdam and rotterdam, the huguenots who came from la rochelle and rouen were distinctly not tree-dwellers nor troglodytes. they were people who had the habits and preferences of a well-ordered life in cities of habitation, where the current of existence was tranquil and regular except when disturbed by the storms of war or religious persecution. and those who came from the country districts, from the little villages of normandy and poitou and languedoc, of lincolnshire and yorkshire and cornwall, of friesland and utrecht, of the rhenish palatinate, and of the north of ireland, were not soldiers of fortune and adventurers. they were for the most part peaceable farmers, whose ideal of earthly felicity was the well-filled barn and the comfortable fireside. there were people of a different sort, of course, among the settlers of america. england sent a good many of her bankrupts, incurable idlers, masterless men, sons of belial, across the ocean in the early days. some writers say that she sent as many as , of them. among the immigrants of other nations there were doubtless many "who left their country for their country's good." it is silly to indulge in illusions in regard to the angelic purity and unmixed virtue of the original american stock. but the elements of turbulence and disorder were always, and are still, in the minority. whatever interruption they caused in the development of a civilized and decent life was local and transient. the steady sentiment of the people who were in control was in favour of common order and social coöperation. there is a significant passage in the diary of john adams, written just after the outbreak of mob violence against the loyalists in . a man had stopped him, as he was riding along the highway, to congratulate him on the fury which the patriots and their congress had stirred up, and the general dissolution of the bonds of order. "oh, mr. adams, what great things have you and your colleagues done for us. we can never be grateful enough to you. there are no courts of justice now in this province, and i hope there will never be another." upon which the indignant adams comments: "is this the object for which i have been contending, said i to myself, for i rode along without any answer to this wretch; are these the sentiments of such people, and how many of them are there in this country? half the nation for what i know: for half the nation are debtors, if not more; and these have been in all countries the sentiments of debtors. if the power of the country should get into such hands, and there is great danger that it will, to what purpose have we sacrificed our time, our health, and everything else?" but the fears of the sturdy old puritan and patriot were not realized. it was not into the hands of such men as he despised and dreaded, nor even into the hands of such men as mr. rudyard kipling's imaginary american, "enslaved, illogical, elate ... unkempt, disreputable, vast," that the power of the country fell. it was into the hands of men of a very different type, intelligent as well as independent, sober as well as self-reliant, inheritors of principles well-matured and defined, friends of liberty in all their policies, but at the bottom of their hearts lovers and seekers of tranquil order. i hear the spirit of these men speaking in the words of him who was the chosen leader of the people in peace and in war. washington retired from his unequalled public service with the sincere declaration that he wished for nothing better than to partake, "in the midst of my fellow-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free government, the ever favourite object of my heart, and the happy reward, as i trust, of our mutual cares, labours, and dangers." in these nobly simple and eloquent words, the great american expresses clearly the fourth factor in the making of his country,--_the love of common order_. here we see, in the mild light of unconscious self-revealment, one of the chief ends which the spirit of america desires and seeks. not merely a self-reliant life, not merely a life of equal opportunity for all, not merely an active, energetic life in which the free-will of the individual has full play, but also a life shared with one's fellow-citizens under the benign influence of good laws, a life which is controlled by principles of harmony and fruitful in efforts coöperant to a common end, a life _rangée, ordonnée, et solidaire_,--this is the american ideal. with what difficulty men worked out this ideal in outward things in the early days we can hardly imagine. those little communities, scattered along the edge of the wilderness, had no easy task to establish and maintain physical orderliness. nature has her own order, no doubt, but her ways are different from man's ways; she is reluctant to submit to his control; she does not like to have her hair trimmed and her garments confined; she even communicates to man, in his first struggles with her, a little of her own carelessness, her own apparently reckless and wasteful way of doing things. "rough and ready" is a necessary maxim of the frontier. it is hard to make a new country or a log cabin look neat. to this day in america, even in the regions which have been long settled, one finds nothing like the excellent trimness, the precise and methodical arrangement, of the little farmsteads of the savoy among which these lectures were written. my memory often went back, last summer, from those tiny unfenced crops laid out like the squares of a chess-board in the valleys, from those rich pastures hanging like green velvet on the steep hillsides, from those carefully tended forests of black firs, from those granges with the little sticks of wood so neatly piled along their sides under the shelter of the overhanging eaves, to the straggling fences, the fallow fields, the unkempt meadows, the denuded slopes, the shaggy underbrush, the tumbled woodpiles, and the general signs of waste and disorder which may be seen in so many farming districts of the united states. i asked myself how i could venture to assure a french audience, in spite of such apparent evidences to the contrary, that the love of order was a strong factor in the american spirit. but then i began to remember that those farms of new england and new york and new jersey were won only a few generations ago from a trackless and savage wilderness; that the breadth of their acres had naturally tempted the farmer to neglect the less fruitful for the more productive; that nature herself had put a larger premium upon energy than upon parsimony in these first efforts to utilize her resources; and that, after all, what i wished to describe and prove was not an outward triumph of universal orderliness in material things, but an inward desire of order, the wish to have a common life well arranged and regulated, tranquil and steady. here i began to see my way more clear. those farms of eastern america, which would look to a foreigner so rude and ill-kept, have nourished a race of men and women in whom regularity and moral steadiness and consideration of the common welfare have been characteristic traits. their villages and towns, with few exceptions, are well cared for physically; and socially, to use a phrase which i heard from one of my guides in maine, they are "as calm as a clock." they have their village improvement societies, their lyceum lecture courses, their public libraries, their churches (often more than they need), and their schoolhouses, usually the finest of all their buildings. they have poured into the great cities, year after year, an infusion of strong and pure american blood which has been of the highest value, not only in filling the arteries of industry and trade and the professions with a fresh current of vigorous life, but also in promoting the rapid assimilation of the mass of foreign immigrants. they have sent out a steady flood of westward-moving population which has carried with it the ideals and institutions, the customs and the habits, of common order and social coöperation. on the crest of the advancing wave, to be sure, there is a picturesque touch of foam and fury. the first comers, the prospectors, miners, ranchers, land-grabbers, lumbermen, adventurers, are often rough and turbulent, careless of the amenities, and much given to the profanities. but they are the men who break the way and open the path. behind them come the settlers bringing the steady life. i could wish the intelligent foreigner to see the immense corn-fields of indiana, illinois, and kansas, the vast wheat-fields of the northwest, miles and miles of green and golden harvest, cultivated, reaped, and garnered with a skill and accuracy which resembles the movements of a mighty army. i could wish him to see the gardens and orchards of the pacific slope, miles and miles of opulent bloom and fruitage, watered by a million streams, more fertile than the paradise of damascus. i could wish him to see the towns and little cities which have grown up as if by magic everywhere, each one developing an industry, a social life, a civic consciousness of its own, in forms which, though often bare and simple, are almost always regular and respectable even to the point of monotony. then perhaps he would believe that the race which has done these things in a hundred years has a real and deep instinct of common order. but the peculiarly american quality in this instinct is its individualism. it does not wish to be organized. it wishes to organize itself. it craves form, but it dislikes formality. it prizes and cherishes the sense of voluntary effort more than the sense of obedience. it has its eye fixed on the end which it desires, a peaceable and steady life, a tranquil and prosperous community. it sometimes overlooks the means which are indirectly and obscurely serviceable to that end. it is inclined to be suspicious of any routine or convention whose direct practical benefit is not self-evident. it has a slight contempt for etiquette and manners as superficial things. its ideal is not elegance, but utility; not a dress-parade, but a march in comradeship toward a common goal. it is reluctant to admit the value of the parade even as a discipline and preparation for the march. often it demands so much liberty for the individual that the smooth interaction of the different parts of the community is disturbed or broken. the fabric of common order in america is sound and strong at the centre. the pattern is well-marked, and the threads are firmly woven. but the edges are ragged and unfinished. many of our best cities have a fringe of ugliness and filth around them which is like a torn and bedraggled petticoat on a woman otherwise well dressed. approaching new york, or cincinnati, or pittsburg, or chicago, you pass first through a delightful region, where the homes of the prosperous are spread upon the hills, reminding you of a circle of paradise; and then through a region of hideous disorder and new ruins, which has the aspect of a circle of purgatory, and makes you doubt whether it is safe to go any farther for fear you may come to a worse place. this neglected belt of hideous suburbs around some of the richest cities in the world is typical and symbolical. it speaks of the haste with which things have been done; of the tendency to overlook detail, provided the main purpose is accomplished; of the lack of thoroughness, and the indifference to appearance, which are common american faults. it suggests, also, the resistance which a strong spirit of individualism offers to civic supervision and control; the tenacity with which men cling to their supposed right to keep their houses in dirt and disorder; the difficulty of making them comply with general laws of sanitation and public improvement; and the selfishness with which land-owners will leave their neglected property to disfigure the city from whose growth they expect in ten or twenty years to reap a large profit. yet, as a matter of fact, this very typical mark of an imperfect sense of the value of physical neatness and orderliness in american life is not growing, but diminishing. the fringes of the cities are not nearly as bad as they were thirty or forty years ago. in many of them,--notably in philadelphia and boston and some of the western cities,--beauty has taken the place of ugliness. parks and playgrounds have been created where formerly there were only waste places filled with rubbish. tumble-down shanties give way to long rows of trim little houses. even the factories cease to look like dingy prisons and put on an air of self-respect. nuisances are abolished. the country can draw near to the city without holding its nose. this gradual improvement, also, is symbolical. it speaks of individualism becoming conscious of its own defects and dangers. it speaks of an effort on the part of the more intelligent and public-spirited citizens to better the conditions of life for all. it speaks of a deep instinct in the people which responds to these efforts and supports them with the necessary laws and enactments. it speaks most of all, i hope, of that underlying sense of common order which is one of the qualities of the spirit of america. let me illustrate this, first, by some observations on the average american crowd. the obvious thing about it which the foreigner is likely to notice is its good humour. it is largely made up of native optimists, who think the world is not a bad place to live in, and who have a cheerful expectation that they are going to get along in it. although it is composed of rather excitable individuals, as a mass it is not easily thrown into passion or confusion. the emotion to which it responds most quickly is neither anger nor fear, but laughter. but it has another trait still more striking, and that is its capacity for self-organization. watch it in front of a ticket-office, and see how quickly and instinctively it forms "the line." no police are needed. the crowd takes care of itself. every man finds his place, and the order once established is strictly maintained by the whole crowd. the man who tries to break it is laughed at and hustled out. when an accident happens in the street, the throng gathers in a moment. but it is not merely curious. it is promptly helpful. there is some one to sit on the head of the fallen horse,--a dozen hands to unbuckle the harness; if a litter is needed for the wounded man, it is quickly improvised, and he is carried into the nearest shop, while some one sends a "hurry call" for the doctor and the ambulance. until about forty years ago, the whole work of fighting fire in the cities was left to voluntary effort. companies of citizens were formed, like social or political clubs, which purchased fire-engines, and organized themselves into a brigade ready to come at the first alarm of a conflagration. the crowd came with them and helped. i have seen a church on sunday morning emptied of all its able-bodied young men by the ringing of the fire-bell. it is true that there was a keen rivalry among these voluntary fire-fighters which sometimes led them to fight one another on their way to a conflagration. but out of these free associations have grown the paid fire-departments of the large cities, with their fine tradition of courage and increased efficiency. if you wish to see an american crowd in its most extraordinary aspect, you should go to a political convention for the nomination of a president. the streets swarming with people, all hurrying in one direction, talking loudly, laughing, cheering; the vast, barn-like hall draped with red, white, and blue bunting, and packed with , of the , folks who have tried to get into it; the thousand delegates sitting together in solid cohorts according to the states which they represent, each cohort ready to shout and cheer and vote as one man for its "favourite son"; the officers on the far-away platform, lilliputian figures facing, directing, dominating this brobdignagian mass of humanity; the buzzing of the audience in the intervals of business; the alternate waves of excitement and uneasiness that sweep over it; the long speeches, the dull speeches, the fiery speeches, the outbreaks of laughter and applause, the coming and going of messengers, the waving of flags and banners,--what does it all mean? what reason or order is there in it? what motives guide and control this big, good-natured crowd? wait. you are at the republican convention in chicago. the leadership of mr. roosevelt in the party is really the point in dispute, though not a word has been said about it. a lean, clean-cut, incisive man is speaking, the chairman of the convention. presently he shoots out a sentence referring to "the best abused and the most popular man in america." as if it were a signal given by a gun, that phrase lets loose a storm, a tempest of applause for roosevelt,--cheers, yells, bursts of song, the blowing of brass-bands, the roaring of megaphones, the waving of flags; more cheers like volleys of musketry; a hurricane of vocal enthusiasm, dying down for a moment to break out in a new place, redoubling itself in vigour as if it had just begun, shaking the rafters and making the bunting flutter in the wind. for forty-seven minutes by the clock that american crowd pours out its concerted enthusiasm, and makes a new "record" for the length of a political demonstration. now change the scene to denver, a couple of weeks later. the democrats are holding their convention. you are in the same kind of a hall, only a little larger, filled with the same kind of a crowd, only more of it. the leadership of mr. bryan is the point in dispute, and everybody knows it. presently a speaker on the platform mentions "the peerless son of nebraska" and pauses as if he expected a reply. it comes like an earthquake. the crowd breaks into a long, indescribable, incredible tumult of applause, just like the other one, but lasting now for more than eighty minutes,--a new "record" of demonstration. what are these scenes at which you have assisted? the meetings of two entirely voluntary associations of american citizens, who have agreed to work together for political purposes. and what are these masses of people who are capable of cheering in unison for three-quarters of an hour, or an hour and a quarter? just two american crowds showing their enthusiasm for their favourites. what does it all prove? nothing,--i think,--except an extraordinary capacity for self-organization. but the spirit of america shows the sense of common order in much deeper and more significant things than the physical smoothing and polishing of town and country, or than the behaviour of an average crowd. it is of these more important things that i wish to give some idea. it has been said that the first instinct of the americans, confronted by a serious difficulty or problem, is to appoint a committee and form a society. whether this be true or not, i am sure that many, if not most, of the advances in moral and social order in the united states during the last thirty or forty years have been begun and promoted in this way. it is, in fact, the natural way in a conservative republic. where public opinion rules, expressing itself more or less correctly in popular suffrage, no real reform can be accomplished without first winning the opinion of the public in its favour. those who believe in the reform must get together in order to do this. they must gather their evidence, present their arguments, show why and how certain things ought to be done, and urge the point until the public sees it. then, in some cases, legislation follows. the moral sense, or it may be merely the practical common sense, _le gros bon sens de ménage_, of the community, takes shape in some formal statute or enactment. a state or municipal board or commission is appointed, and the reform passes from the voluntary to the organic stage. the association or committee which promoted it disappears in a blaze of congratulation, or perhaps continues its existence to watch the enforcement of the new laws. but there is another class of cases in which no formal legislation seems to be adequate to meet the evils, or in which the process of law-making is impeded or perhaps altogether prevented by the american system of dividing the power between the national, state, and local governments. here the private association of public-spirited citizens must act as a compensating force in the body politic. it must take what it can get in the way of partial organic reform, and supply what is lacking by voluntary coöperation. there is still a third class of evils which seem to have their roots not in the structure of society, but in human nature itself, and for these the typical american believes that the only amelioration is a steady and friendly effort by men of good-will. he does not look for the establishment of the millennium by statute. he does not think that the impersonal state can strengthen character, bind up broken hearts, or be a nursing mother to the ignorant, the wounded, and the helpless. for this work there must always be a personal service, a volunteer service, a service to which men and women are bound, not by authority, but by the inward ties of philanthropy and religion. now these three kinds of voluntary coöperation for the bettering of the common order are not peculiar to america. one finds them in every nation that has the seed of progress in its mind or the vision of the _civitas dei_ in its soul,--and nowhere more than in france. the french have a genius for society and a passion for societies. but i am not sure that they understand how much the americans resemble them in the latter respect, and how much has been accomplished in the united states by way of voluntary social coöperation under an individualistic system. take the subject of hospitals. i was reading the other day a statement by m. jules huret:-- "at pittsburg, the industrial hell, which contains , italians, and , slavs, croats, hungarians, etc., in the city and its suburbs,--at pittsburg, capital of the steel trust, which distributes millions of interest and dividends every year,--there is no free hospital!" this is wonderfully incorrect. there are thirty-three hospitals at pittsburgh, fifteen public and eighteen private. in , thirteen of these hospitals treated over ten thousand free patients, at a cost of more than three hundred thousand dollars. in new york there are more than forty hospitals, of which six are municipal institutions, while the others are incorporated by associations of citizens and supported largely by benevolent gifts; and more than forty free dispensaries for the treatment of patients and the distribution of medicines. in fact, the dispensaries increased so rapidly, a few years ago, that the regular physicians complained that their business was unfairly reduced. they said that prosperous people went to the dispensary to save expense; and they humbly suggested that no patient who wore diamonds should be received for free treatment. in the united states in there were hospitals costing about $ , , a year for maintenance: $ , , of this came from public funds, and the remaining $ , , from charitable gifts and from paying patients. one-third of the patients were in public institutions, the other two-thirds in hospitals under private or religious control. there is not a city of any consequence in america which is without good hospital accommodations; and there are few countries in the world where it is more comfortable for a stranger to break a leg or have a mild attack of appendicitis. all this goes to show that the americans recognize the care of the sick and wounded as a part of the common order. they perceive that the state never has been, and probably never will be, able to do all that is needed without the help of benevolent individuals, religious bodies, and philanthropic societies. how generously this help is given in america, not only for hospitals, but for all other objects of benevolence, may be seen from the fact that the public gifts and bequests of private citizens for the year amounted to more than $ , , . let me give another illustration of voluntary social coöperation in this sphere of action which lies at least in part beyond the reach of the state. in all the american cities of large size, you will find institutions which are called "settlements,"--a vague word which has been defined to mean "homes in the poorer quarters of a city where educated men and women may live in daily contact with the working people." the first house of this kind to be established was toynbee hall in london, in . two years later the neighbourhood guild was founded in new york, and in the college settlement in the same city, and hull house in chicago, were established. there are now reported some three hundred of such settlement houses in the world, of which england has , holland , scotland , france , germany , and the united states . i will take, as examples, hull house in chicago, and the henry street settlement in new york. hull house was started by two ladies who went into one of the worst districts of chicago and took a house with the idea of making it a radiating centre of orderly and happy life. their friends backed them up with money and help. after five years the enterprise was incorporated. the buildings, which are of the most substantial kind, now cover a whole city block, some forty or fifty thousand square feet, and, include an apartment house, a boys' club, a girls' club, a theatre, a gymnasium, a day nursery, workshops, class rooms, a coffee-house, and so on. there are forty-four educated men and women in residence who are engaged in self-supporting occupations, and who give their free time to the work of the settlement. a hundred and fifty outside helpers come every week to serve as teachers, friendly visitors, or directors of clubs: people a week come to the house as members of some one of its organizations or as parts of an audience. there are free concerts, and lectures, and classes of various kinds in study and in handicraft. investigations of the social and industrial conditions of the neighbourhood are carried on, not officially, but informally; and the knowledge thus obtained has been used not only for the visible transformation of the region around hull house, but also to throw light upon the larger needs and possibilities of improvement in chicago and other american cities. hull house, in fact, is an example of ethical and humane housekeeping on a big scale in a big town. the henry street settlement in new york is quite different in its specific quality. it was begun in by two trained nurses, who went down into the tenement-house district, to find the sick and to nurse them in their homes. at first they lived in a tenement house themselves; then the growth of their work and the coming of other helpers forced them to get a little house, then another, and another, a cottage in the country, a convalescent home. the idea of the settlement was single and simple. it was to meet the need of intelligent and skilful nursing in the very places where dirt and ignorance, carelessness and superstition, were doing the most harm,-- "in the crowded warrens of the poor." this little company of women, some twenty or thirty of them, go about from tenement to tenement, bringing cleanliness and order with them. in the presence of disease and pain they teach lessons which could be taught in no other way. they nurse five or six thousand patients every year, and make forty or fifty thousand visits. in addition to this, largely through their influence and example, the board of education has adopted a trained nursing service in the public schools, and has appointed a special corps of nurses to take prompt charge of cases of contagious disease among the school children. the nurses' settlement, in fact, is a repetition of the parable of the good samaritan in a crowded city instead of on a lonely road. these two examples illustrate the kind of work that is going on all over the united states. every religious body, jewish or christian, has some part in it. it touches many sides of life,--this effort to do for the common order what the state has never been able to accomplish fully,--to sweeten and humanize it. i wish that there were time to speak of some particularly interesting features, like the children's aid society, the george junior republic, the association for improving the condition of the poor, the kindergarten association. but now i must pass at once to the second kind of social effort, that in which the voluntary coöperation of the citizen enlightens and guides and supplements the action of the state. here i might speak of the great question of the housing of the poor, and of the relation of private building and loan associations to governmental regulation of tenements and dwelling-houses. this is one of the points on which america has lagged behind the rest of the civilized world. our excessive spirit of _laissez-faire_, and our cheerful optimism,--which in this case justifies the cynical definition of optimism as "an indifference to the sufferings of others,"--permitted the development in new york of the most congested and rottenly overcrowded ten acres on the face of the habitable globe. but the tenement house commission of , and the other commissions which followed it, did much to improve conditions. a fairly good tenement house act was passed. a special department of the municipality was created to enforce it. the dark interior rooms, the vile and unsanitary holes, the lodgings without water or air or fire-escapes, are being slowly but surely broken up and extirpated, and a half-dozen private societies, combining philanthropy with business, are building decent houses for working people, which return from per cent to per cent on the capital invested. for our present purpose, however, it will be better to take an example which is less complicated, and in which the coöperation of the state and the good-will of the private citizen can be more closely and simply traced. i mean the restriction and the regulation of child labour. every intelligent nation sees in its children its most valuable asset. that their physical and moral development should be dwarfed or paralyzed by bondage to exhausting and unwholesome labour, or by a premature absorption in toil of any kind, would be at once a national disgrace and a national calamity. three kinds of societies have been and still are at work in america to prevent this shame and disaster. first, there are the societies which are devoted to the general protection of all the interests of the young, like the society for the prevention of cruelty to children. then there are the societies which make their appeal to the moral sense of the community to condemn and suppress all kinds of inhumanity in the conduct of industry and trade. of these the consumers' league is an example. founded in new york in , by a few ladies of public spirit, it has spread to twenty other states, with sixty-four distinct societies and a national organization for the whole country. its central idea is to persuade people, rich and poor, to buy only those things which are made and sold under fair and humane conditions. the responsibility of men and women for the way in which they spend their money is recognized. they are asked to remember that the cheapness of a bargain is not the only thing for them to consider. they ought to think whether it has been made cheap at the cost of human sorrow and degradation, whether the distress and pain and exhaustion of overtasked childhood and ill-treated womanhood have made their cheap bargain a shameful and poisonous thing. the first work of the leagues was to investigate the actual condition of labour in the great stores. the law forbade them to publish a _black list_ of the establishments where the employees were badly treated. that would have been in the nature of a boycott. but they ingeniously evaded this obstacle by publishing a _white list_ of those which treated their people decently and kindly. thus the standard of a "_fair house_" where a living wage was paid, where children of tender years were not employed, where the hours of work were not excessive, and where the sanitary conditions were good, was established, and that standard has steadily been raised. then the leagues went on to investigate the conditions of production of the goods sold in the shops. the national league issues a _white label_ which guarantees that every article upon which it is found has been manufactured in a place where, ( ) the state factory law is obeyed, ( ) no children under sixteen years of age are employed, ( ) no night work is required and the working-day does not exceed ten hours, ( ) no goods are given out to be made away from the factory. at the same time the consumers' league has been steadily pressing the legislatures and governors of the different states for stricter and better laws in regard to the employment of women and children. the third class of societies which are at work in this field are those which deal directly with the question of child labour. it must be remembered that under the american system this is a matter which is left to the control of the separate states. naturally there has been the greatest imaginable diversity among them. for a long time there were many that had practically no laws upon the subject, or laws so defective that they were useless. even now the states are far from anything like harmony or equality in their child-labour laws. illinois, massachusetts, new york, new jersey, ohio, and wisconsin are probably in the lead in good legislation. if we may judge by the statistics of children between ten and fourteen years who are unable to read or write, tennessee, mississippi, the carolinas, louisiana, georgia, and alabama are in the rear. it must be remembered, also, that the number of children between ten and fifteen years employed in manufacturing pursuits in the united states increased from to more than twice as fast as the population of the country, and that the census of gives the total of bread-winners under fifteen years of age as , , . a graphic picture of the actual condition of child labour in the united states may be found in _the cry of the children_, by mrs. john van vorst (new york, ). here is a little army--no, a vast army--of little soldiers, whose sad and silent files are full of menace for the republic. the principal forces arrayed against this perilous condition of things have been the special committees of the women's clubs everywhere, the child-labour committees in different states, and finally the national child-labour committee organized in . through their efforts there has been a great advance in legislation on the subject. in , twenty-two states enacted laws regulating the employment of children. in there were six states which legislated, including georgia and iowa, which for the first time put a law against child labour on their statute-books. in eight states amended their laws. in the same year a national investigation of the subject was ordered by congress under direction of the federal commissioner of labour. a bill was prepared which attempted to deal with the subject indirectly through that provision of the constitution which gives congress the power to "regulate commerce." this bill proposed to make it unlawful to transport from one state to another the product of any factory or mine in which children under fourteen years of age were employed. it was a humane and ingenious device. but it is doubtful whether it can ever be made an effective law. the best judges think that it stretches the idea of the regulation of interstate commerce beyond reasonable limits, and that the national government has no power to control industrial production in the separate states without an amendment to the constitution. if this be true (and i am inclined to believe it is), then the best safeguard of america against the evils of child labour must be persistent action of these private associations in each community, investigating and reporting the actual conditions, awakening and stimulating the local conscience, pushing steadily for better state laws, and, when they are enacted, still working to create a public sentiment which will enforce them. it is one thing to love your own children and care for them. it is another thing to have a wise, tender, protecting regard for all the children of your country. we wish and hope to see better and more uniform laws against child labour in america. but, after all, nothing can take the place of the sentiment of fatherhood and motherhood in patriotism. and that comes and stays only through the voluntary effort of men and women of good-will. the last sphere in which the sense of common order in america has been expressed and promoted by social coöperation is that of direct and definite reform accomplished by legislation, as a result, at least in part, of the work of some society or committee, formed for that specific purpose. here a small, but neat, illustration is at hand. for many years america practised, and indeed legally sanctioned, the habit of literary piracy. foreign authors were distinctly refused any protection in the united states for the fruit of their intellectual labours. a foreigner might make a hat, and no one could steal it. he might cultivate a crop of potatoes, and no one could take them from him without paying for them. but let him write a book, and any one could reprint it, and sell it, and make a fortune out of it, without being compelled to give the unhappy author a penny. american authors felt the shame of this state of things,--and the disorder, too, for it demoralized the book-trade and brought a mass of stolen goods into cheap competition with those which had paid an honest royalty to their makers. a copyright league was formed which included all the well-known writers of america. after years of hard work this league secured the passage of an international copyright law which gave the same protection to the foreigner as to the american author, providing only, under the protective tariff system, that his book must be printed and manufactured in the united states. but the most striking and important example of this kind of work is that of the civil service reform association, which was organized in . here a few words of explanation are necessary. in the early history of the united states the number of civil offices under the national government was comparatively small, and the appointments were generally made for ability and fitness. but as the country grew, the number of offices increased with tremendous rapidity. by the so-called 'spoils system' which regarded them as prizes of political war, to be distributed by the successful party in each election for the reward and encouragement of its adherents, became a fixed idea in the public mind. the post-offices, the custom-houses, all departments of the civil service, were treated as rich treasuries of patronage, and used first by the democrats and then by the republicans, to consolidate and perpetuate partisan power. it was not a question of financial corruption, of bribery with money. it was worse. it was a question of the disorder and impurity of the national housekeeping, of the debauchment and degradation of the daily business of the state. notoriously unfit persons were appointed to responsible positions. the tenure of office was brief and insecure. every presidential election threatened to make a clean sweep of the hundreds of thousands of people who were doing the necessary routine work of the nation. federal office-holders were practically compelled to contribute to campaign expenses, and to work and fight, like a host of mercenaries, for the success of the party which kept them in place. confusion and inefficiency prevailed everywhere. in the condition of affairs had become intolerable. president grant, in his first term, recommended legislation, and appointed a national civil service commission, with george william curtis at its head. competitive examinations were begun, and a small appropriation was made to carry on the work. but the country was not yet educated up to the reform. congress was secretly and stubbornly opposed to it. the appropriation was withdrawn. the work of the commission was ridiculed, and in his second term, in , grant was obliged to give it up. then the civil service reform association, with men like george william curtis, carl schurz, dorman b. eaton, and james russell lowell as its leaders, was organized. a vigorous and systematic campaign of public agitation and education was begun. candidates for the presidency and other elective offices were called to declare their policy on this question. the war of opinion was fierce. the assassination of president garfield, in , was in some measure due to the feeling of hostility aroused by his known opposition to the spoils system. his successor, vice-president arthur, who was supposed to be a spoilsman, surprised everybody by his loyalty to garfield's policy on this point. and in a bill for the reform of the civil service was passed and a new commission appointed. the next president was grover cleveland, an ardent and fearless friend of the reform, who greatly increased its practical efficiency. he fought against congress, both in his first and in his second term, to enlarge the scope and operation of the act by bringing more offices into the classified and competitive service. in his second term, by executive order, he increased the number of classified positions from forty-three thousand to eighty-seven thousand. presidents harrison and mckinley worked in the same direction. and president roosevelt, whose first national office was that of civil service commissioner from to , has raised and strengthened the rules, and applied the merit system to the consular service and other important departments of governmental work. the result is that out of three hundred and twenty-five thousand positions in the executive civil service one hundred and eighty-five thousand are now classified, and appointments are made either under competitive examination or on the merit system for proved efficiency. this is an immense forward step in the promotion of common order, and it is largely the result of the work of the civil service reform association, acting upon the formation of public opinion. i believe it would be impossible for any candidate known to favour the spoils system to be elected to the presidency of the united states to-day. a moment of thought will show the bearing of this illustration upon the subject which we are now considering. here was a big, new, democratic people, self-reliant and sovereign, prosperous to a point where self-complacency was almost inevitable, and grown quite beyond the reach of external correction and control. they had fallen into wretched habits of national housekeeping. their domestic service was disorderly and incompetent. the party politicians, on both sides, were interested in maintaining this bad service, because they made a profit out of it. the people had been hardened to it; they seemed to be either careless and indifferent, in their large, happy-go-lucky way, or else positively attached to a system which stirred everything up every four years and created unlimited opportunities for office-seeking and salary-drawing. what power could save them from their own bad judgment? there was no higher authority to set them right. everything was in their own hands. the case looked hopeless. but in less than thirty years the voluntary effort of a group of clear-sighted and high-minded citizens changed everything. an appeal to the sense of common order, of decency, of propriety, in the soul of the people created a sentiment which was too strong for the selfish politicians of either party to resist. the popular will was enlightened, converted, transformed, and an orderly, just, business-like administration of the civil service became, if not an accomplished fact, at least a universal and acknowledged aim of national desire and effort. it is to precisely the same source that we must look with hope for the further development of harmony, and social equilibrium, and efficient civic righteousness, in american affairs. it is by precisely the same process that america must save herself from the perils and perplexities which are inherent in her own character and in the form of government which she has evolved to fit it. that boastful self-complacency which is the caricature of self-reliance, that contempt for the minority which is the mockery of fair play, that stubborn personal lawlessness which is the bane of the strong will and the energetic temperament, can be restrained, modified, corrected, and practically conquered, only by another inward force,--the desire of common order, the instinct of social coöperation. and there is no way of stimulating this desire, of cultivating this instinct, at least for the american republic, except the way of voluntary effort and association among the men and women of good-will. one looks with amazement upon the vast array of "societies" of all kinds which have sprung into being in the united states during the last thirty years. they cover every subject of social thought and endeavour. their documents and pamphlets and circulars fill the mails. their appeals for contributions and dues tax the purse. to read all that they print would be a weariness to the flesh. to attend all their meetings and conferences would wreck the most robust listener. to speak at all of them would ruin the most fluent orator. a feeling of humorous discouragement and dismay often comes over the quiet man who contemplates this astonishing phase of american activity. but if he happens also to be a conscientious man, he is bound to remember, on the other side, that the majority of these societies exist for some practical end which belongs to the common order. the women's clubs, all over the country, have been powerful promoters of local decency and good legislation. the leagues for social service, for political education, for municipal reform, have investigated conditions, collected facts, and acted as "clearing-houses for human betterment." the white ribbon, and red ribbon, and blue ribbon clubs have worked for purity and temperance. the prison associations have sought to secure the treatment of criminals as human beings. the city clubs, and municipal leagues, and vigilance societies have acted as unpaid watchmen over the vital interests of the great cities. the medical and legal societies have used their influence in behalf of sanitary reform and the improvement of the machinery and methods of the courts. there is no subject affecting the common welfare on which congress would venture to legislate to-day until the committee to which the bill had been referred had first given a public hearing. at these hearings, which are open to all, the societies that are interested present their facts and arguments, and plead their cause. even associations of a less serious character seem to recognize their civic responsibilities. the society of the sons of the revolution prints and distributes, in a dozen different languages, a moral and patriotic pamphlet of "information for immigrants." the sportsmen's clubs take an active interest in the improvement and enforcement of laws for the protection of fish and game. the audubon societies in many parts of the country have stopped, or at least checked, the extermination of wild birds of beauty and song for the supposed adornment of women's hats. it cannot be denied that there are still many and grave defects in the common order of america. for example, when a bitter and prolonged conflict between organized capital and organized labour paralyzes some necessary industry, we have no definite and sure way of protecting that great third party, the helpless consuming public. in the coal strike, a few years ago, the operators and the workmen were at a deadlock, and there was a good prospect that many people would freeze to death. but president roosevelt, with the approval of men like ex-president cleveland, forced or persuaded the two warring parties to go on with the mining of coal, while a committee of impartial arbitration settled their dispute. we have no uniformity in our game laws, our forestry laws, our laws for the preservation and purity of the local water-supply. as these things are left to the control of the separate states, it will be very difficult to bring them all into harmony and good order. the same thing is true of a much more important matter,--the laws of marriage and divorce. each state and territory has its own legislation on this subject. in consequence there are fifty-one distinct divorce codes in the united states and their territories. south carolina grants no divorce; new york and north carolina admit only one cause; new hampshire admits fourteen. in some of the states, like south dakota, a legal residence of six months is sufficient to qualify a person to sue for a divorce; and those states have always a transient colony of people who are anxious to secure a rapid separation. the provisions in regard to re-marriage are various and confusing. a man who is divorced under the law of south dakota and marries again can be convicted of bigamy in new york. all this is immensely disorderly and demoralizing. the latest statistics which are accessible show that there were , divorces in the united states in the year . the annual number at present is estimated at nearly , . but the work which is being done by the national league for the protection of the family, and the united efforts of the churches, which have been deeply impressed with the need of awakening and elevating public sentiment on this subject, have already produced an improvement in many states. it is possible that a much greater uniformity of legislation may be reached, even though a national law may not be feasible. it is certain that the effective protection of the family must be secured in america, as elsewhere, by a social education and coöperation which will teach men and women to think of the whole subject "reverently, soberly, and in the fear of god, duly considering the causes for which marriage was ordained." in this, and in all other things of like nature, we americans look into the future not without misgivings and fears, but with an underlying confidence that the years will bring a larger and nobler common order, and that the republic will be peace. in the minor problems we shall make many mistakes. in the great problems, in the pressing emergencies, we rely upon the moral power in reserve. the sober soul of the people is neither frivolous nor fanatical. it is earnest, ethical, desirous of the common good, responsive to moral appeal, capable of self-control, and, in the time of need, strong for self-sacrifice. it has its hours of illusion, its intervals of indifference and drowsiness. but while there are men and women passionately devoted to its highest ideals, and faithful in calling it to its duties, it will not wholly slumber nor be lost in death. if there is to be an american aristocracy, it shall not be composed of the rich, nor of those whose only pride is in their ancient name, but of those who have done most to keep the spirit of america awake and eager to solve the problems of the common order, of those who have spoken to her most clearly and steadily, by word and deed, reminding her that "by the soul only, the nations shall be great and free." vi personal development and education vi personal development and education the spirit of america shows its ingrained individualism nowhere more clearly than in education. first, by the breadth of the provision which it makes, up to a certain point, for everybody who wishes to be educated. second, by the entire absence of anything like a centralized control of education. third, by the remarkable evolution of different types of educational institutions and the liberty of choice which they offer to each student. all this is in the nature of evidence to the existence of a fifth quality in the spirit of america, closely connected with the sense of self-reliance and a strong will-power, intimately related to the love of fair play and common order,--a keen appreciation of _the value of personal development_. here again, as in the previous lectures, what we have to observe and follow is not a logical syllogism, nor a geometrical proposition neatly and accurately worked out. it is a natural process of self-realization. it is the history of the soul of a people learning how to think for itself. as in government, in social order, in organized industry, so in education, america has followed, not the line of least resistance, nor the line of abstract doctrine, but the line of vital impulse. and whence did this particular impulse spring? from a sense of the real value of knowledge to man as man. from a conviction that there is no natural right more precious than the right of the mind to grow. from a deep instinct of prudence reminding a nation in which the people are the sovereign that it must attend to "the education of the prince." these are the feelings and convictions, very plain and primitive in their nature, which were shared by the real makers of america, and which have ever since controlled her real leaders. they are in striking contrast with the views expressed by some of the strangers who were sent out in early times to govern the colonies; as, for example, that royal governor berkeley who, writing home to england from virginia in the seventeenth century, thanked god that "no public schools nor printing-presses existed in the colony," and added his "hope that they would not be introduced for a hundred years, since learning brings irreligion and disobedience into the world, and the printing-press disseminates them and fights against the best intentions of the government." but this governor berkeley was of a different type from that bishop berkeley who came to the western world to establish a missionary training-school, and, failing in that, gave his real estate at newport and his library of a thousand books to the infant yale college at new haven; of a different type from those dutch colonists of new amsterdam who founded the first american public school in ; of a different type from those puritan colonists of massachusetts bay who established the boston latin school in and harvard college in ; of a different type from franklin, who founded the philadelphia circulating library in , the american philosophical society in , and the academy of pennsylvania in ; of a different type from washington, who urged the foundation of a national university and left property for its endowment by his last will and testament; of a different type from jefferson, who desired to have it recorded upon his tombstone that he had rendered three services to his country--the framing of the declaration of independence, the establishment of religious liberty in virginia, and the founding of the university of that state. among the men who were most responsible, from the beginning, for the rise and growth and continuance of the spirit of self-reliance and fair play, of active energy and common order in america, there was hardly one who did not frequently express his conviction that the spread of public intelligence was necessary to these ends. among those who have been most influential in the guidance of the republic, nothing is more remarkable than their agreement in the opinion that education, popular and special, is friendly to republican institutions. this agreement is not a mere formal adherence to an academic principle learned in the same school. for there has been the greatest possible difference in the schooling of these men. adams, jefferson, madison, monroe, hamilton, webster, hayes, garfield, harrison, roosevelt, had a college training; washington, franklin, marshall, jackson, van buren, clay, lincoln, cleveland, mckinley, did not. the sincere respect for education which is typical of the american spirit is not a result of education. it is a matter of intuitive belief, of mental character, of moral temperament. first of all, the sure conviction that every american child ought to have the chance to go to school, to learn to read, to write, to think; second, the general notion that it is both fair and wise to make an open way for every one who is talented and ambitious to climb as far as he can and will in the higher education; third, the vague feeling that it will be to the credit and benefit of democracy not only to raise the average level of intelligence, but also to produce men and institutions of commanding excellence in learning and science and philosophy,--these are the three elements which you will find present in varying degrees in the views of typical americans in regard to education. i say that you will find these elements in varying degrees, because there has been, and there still is, some divergence of opinion as to the comparative emphasis to be laid on these three points--the schoolhouse door open to everybody, the college career open to all the talents, and the university providing unlimited opportunities for the disinterested pursuit of knowledge. which is the most important? how far may the state go in promoting the higher education? is it right to use the public funds, contributed by all the taxpayers, for the special advantage of those who have superior intellectual powers? where is the line to be drawn between the education which fits a boy for citizenship, and that which merely gratifies his own tastes or promotes his own ambition? these are questions which have been seriously, and, at times, bitterly debated in america. but, meantime, education has gone steadily and rapidly forward. the little public school of new amsterdam has developed into an enormous common-school system covering the united states and all their territories. the little harvard college at cambridge has become the mother of a vast brood of institutions, public and private, which give all kinds of instruction, philosophical, scientific, literary, and technical, and which call themselves colleges or universities according to their own fancy and will. a foreigner visiting the country for the first time might well think it had a touch of academic mania. a lecturer invited to describe the schools and colleges of the united states in a single discourse might well feel as embarrassed as that famous diplomat to whom his companion at dinner said, between the soup and the fish, "i am so glad to meet you, for now you can tell me all about the far eastern question and make me understand it." let me warn you against expecting anything of that kind in this lecture. i am at least well enough educated to know that it is impossible to tell all about american education in an hour. the most that i can hope to do is to touch on three points:-- first, the absence of centralized control and the process of practical unification in educational work in the united states. second, the growth and general character of the common schools as an expression of the spirit of america. third, the relation of the colleges, universities, and technical institutes to the life of the republic. i. first, it should be distinctly understood and remembered that there is absolutely _no national system of education in america_. the government at washington has neither power nor responsibility in regard to it. there is no ministry of public instruction; there are no federal inspectors; there is no regulation from the centre. the whole thing is local and voluntary to a degree which must seem to a frenchman incomprehensible if not reprehensible. in consequence it is both simple and complicated,--simple in its practical working, and extremely complicated in its general aspect. the reasons for this lack of a national system and a centralized control are not far to seek. in the first place, at the time when the union was formed, many different european influences were already at work fostering different educational ideals in various parts of the country. no doubt the english influence was predominant, especially in new england. harvard college at cambridge in massachusetts may be regarded as the legitimate child of emmanuel college at cambridge in england. but the development of free common schools, especially in the middle states, was more largely affected by the example of holland, france, and switzerland than by england. the presbyterians of new jersey, when they founded princeton college in , naturally turned to scotland for a model. in virginia, through thomas jefferson, a strong french influence was felt. a frenchman, quesnay, who had fought in the american army of the revolution, proposed to establish a national academy of arts and sciences in richmond, with branches at baltimore, philadelphia, and new york, to give advanced instruction in all branches of human learning. he had the approval of many of the best people in france and virginia, and succeeded in raising , francs towards the endowment. the corner-stone of a building was laid, and one professor was chosen. but the scheme failed, because, in , both america and france were busy and poor. jefferson's plan for the university of virginia, which was framed on french lines, was put into successful operation in . it would have been impossible at any time in the early history of the united states--indeed, i think it would be impossible now--to get a general agreement among the friends of education in regard to the form and method of a national system. another obstacle to a national system was the fact that the colleges founded before the revolution--william and mary, harvard, yale, princeton, columbia--were practically supported and controlled by different churches--congregational, presbyterian, or episcopalian. churches are not easy to combine. still another obstacle, and a more important one, was the sentiment of local independence, the spirit of home rule which played such a prominent part in the _mise en scène_ of the american drama. each of the distinct states composing the union was tenacious of its own individuality, and jealous of the local rights by which alone that individuality could be preserved. the most significant and potent of these rights was that of educating the children and youth of the community. the states which entered the union later brought with them the same feeling of local pride and responsibility. ohio with its new england traditions, kentucky with its southern traditions, michigan with its large infusion of french blood and thought, wisconsin with its vigorous german and scandinavian element,--each of these communities felt competent and in honour bound to attend to its own educational affairs. so far as the establishment and control of schools, colleges, and universities is concerned, every state of the union is legally as independent of all the other states as if they were separate european countries like france and germany and switzerland. therefore, we may say that the american system of education is not to have a system. but if we stop here, we rest upon one of those half-truths which are so dear to the pessimist and the satirist. the bare statement that there is no national system of education in america by no means exhausts the subject. taken by itself, it gives a false impression. abstract theory and formal regulation are not the only means of unification. nature and human nature have their own secrets for creating unity in diversity. this is the process which has been at work in american education. first of all, there has been a general agreement among the states in regard to the vital necessity of education in a republic. the constitution of massachusetts, adopted in , reads thus: "wisdom and knowledge, as well as virtue, diffused generally among the people, being necessary for the preservation of their rights and liberties; and as these depend on spreading the opportunities and advantages of education in the various parts of the country, and among the different orders of the people, it shall be the duty of legislatures and magistrates, in all future periods of this commonwealth, to cherish the interests of literature and the sciences, and all seminaries of them, especially the university at cambridge, public schools, and grammar schools in the towns; to encourage private societies and public institutions, rewards and immunities, for the promotion of agriculture, arts, sciences, commerce, trades, manufactures, and a natural history of the country; to countenance and inculcate the principles of humanity and general benevolence, public and private charity, industry and frugality, honesty and punctuality, in their dealings, sincerity, good humour, and all social affections and generous sentiments among the people." after such a sentence, one needs to take breath. it is a full programme of american idealism, written in the english of the eighteenth century, when people had plenty of time. the new constitution of north carolina adopted in puts the same idea in terse modern style: "the people have the right to the privilege of education, and it is the duty of the state to guard and maintain that right." you will find the same principle expressed in the constitutions of all the american commonwealths. in the next place, the friendly competition and rivalry among the states produced a tendency to unity in education. no state wished to be left behind. the southern states, which for a long time had neglected the matter of free common schools, were forced by the growth of illiteracy, after the civil war, to provide for the schooling of all their children at public expense. the western states, coming into the union one by one, had a feeling of pride in offering to their citizens facilities for education which should be at least equal to those offered in "the effete east." it is worthy of note that the most flourishing state universities now are west of the alleghanies. the only states which have more than per cent of the children from five to eighteen years of age enrolled in the common schools are colorado, nevada, idaho, and washington,--all in the far west. furthermore, the free intercourse and exchange of population between the states have made for unity in the higher education. methods which have proved successful in one community have been imitated and adopted in others. experiments tried at harvard, yale, princeton, or columbia have been repeated in the west and south. teachers trained in the older colleges have helped to organize and develop the new ones. nor has this process of assimilation been confined to american ideas and models. european methods have been carefully studied and adapted to the needs and conditions of the united states. i happen to know of a new institute of technology which has been recently founded in texas by a gift of eight millions of dollars. the president-elect is a scientific man who has already studied in france and germany and achieved distinction in his department. but before he touches the building and organization of his new institute, he is sent to europe for a year to see the oldest and the newest and the best that has been done there. in fact, the republic of learning to-day is the true cosmopolis. it knows no barriers of nationality. it seeks truth and wisdom everywhere, and wherever it finds them, it claims them for its own. the spirit of voluntary coöperation for the promotion of the common order, of which i spoke in a previous lecture, has made itself felt in education by the formation of teachers' associations in the various states, and groups of states, and by the foundation of the national educational association, a voluntary body incorporated in the district of columbia, "to elevate the character and advance the interests of the profession of teaching, and to promote the cause of education in the united states." finally, while there is no national centre of authority for education in the united states, there is a strong central force of encouragement and enlightenment. the federal government shows its interest in education in several ways: first, in the enormous grants of public lands which it has made from the beginning for the endowment of common schools and higher institutions in the various states. second, in the control and support of the united states military academy at west point, the naval academy at annapolis, the indian schools, the national museum, and the congressional library, and in the provision which it makes for agricultural and mechanical schools in different parts of the country. the annual budget for these purposes runs from twelve to twenty millions of dollars a year. third, in the establishment of a national bureau of education which collects statistics and information and distributes reports on all subjects connected with the educational interests of america. the commissioner at the head of this bureau is a man of high standing and scholarship. he is chosen without reference to politics, and holds his office independent of party. he has no authority to make appointments or regulations. but he has a large influence, through the light which he throws upon the actual condition of education, in promoting the gradual and inevitable process of unification. let me try to sum up what i have been saying on this difficult subject of the lack of system and the growth of unity in american education. there is no organization from the centre. but there is a distinct organization from the periphery,--if i may use a scientific metaphor of such an unscientific character. the formative principle is the development of the individual. what, then, does the average american boy find in this country to give him a series of successive opportunities to secure this personal development of mental and moral powers? first, a public primary school and grammar school which will give him the rudiments of learning from his sixth to his fourteenth year. then a public high school which will give him about what a french _lycée_ gives from his fourteenth to his eighteenth year. he is now ready to enter the higher education. up to this point, if he lives in a town of any considerable size, he has not been obliged to go away from home. many of the smaller places of three or four thousand inhabitants have good high schools. if he lives in the country, he may have had to go to the nearest city or large town for his high school or academy. beyond this point, he finds either a college, as it is called in america, or the collegiate department in one of the universities, which will give him a four years' course of general study. before he can begin this, he must pass what is called an entrance examination, which is practically uniform in all the better institutions, and almost, but perhaps not quite, equivalent to the examination in france for the degree of _bachelier_. thus a certain standard of preparation is set for all the secondary schools. it is at the end of his general course in literature, science, and philosophy that the american student gets his bachelor's degree, which corresponds pretty nearly to the french degree of _licencié_ in letters and sciences. now the student, a young man of about twenty-one or twenty-two years, is supposed to be prepared, either to go into the world as a fairly well-educated citizen, or to continue his studies for a professional career. he finds the graduate schools of the universities ready to give him courses which lead to the degree of m.a. or ph.d., and prepare him for the higher kind of teaching. the schools of law and medicine and engineering offer courses of from two to four years with a degree of ll.b. or m.d. or c.e. or m.e. at the end of them. the theological seminaries are ready to instruct him for the service of the church in a course of three or four years. by this time he is twenty-four or twenty-five years old. unless he has special ambitions which lead him to study abroad, or to take up original research at johns hopkins, harvard, columbia, cornell, or some other specially equipped university, he is now ready for practical work. the american theory is that he should go to work and get the rest of his education in practice. of course there have been short cuts and irregular paths open to him all along the way,--a short cut from the high school to the technical school,--a short cut into law or medicine by the way of private preparation for the examination, which in some states is absurdly low. but these short cuts are being closed up very rapidly. it is growing more and more difficult to get into a first-class professional school without a collegiate or university degree. already, if the american student wants system and regularity, he can get a closely articulated course, fitted to his individual needs, from the primary school up to the door of his profession. but the real value of that course depends upon two things that are beyond the power of any system to insure--the personal energy that he brings to his work, and the personal power of the professors under whom he studies. i suppose the same thing is true in france as in america. neither here nor there can you find equality of results. all you have a right to expect is equality of opportunity. ii. the great symbol and instrument of this idea of equal opportunity in the united states is the common school. in every state of the union provision is made for the education of the children at public expense. the extent and quality of this education, the methods of control, the standards of equipment, even the matter of compulsory or voluntary attendance, vary in different states and communities. but, as a rule, you may say that it puts within the reach of every boy and girl free instruction from the _a_-_b_-_c_ up to the final grade of a _lycée_. the money expended by the states on these common schools in - was $ , , ,--more than one-third of the annual expenditure of the national government for all purposes, more than twice as much as the state governments spent for all other purposes. this sum, you understand, was raised by direct, local taxation. neither the import duties nor the internal revenue contributed anything to it. it came directly from the citizen's pocket, at the rate of $ . a year _per capita_, or nearly $ a year for every grown-up man. how many children were benefited by it? who can tell? , , boys and girls were enrolled in the public schools (that is to say, more than per cent of the whole number of children between five and eighteen years of age, and about per cent of the total population). the teachers employed were , men, , women. the average daily expenditure for each pupil was cents; the average annual expenditure, about $ . in addition to this number there are at least , , children in privately endowed and supported schools, secular or religious. the catholic church has a system of parochial schools which is said to provide for about a million children. many of the larger protestant churches support high schools and academies of excellent quality. some of the most famous secondary schools, like phillips exeter and andover, st. paul's, the hill school, lawrenceville school, are private foundations well endowed. these figures do not mean much to the imagination. statistics are like grapes in their skins. you have to put a pressure upon them to extract any wine. observe, then, that if you walked through an american town between eight and nine in the morning, and passed a thousand people indoors and out, more than two hundred of them would be children going to school. perhaps twenty of these children would turn in at private schools, or church schools. but nine-tenths of the little crowd would be on their way to the public schools. the great majority of the children would be under fourteen years of age; for only about one child out of every twenty goes beyond that point in schooling. among the younger children the boys would outnumber the girls a little. but in the small group of high-school children there would be three girls to two boys, because the boys have to go to work earlier to earn a living. suppose you followed one of these groups of children into the school, what would you find? that would depend entirely upon local circumstances. you might find a splendid building with modern fittings; you might find an old-fashioned building, overcrowded and ill-fitted. each state, as i have said before, has its own common-school system. and not only so, but within the state there are smaller units of organization--the county, the township, the school district. each of these may have its own school board, conservative or progressive, generous or stingy, and the quality and equipment of the schools will vary accordingly. they represent pretty accurately the general enlightenment and moral tone of the community. wealth has something to do with it, of course. people cannot spend money unless they have it. the public treasury is not a fortunatus' purse which fills itself. in the remote country districts, the little red schoolhouse, with its single room, its wooden benches, its iron stove, its unpainted flagstaff, stands on some hill-top without a tree to shadow it, in brave, unblushing poverty. in the richer cities there are common school palaces with an aspect of splendour which is almost disconcerting. yet it is not altogether a question of wealth. it is also a question of public spirit. baltimore is nearly as large and half as rich as boston, yet boston spends about three times as much on her schools. richmond has about the same amount of taxable property as rochester, n.y., yet richmond spends only one-quarter as much on her schools. houston, texas; wilmington, delaware; harrisburg, pennsylvania; trenton, new jersey; new bedford, massachusetts; and des moines, iowa, are six cities with a population of from , to , each, and not far apart in wealth. but their public-school bills in varied as follows: des moines, $ , ; new bedford, $ , ; harrisburg, $ , ; trenton, $ , ; wilmington, $ , ; and houston, the richest of the six, $ , . if you should judge from this that the public schools are most liberally supported in the north atlantic, north central, and far western states, you would be right. the amount that is contributed to the common schools per adult male inhabitant is largest in the following states in order: utah, $ ; north dakota, $ ; new york, $ ; colorado, $ ; massachusetts, $ ; south dakota, $ ; nebraska, $ ; and pennsylvania, $ . the comparative weakness of the common schools in the south atlantic and south central states has led to the giving of large sums of money by private benevolence, the peabody fund, the slater fund, the southern education fund, which are administered by boards of trustees for the promotion of education in these backward regions. the spirit of america strongly desires to spread, to improve, to equalize and coördinate, the public schools of the whole country. is it succeeding? what lines is it following? where are the changes most apparent? first of all, there is a marked advance in the physical equipment of the common school. in the villages and in the rural districts the new buildings are larger and more commodious than the old ones. in many parts of the country the method of concentration is employed. instead of half a dozen poor little schoolhouses scattered over the hills, one good house is built in a central location, and the children are gathered from the farmhouses by school omnibuses or by the electric trolley-cars. massachusetts made a law in requiring every township which did not have a high school to pay the transportation expenses of all qualified pupils who wished to attend the high schools of neighbouring towns. in many states text-books are provided at the public cost. in the cities the increased attention to the physical side of things is even more noticeable. no expense is spared to make the new buildings attractive and convenient. libraries and laboratories, gymnasiums and toilet-rooms, are provided. in some cities a free lunch is given to the pupils. the school furniture is of the latest and most approved pattern. the old idea of the adjustable child who could be fitted to any kind of a seat or desk, has given way to the new idea of the adjustable seat and desk which can be fitted to any kind of a child. school doctors are employed to make a physical examination of the children. in a few cities there are school nurses to attend to the pupils who are slightly ailing. physical culture, in the form of calisthenics, military drill, gymnastics, is introduced. athletic organizations, foot-ball clubs, base-ball clubs, are encouraged among the boys. in every way the effort is apparent to make school life attractive, more comfortable, more healthful. some critics say that the effort is excessive, that it spoils and softens the children, that it has distracted their attention from the serious business of hard study. i do not know. it is difficult for a man to remember just how serious he was when he was a boy. perhaps the modern common-school pupil is less spartan and resolute than his father used to be. perhaps not. pictures on the wall and flowers in the window, gymnastics and music, may not really distract the attention more than uncomfortable seats and bad ventilation. another marked tendency in the american common school, at least in the large towns and cities, is the warm, one might almost say feverish, interest in new courses and methods of study. in the primary schools this shows itself chiefly in the introduction of new ways of learning to spell and to cipher. the alphabet and the multiplication table are no longer regarded as necessities. the phonetic pupil is almost in danger of supposing that reading, writing, and arithmetic are literally "the three _r_'s." hours are given to nature-study, object-lessons, hygiene. children of tender years are instructed in the mysteries of the digestive system. the range of mental effort is immensely diversified. in the high schools the increase of educational novelties is even more apparent. the courses are multiplied and divided. elective studies are offered in large quantity. i take an example from the programme of a western high school. the studies required of all pupils are: english, history, algebra, plane geometry, biology, physics, and shakespeare. the studies offered for a choice are: psychology, ethics, commercial law, civics, economics, arithmetic, book-keeping, higher algebra, solid geometry, trigonometry, penmanship, phonography, drawing and the history of art, chemistry, latin, german, french, spanish, and greek. this is quite a rich intellectual bill of fare for boys and girls between fourteen and eighteen years old. it seems almost encyclopædic,--though i miss a few subjects like sanskrit, egyptology, photography, and comparative religions. the fact is that in the american high schools, as in the french _lycées_ the effort to enlarge and vary the curriculum by introducing studies which are said to be "urgently required by modern conditions" has led to considerable confusion of educational ideals. but with us, while the extremes are worse, owing to the lack of the central control, the disorder is less universal, because the conservative schools have been free to adhere to a simpler programme. it is a good thing, no doubt, that the rigidity of the old system, which made every pupil go through the same course of classics and mathematics, has been relaxed. but our danger now lies in the direction of using our schools to fit boys and girls to make a living, rather than to train them in a sound and vigorous intellectual life. for this latter purpose it is not true that all branches of study are of equal value. some are immensely superior. we want not the widest range, but the best selection. there are some points in which the public schools of america, so far as one can judge from the general reports, are inferior to those of france. one of these points, naturally, is in the smooth working that comes from uniformity and coördination. another point, strangely enough, is in the careful provision for moral instruction in the primary schools. at least in the programmes of the french schools, much more time and attention are given to this than in the american programmes. another point of inferiority in the united states is in the requirement of proper preparation and certification of all teachers; and still another is in the security of their tenure of office and the length of their service in the profession. the teaching force of the american schools is a noble army; but it would be more efficient if the regular element were larger in proportion to the volunteers. the _personnel_ changes too often. one reason for this, no doubt, is the fact that the women outnumber the men by three to one. not that the women are poorer teachers. often, especially in primary work, they are the best. but their average term of professional service is not over four years. they are interrupted by that great accident, matrimony, which invites a woman to stop teaching, and a man to continue. the shortage of male teachers, which exists in so many countries, is felt in extreme form in the united states. efforts are made to remedy it by the increase of normal schools and teachers' colleges, and by a closer connection between the universities and the public-school system. in the conduct and development of the common schools we see the same voluntary, experimental, pragmatic way of doing things that is so characteristic of the spirit of america in every department of life. "education," say the americans, "is desirable, profitable, and necessary. the best way for us to get it is to work it out for ourselves. it must be practically adapted to the local conditions of each community, and to the personal needs of the individual. the being of the child must be the centre of development. what we want to do is to make good citizens for american purposes. liberty must be the foundation, unity the superstructure." this, upon the whole, is what the common schools are doing for the united states: three-fourths of the children of the country (boys and girls studying together from their sixth to their eighteenth year) are in them. they are immensely democratic. they are stronger in awakening the mind than in training it. they do more to stimulate quick perception than to cultivate sound judgment and correct taste. their principles are always good, their manners sometimes. universal knowledge is their foible; activity is their temperament; energy and sincerity are their virtues; superficiality is their defect. candour compels me to add one more touch to this thumb-nail sketch of the american common school. the children of the rich, the socially prominent, the higher classes, if you choose to call them so, are not generally found in the public schools. at least in the east and the south, most of these children are educated in private schools and academies. one cause of this is mere fashion. but there are two other causes which may possibly deserve to be called reasons, good or bad. the first is the fear that coeducation, instead of making the boys refined and the girls hardy, as it is claimed, may effeminate the boys and roughen the girls. the second is the wish to secure more thorough and personal teaching in smaller classes. this the private schools offer, usually at a high price. in the older universities and colleges, a considerable part, if not the larger number, of the student body, comes from private preparatory schools and academies. yet it must be noted that of the men who take high honours in scholarship a steadily increasing number, already a majority, are graduates of the free public high schools. this proves what? that the state can give the best if it wants to. that it is much more likely to want to do so if it is enlightened, stimulated, and guided by the voluntary effort of the more intelligent part of the community. iii. this brings me to the last division of the large subject around which i have been hastily circling: the institutions of higher education,--universities, colleges, and technological schools. remember that in america these different names are used with bewildering freedom. they are not definitions, nor even descriptions; they are simply "tags." a school of arts and trades, a school of modern languages, may call itself a university. an institution of liberal studies, with professional departments and graduate schools attached to it, may call itself a college. the size and splendour of the label does not determine the value of the wine in the bottle. the significance of an academic degree in america depends not on the name, but on the quality, of the institution that confers it. but, generally speaking, you may understand that a college is an institution which gives a four years' course in liberal arts and sciences, for which four years of academic preparation are required: a university adds to this, graduate courses, and one or more professional schools of law, medicine, engineering, divinity, or pedagogy; a technological school is one in which the higher branches of the applied arts and sciences are the chief subjects of study and in which only scientific degrees are conferred. of these three kinds of institutions, reported to the united states bureau of education in : were for men only; were for women only; were coeducational. the number of professors and instructors was , . the number of undergraduate and resident graduate students was , . the income of these institutions for the year was $ , , , of which a little less than half came from tuition fees, and a little more than half from gifts and endowments. the value of the real estate and equipment was about $ , , , and the invested funds for endowment amounted to $ , , . these are large figures. but they do not convey any very definite idea to the mind, until we begin to investigate them and ask what they mean. how did this enormous enterprise of higher education come into being? who supports it? what is it doing? there are three ways in which the colleges and universities of america have originated. they have been founded by the churches to "provide a learned and godly ministry, and to promote knowledge and sound intelligence in the community." they have been endowed by private and personal gifts and benefactions. they have been established by states, and in a few cases by cities, to complete and crown the common-school system. but note that in the course of time important changes have occurred. most of the older and larger universities which were at first practically supported and controlled by churches, have now become independent and are maintained by non-sectarian support. the institutions which remain under control of churches are the smaller colleges, the majority of which were established between and . the universities established by a large gift or bequest from a single person, of which johns hopkins in maryland, leland stanford in california, and chicago university founded by the head of the standard oil company, may be taken as examples, are of comparatively recent origin. their immediate command of large wealth has enabled them to do immense things quickly. chicago is called by a recent writer "a university by enchantment." in the foundation of state universities the south pointed the way with the universities of tennessee north carolina, and georgia, at the end of the eighteenth century. but since that time the west has distinctly taken the lead. out of the twenty-nine colleges and universities which report an enrolment of over a thousand undergraduate and graduate students, sixteen are state institutions, and fourteen of these are west of the alleghanies. it is in these state universities, especially in the middle west, in michigan, wisconsin, illinois, minnesota, iowa, that you will see the most remarkable illustration of that thirst for knowledge, that ambition for personal development, which is characteristic of the spirit of young america. the thousands of sons and daughters of farmers, mechanics, and tradesmen, who flock to these institutions, are full of eagerness and hope. they are no respecters of persons, but they have a tremendous faith in the power of education. they all expect to succeed in getting it, and to succeed in life by means of it. they are alert, inquisitive, energetic; in their work strenuous, and in their play enthusiastic. they diffuse around them an atmosphere of joyous endeavour,--a nervous, electric, rude, and bracing air. they seem irreverent; but for the most part they are only intensely earnest and direct. they pursue their private aim with intensity. they "want to know." they may not be quite sure what it is that they want to know. but they have no doubt that knowledge is an excellent thing, and they have come to the university to get it. this strong desire to learn, this attitude of concentrated attack upon the secrets of the universe, seems to me less noticeable among the students of the older colleges of the east than it is in these new big institutions of the centre. the state universities which have developed it, or grown up to meet it, are in many cases wonderfully well organized and equipped. professors of high standing have been brought from the eastern colleges and from europe. the main stress, perhaps, is laid upon practical results, and the technique of industry. studies which are supposed to be directly utilitarian take the precedence over those which are regarded as merely disciplinary. but in the best of these institutions the idea of general culture is maintained. the university of michigan, which is the oldest and the largest of these western state universities, still keeps its primacy with students drawn from states and territories. but the universities of wisconsin, and minnesota, and illinois, and california are not unworthy rivals. a member of the british commission which came to study education in the united states four years ago gave his judgment that the university of wisconsin was the foremost in america. why? "because," said he, "it is a wholesome product of a commonwealth of three millions of people; sane, industrial, and progressive. it knits together the professions and labours; it makes the fine arts and the anvil one." that is a characteristic modern opinion, coming, mark you, not from an american, but from an englishman. it reminds me of the advice which an old judge gave to a young friend who had just been raised to the judicial bench. "never give reasons," said he, "for your decisions. the decision may often be right, but the reasons will probably be wrong." a thoughtful critic would say that the union of "the fine arts and the anvil" was not a sufficient ground for awarding the primacy to a university. its standing must be measured in its own sphere,--the realm of knowledge and wisdom. it exists for the disinterested pursuit of truth, for the development of the intellectual life, and for the rounded development of character. its primary aim is not to fit men for any specific industry, but to give them those things which are everywhere essential to intelligent living. its attention must be fixed not on the work, but on the man. in him, as a person, it must seek to develop four powers--the power to see clearly, the power to imagine vividly, the power to think independently, and the power to will wisely and nobly. this is the university ideal which a conservative critic would maintain against the utilitarian theory. he might admire the university of wisconsin greatly, but it would be for other reasons than those which the englishman gave. "after all," this conservative would say, "the older american universities are still the most important factors in the higher education of the country. they have the traditions. they set the standard. you cannot understand education in england without going to oxford and cambridge, nor in america without going to harvard, yale, princeton, and columbia." perhaps the conservative would be right. at all events, i wish that i could help the friendly foreign observer to understand just what these older institutions of learning, and some others like them, have meant and still mean to americans. they are the monuments of the devotion of our fathers to ideal aims. they are the landmarks of the intellectual life of the young republic. time has changed them, but it has not removed them. they still define a region within which the making of a reasonable man is the main interest, and truth is sought and served for her own sake. originally, these older universities were almost identical in form. they were called colleges and based upon the idea of a uniform four years' course consisting mainly of latin, greek, and mathematics, with an addition of history, philosophy, and natural science in the last two years, and leading to the degree of bachelor of arts. this was supposed to be the way to make a reasonable man. but in the course of time the desire to seek truth in other regions, by other paths, led to a gradual enlargement and finally to an immense expansion of the curriculum. the department of letters was opened to receive english and other modern languages. the department of philosophy branched out into economics and civics and experimental psychology. history took notice of the fact that much has happened since the fall of the roman empire. science threw wide its doors to receive the new methods and discoveries of the nineteenth century. the elective system of study came in like a flood from germany. the old-fashioned curriculum was submerged and dissolved. the four senior colleges came out as universities and began to differentiate themselves. harvard, under the bold leadership of president eliot, went first and farthest in the development of the elective system. one of its own graduates, mr. john corbin, has recently written of it as "a germanized university." it offers to its students free choice among a multitude of courses so great that it is said that one man could hardly take them all in two hundred years. there is only one course which every undergraduate is required to take,--english composition in the freshman year: distinct courses are presented by the faculty of arts and sciences. in the whole university there are officers of instruction and students. there is no other institution in america which provides such a rich, varied, and free chance for the individual to develop his intellectual life. princeton, so far as the elective system is concerned, represents the other extreme. president mccosh introduced it with scotch caution and reserve, in . it hardly went beyond the liberalizing of the last two years of study. other enlargements followed. but at heart princeton remained conservative. it liked regularity, uniformity, system, more than it liked freedom and variety. in recent years it has rearranged the electives in groups, which compel a certain amount of unity in the main direction of a student's effort. it has introduced a system of preceptors or tutors who take personal charge of each student in his reading and extra class-room work. the picked men of the classes, who have won prizes, or scholarships, or fellowships, go on with higher university work in the graduate school. the divinity school is academically independent, though closely allied. there are no other professional schools. thus princeton is distinctly "a collegiate university," with a very definite idea of what a liberal education ought to include, and a fixed purpose of developing the individual by leading him through a regulated intellectual discipline. yale, the second in age of the american universities, occupies a middle ground, and fills it with immense vigour. very slow in yielding to the elective system, yale theoretically adopted it four years ago in its extreme form. but in practice the "yale spirit" preserves the unity of each class from entrance to graduation; the "average man" is much more of a controlling factor than he is at harvard, and the solid body of students in the department of arts and sciences gives tone to the whole university. yale is typically american in its love of liberty and its faculty of self-organization. it draws its support from a wider range of country than either harvard or princeton. it has not been a leader in the production of advanced ideas or educational methods. originality is not its mark. efficiency is. no other american university has done more in giving men of light and leading to industrial, professional, and public life in the united states. columbia, by its location in the largest of the american cities, and by the direction which its last three presidents have given to its policy, has become much stronger in its professional schools and its advanced graduate work, than in its undergraduate college. its schools of mines and law and medicine are famous. in its graduate courses it has as many students enrolled as harvard, yale, and michigan put together. it has a library of , volumes, and endowment for various kinds of special study, including chinese and journalism. none of these four universities is coeducational in the department of arts and sciences. but harvard and columbia each have an annex for women,--radcliffe college and barnard college,--in which the university professors lecture and teach. in yale, harvard, princeton, and most of the older colleges, except those which are situated in the great cities, there is a common life of the students which is peculiar, i believe, to america, and highly characteristic and interesting. they reside together in large halls or dormitories grouped in an academic estate which is almost always beautiful with ancient trees and spacious lawns. there is nothing like the caste division among them which is permitted, if not fostered, at oxford and cambridge by the existence of distinct colleges in the same university. they belong to the same social body, a community of youth bound together for a happy interval of four years between the strict discipline of school and the separating pressure of life in the outer world. they have their own customs and traditions, often absurd, always picturesque and amusing. they have their own interests, chief among which is the cultivation of warm friendships among men of the same age. they organize their own clubs and societies, athletic, musical, literary, dramatic, or purely social, according to elective affinity. but the class spirit creates a ground of unity for all who enter and graduate together, and the college spirit makes a common tie for all. it is a little world by itself,--this american college life,--incredibly free, yet on the whole self-controlled and morally sound,--physically active and joyful, yet at bottom full of serious purpose. see the students on the athletic field at some great foot-ball or base-ball match; hear their volleying cheers, their ringing songs of encouragement or victory; watch their waving colours, their eager faces, their movements of excitement as the fortune of the game shifts and changes; and you might think that these young men cared for nothing but out-of-door sport. but that noisy enthusiasm is the natural overflow of youthful spirits. the athletic game gives it the easiest outlet, the simplest opportunity to express college loyalty by an outward sign, a shout, a cheer, a song. follow the same men from day to day, from week to week, and you will find that the majority of them, even among the athletes, know that the central object of their college life is to get an education. but they will tell you, also, that this education does not come only from the lecture-room, the class, the library. an indispensable and vital part of it comes from their daily contact with one another in play and work and comradeship,--from the chance which college gives them to know, and estimate, and choose, their friends among their fellows. it is intensely democratic,--this american college life,--and therefore it has distinctions, as every real democracy must. but they are not artificial and conventional. they are based in the main upon what a man is and does, what contribution he makes to the honour and joy and fellowship of the community. the entrance of the son of a millionnaire, of a high official, of a famous man, is noted, of course. but it is noted only as a curious fact of natural history which has no bearing upon the college world. the real question is, what kind of a fellow is the new man? is he a good companion; has he the power of leadership; can he do anything particularly well; is he a vigorous and friendly person? wealth and parental fame do not count, except perhaps as slight hindrances, because of the subconscious jealousy which they arouse in a community where the majority do not possess them. poverty does not count at all, unless it makes the man himself proud and shy, or confines him so closely to the work of self-support that he has no time to mix with the crowd. men who are working their own way through college are often the leaders in popularity and influence. i do not say that there are no social distinctions in american college life. there, as in the great world, little groups of men are drawn together by expensive tastes and amusements; little coteries are formed which aim at exclusiveness. but these are of no real account in the student body. it lives in a brisk and wholesome air of free competition in study and sport, of free intercourse on a human basis. it is this tone of humanity, of sincerity, of joyful contact with reality, in student life, that makes the american graduate love his college with a sentiment which must seem to foreigners almost like sentimentality. his memory holds her as the _alma mater_ of his happiest years. he goes back to visit her halls, her playgrounds, her shady walks, year after year, as one returns to a shrine of the heart. he sings the college songs, he joins in the college cheers, with an enthusiasm which does not die as his voice loses the ring of youth. and when gray hairs come upon him, he still walks with his class among the old graduates at the head of the commencement procession. it is all a little strange, a little absurd, perhaps, to one who watches it critically, from the outside. but to the man himself it is simply a natural tribute to the good and wholesome memory of american college life. but what are its results from the educational point of view? what do these colleges and universities do for the intellectual life of the country? doubtless they are still far from perfect in method and achievement. doubtless they let many students pass through them without acquiring mental thoroughness, philosophical balance, fine culture. doubtless they need to advance in the standard of teaching, the strictness of examination, the encouragement of research. they have much to learn. they are learning. great central institutions like those which mr. carnegie has endowed for the promotion of research and for the advancement of teaching will help progress. conservative experiments and liberal experiments will lead to better knowledge. but whatever changes are made, whatever improvements arrive in the higher education in america, one thing i hope will never be given up,--the free, democratic, united student life of our colleges and universities. for without this factor we cannot develop the kind of intellectual person who will be at home in the republic. the world in which he has to live will not ask him what degrees he has taken. it will ask him simply what he is, and what he can do. if he is to be a leader in a country where the people are sovereign, he must add to the power to see clearly, to imagine vividly, to think independently, and to will wisely, the faculty of knowing other men as they are, and of working with them for what they ought to be. and one of the best places to get this faculty is in the student life of an american college. vii self-expression and literature vii self-expression and literature all human activity is, in a certain sense, a mode of self-expression. the works of man in the organization of the state, in the development of industry, in voluntary effort for the improvement of the common order, are an utterance of his inner life. but it is natural for him to seek a fuller, clearer, more conscious mode of self-expression, to speak more directly of his ideals, thoughts, and feelings. it is this direct utterance of the spirit of america, as it is found in literature, which i propose now, and in the following lectures,[ ] to discuss. [ ] the lectures which followed, at the sorbonne, on irving, cooper, bryant, poe, longfellow, hawthorne, whittier, emerson, lowell, whitman, and present tendencies in american literature, are not included in this volume. around the political and ecclesiastical and social structures which men build for themselves there are always flowing great tides and currents of human speech; like the discussions in the studio of the architect, the confused murmur of talk among the workmen, the curious and wondering comments of the passing crowd, when some vast cathedral or palace or hall of industry is rising from the silent earth. man is a talking animal. the daily debates of the forum and the market-place, the orations and lectures of a thousand platforms, the sermons and exhortations of the thousand pulpits, the ceaseless conversation of the street and the fireside, all confess that one of the deepest of human appetites and passions is for self-expression and intercourse, to reveal and to communicate the hidden motions of the spirit that is in man. language, said a cynic, is chiefly useful to conceal thought. but that is only a late-discovered, minor, and decadent use of speech. if concealment had been the first and chief need that man felt, he never would have made a language. he would have remained silent. he would have lived among the trees, contented with that inarticulate chatter which still keeps the thoughts of monkeys (if they have any) so well concealed. but vastly the greater part of human effort toward self-expression serves only the need of the transient individual, the passing hour. it sounds incessantly beneath the silent stars,--this murmur, this roar, this _susurrus_ of mingled voices,--and melts continually into the vague inane. the idle talk of the multitude, the eloquence of golden tongues, the shouts of brazen throats, go by and are forgotten, like the wind that passes through the rustling leaves of the forest. in the fine arts man has invented not only a more perfect and sensitive, but also a more enduring, form for the expression of that which fills his spirit with the joy and wonder of living. his sense of beauty and order; the response of something within him to certain aspects of nature, certain events of life; his interpretation of the vague and mysterious things about him which seem to suggest a secret meaning; his delight in the intensity and clearness of single impressions, in the symmetry and proportion of related objects; his double desire to surpass nature, on the one side by the simplicity and unity of his work, or on the other side by the freedom of its range and the richness of its imagery; his sudden glimpses of truth; his persistent visions of virtue; his perception of human misery and his hopes of human excellence; his deep thoughts and solemn dreams of the divine,--all these he strives to embody, clearly or vaguely, by symbol, or allusion, or imitation, in painting and sculpture, music and architecture. the medium of these arts is physical; they speak to the eye and the ear. but their ultimate appeal is spiritual, and the pleasure which they give goes far deeper than the outward senses. in literature we have another art whose very medium is more than half spiritual. for words are not like lines, or colours, or sounds. they are living creatures begotten in the soul of man. they come to us saturated with human meaning and association. they are vitally related to the emotions and thoughts out of which they have sprung. they have a wider range, a more delicate precision, a more direct and penetrating power than any other medium of expression. the art of literature which weaves these living threads into its fabric lies closer to the common life and rises higher into the ideal life than any other art. in the lyric, the drama, the epic, the romance, the fable, the _conte_, the essay, the history, the biography, it not only speaks to the present hour, but also leaves its record for the future. literature consists of those writings which interpret the meanings of nature and life, in words of charm and power, touched with the personality of the author, in artistic forms of permanent interest. out of the common utterances of men, the daily flood of language spoken and written, by which they express their thoughts and feelings,--out of that current of journalism and oratory, preaching and debate, literature comes. but with that current it does not pass away. art has endowed it with the magic which confers a distinct life, a longer endurance, a so-called immortality. it is the ark on the flood. it is the light on the candlestick. it is the flower among the leaves, the consummation of the plant's vitality, the crown of its beauty, the treasure-house of its seeds. races and nations have existed without a literature. but their life has been dumb. with their death their power has departed. what does the world know of the thoughts and feelings of those unlettered tribes of white and black and yellow and red, flitting in ghost-like pantomime across the background of the stage? whatever message they may have had for us, of warning, of encouragement, of hope, of guidance, remains undelivered. they are but phantoms, mysterious and ineffective. but with literature life arrives at utterance and lasting power. the scythians, the etruscans, the phoenicians, the carthaginians, have vanished into thin air. we grope among their ruined cities. we collect their figured pottery, their rusted coins and weapons. and we wonder what manner of men they were. but the greeks, the hebrews, the romans, still live. we know their thoughts and feelings, their loves and hates, their motives and ideals. they touch us and move us to-day through a vital literature. nor should we fully understand their other arts, nor grasp the meaning of their political and social institutions without the light which is kindled within them by the ever-burning torch of letters. the americans do not belong among the dumb races. their spiritual descent is not from etruria and phoenicia and carthage, nor from the silent red man of the western forests. intellectually, like all the leading races of europe, they inherit from greece and rome and palestine. their instinct of self-expression in the arts has been slower to assert itself than those other traits which we have been considering,--self-reliance, fair-play, common order, the desire of personal development. but they have taken part, and they still take part (not altogether inaudibly), in the general conversation and current debate of the world. moreover, they have begun to create a native literature which utters, to some extent at least, the thoughts and feelings of the soul of the people. this literature, considered in its _ensemble_ as an expression of our country, raises some interesting questions which i should like to answer. why has it been so slow to begin? why is it not more recognizably american? what are the qualities in which it really expresses the spirit of america? i. if you ask me why a native literature has been so slow to begin in america, i answer, first, _that it has not been slow at all_. compared with other races, the americans have been rather less slow than the average in seeking self-expression in literary form and in producing books which have survived the generation which produced them. how long was it, for example, before the hebrews began to create a literature? a definite answer to that question would bring us into trouble with the theologians. but at least we may say that from the beginning of the hebrew commonwealth to the time of the prophet samuel there were three centuries and a half without literature. how long did rome exist before its literary activities began? of course we do not know what books may have perished. but the first romans whose names have kept a place in literature were nævius and ennius, who began to write more than five hundred years after the city was founded. compared with these long periods of silence, the two hundred years between the settlement of america and the appearance of washington irving and james fenimore cooper seems but a short time. even earlier than these writers i should be inclined to claim a place in literature for two americans,--jonathan edwards and benjamin franklin. indeed it is possible that the clean-cut philosophical essays of the iron-clad edwards, and the intensely human autobiography of the shrewd and genial franklin may continue to find critical admirers and real readers long after many writers, at present more praised, have been forgotten. but if you will allow me this preliminary protest against the superficial notion that the americans have been remarkably backward in producing a national literature, i will make a concession to current and commonplace criticism by admitting that they were not as quick in turning to literary self-expression as might have been expected. they were not a mentally sluggish people. they were a race of idealists. they were fairly well educated. why did they not go to work at once, with their intense energy, to produce a national literature on demand? one reason, perhaps, was that they had the good sense to perceive that a national literature never has been, and never can be, produced in this way. it is not made to order. it grows. another reason, no doubt, was the fact that they already had more books than they had time to read. they were the inheritors of the literature of europe. they had the classics and the old masters. milton and dryden and locke wrote for them. pope and johnson, defoe and goldsmith, wrote for them. cervantes and le sage wrote for them. montesquieu and rousseau wrote for them. richardson and smollett and fielding gave them a plenty of long-measure novels. above all, they found an overflowing supply of books of edification in the religious writings of thomas fuller, richard baxter, john bunyan, philip doddridge, matthew henry, and other copious puritans. there was no pressing need of mental food for the americans. the supply was equal to the demand. another reason, possibly, was the fact that they did not have a new language, with all its words fresh and vivid from their origin in life, to develop and exploit. this was at once an advantage and a disadvantage. english was not the mother-tongue of all the colonists. for two or three generations there was a confusion of speech in the middle settlements. it is recorded of a certain young dutchwoman from new amsterdam, travelling to the english province of connecticut, that she was in danger of being tried for witchcraft because she spoke a diabolical tongue, evidently marking her as "a child of satan." but this polyglot period passed away, and the people in general spoke "the tongue that shakespeare spoke,"-- spoke it indeed rather more literally than the english did, retaining old locutions like "i guess," and sprinkling their talk with "sirs," and "ma'ams,"--which have since come to be considered as americanisms, whereas they are really elizabethanisms. the possession of a language that is already consolidated, organized, enriched with a vast vocabulary, and dignified by literary use, has two effects. it makes the joyful and unconscious literature of adolescence, the period of popular ballads and rhymed chronicles, quaint animal-epics and miracle-plays, impossible. it offers to the literature of maturity an instrument of expression equal to its needs. but such a language carries with it discouragements as well as invitations. it sets a high standard of excellence. it demands courage and strength to use it in any but an imitative way. do not misunderstand me here. the americans, since that blending of experience which made them one people, have never felt that the english language was strange or foreign to them. they did not adopt or borrow it. it was their own native tongue. they grew up in it. they contributed to it. it belonged to them. but perhaps they hesitated a little to use it freely and fearlessly and originally while they were still in a position of tutelage and dependence. perhaps they waited for the consciousness that they were indeed grown up,--a consciousness which did not fully come until after the war of . perhaps they needed to feel the richness of their own experience, the vigour of their own inward life, before they could enter upon the literary use of that most rich and vigorous of modern languages. another reason why american literature did not develop sooner was the absorption of the energy of the people in other tasks than writing. they had to chop down trees, to build houses, to plough prairies. it is one thing to explore the wilderness, as chateaubriand did, an elegant visitor looking for the materials of romance. it is another thing to live in the wilderness and fight with it for a living. real pioneers are sometimes poets at heart. but they seldom write their poetry. after the americans had won their security and their daily bread in the wild country, they had still to make a state, to develop a social order, to provide themselves with schools and churches, to do all kinds of things which demand time, and toil, and the sweat of the brow. it was a busy world. there was more work to be done than there were workmen to do it. industry claimed every talent almost as soon as it got into breeches. a franklin, who might have written essays or philosophical treatises in the manner of diderot, must run a printing-press, invent stoves, pave streets, conduct a postal service, raise money for the war of independence. a freneau, who might have written lyrics in the manner of andré chénier, must become a soldier, a sea-captain, an editor, a farmer. even those talents which were drawn to the intellectual side of life were absorbed in the efforts which belong to the current discussions of affairs, the daily debate of the world, rather than to literature. they disputed, they argued, they exhorted, with a direct aim at practical results in morals and conduct. they became preachers, orators, politicians, pamphleteers. they wrote a good deal; but their writing has the effect of reported speech addressed to an audience. the mass of sermons, and political papers, and long letters on timely topics, which america produced in her first two hundred years is considerable. it contains much more vitality than the imitative essays, poems, and romances of the same period. john dickinson's "letters from a pennsylvania farmer," the sermons of president witherspoon of princeton, the papers of madison, hamilton, and jay in the _federalist_, are not bad reading, even to-day. they are virile and significant. they show that the americans knew how to use the english language in its eighteenth-century form. but they were produced to serve a practical purpose. therefore they lack the final touch of that art whose primary aim is the pleasure of self-expression in forms as permanent and as perfect as may be found. ii. the second question which i shall try to answer is this: why is not the literature of america, not only in the beginning but also in its later development, more distinctly american? the answer is simple: _it is distinctly american_. but unfortunately the critics who are calling so persistently and looking so eagerly for "americanism" in literature, do not recognize it when they see it. they are looking for something strange, eccentric, radical, and rude. when a real american like franklin, or irving, or emerson, or longfellow, or lanier, or howells appears, these critics will not believe that he is the genuine article. they expect something in the style of "buffalo bill." they imagine the spirit of america always in a red shirt, striped trousers, and rawhide boots. they recognize the americanism of washington when he crosses the forest to fort duquesne in his leather blouse and leggings. but when he appears at mount vernon in black velvet and lace ruffles, they say, "this is no american after all, but a transplanted english squire." they acknowledge that francis parkman is an american when he follows the oregon trail on horseback in hunter's dress. but when he sits in the tranquil library of his west roxbury home surrounded by its rose gardens, they say, "this is no american, but a gentleman of europe in exile." how often must our critics be reminded that the makers of america were not redskins nor amiable ruffians, but rather decent folk, with perhaps an extravagant admiration for order and respectability? when will they learn that the descendants of these people, when they come to write books, cannot be expected to show the qualities of barbarians and iconoclasts? how shall we persuade them to look at american literature not for the by-product of eccentricity, but for the self-expression of a sane and civilized people? i doubt whether it will ever be possible to effect this conversion and enlightenment; for nothing is so strictly closed against criticism as the average critic's adherence to the point of view imposed by his own limitations. but it is a pity, in this case, that the point of view is not within sight of the facts. there is a story that the english poet tennyson once said that he was glad that he had never met longfellow, because he would not have liked to see the american poet put his feet upon the table. if the story is true, it is most laughable. for nothing could be more unlike the super-refined longfellow than to put his feet in the wrong place, either on the table, or in his verse. yet he was an american of the americans, the literary idol of his country. it seems to me that the literature of america would be more recognizable if those who consider it from the outside knew more of the real spirit of the country. if they were not always looking for volcanoes and earthquakes, they might learn to identify the actual features of the landscape. but when i have said this, honesty compels me to go a little further and admit that the full, complete life of america still lacks an adequate expression in literature. perhaps it is too large and variegated in its outward forms, too simple in its individual types, and too complex in their combination, ever to find this perfect expression. certainly we are still waiting for "the great american novel." it may be that we shall have to wait a long time for this comprehensive and significant book which will compress into a single cup of fiction all the different qualities of the spirit of america, all the fermenting elements that mingle in the vintage of the new world. but in this hope deferred,--if indeed it be a hope that can be reasonably entertained at all,--we are in no worse estate than the other complex modern nations. what english novel gives a perfect picture of all england in the nineteenth century? which of the french romances of the last twenty years expresses the whole spirit of france? meantime it is not difficult to find certain partial and local reflections of the inner and outer life of the real america in the literature, limited in amount though it be, which has already been produced in that country. in some of it the local quality of thought or language is so predominant as to act almost as a barrier to exportation. but there is a smaller quantity which may fairly be called "good anywhere"; and to us it is, and ought to be, doubly good because of its americanism. thus, for example, any reader who understands the tone and character of life in the middle states, around new york and philadelphia, in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, feels that the ideas and feelings of the more intelligent people, those who were capable of using or of appreciating literary forms, are well enough represented in the writings of the so-called "knickerbocker school." washington irving, the genial humorist, the delicate and sympathetic essayist and story-teller of _the sketch-book_, was the first veritable "man of letters" in america. cooper, the inexhaustible teller-of-tales in the open air, the lover of brave adventure in the forest and on the sea, the homer of the backwoodsman, and the idealist of the noble savage, was the discoverer of real romance in the new world. including other writers of slighter and less spontaneous talent, like halleck, drake, and paulding, this school was marked by a cheerful and optimistic view of life, a tone of feeling more sentimental than impassioned, a friendly interest in humanity rather than an intense moral enthusiasm, and a flowing, easy style,--the manner of a company of people living in comfort and good order, people of social habits, good digestion, and settled opinions, who sought in literature more of entertainment and relaxation than of inspiration or what the strenuous reformers call "uplift." after the days when its fashionable idol was willis, and its honoured though slightly cold poet was bryant, and its neglected and embittered genius was edgar allan poe, this school, lacking the elements of inward coherence, passed into a period of decline. it revived again in such writers as george william curtis, donald mitchell, bayard taylor, charles dudley warner, frank r. stockton; and it continues some of its qualities in the present-day writers whose centre is undoubtedly new york. is it imaginary, or can i really feel some traces, here and there, of the same influences which affected the "knickerbocker school" in such different writers as mark twain and william dean howells, in spite of their western origin? certainly it can be felt in essayists like hamilton mabie and edward s. martin and brander matthews, in novelists like dr. weir mitchell and hopkinson smith, in poets like aldrich and stedman, and even in the later work of a native lyrist like richard watson gilder. there is something,--i know not what,--a kind of _urbanum genus dicendi_, which speaks of the great city in the background and of a tradition continued. even in the work of such a cosmopolitan and relentless novelist as mrs. wharton, or of such an independent and searching critic as mr. brownell, my mental palate catches a flavour of america and a reminiscence of new york; though now indeed there is little or nothing left of the knickerbocker optimism and cheerful sentimentality. the american school of historians, including such writers as ticknor, prescott, bancroft, motley, and parkman, represents the growing interest of the people of the new world for the history of the old, as well as their desire to know more about their own origin and development. motley's _rise of the dutch republic_, parkman's volumes on the french settlements in canada, sloane's _life of napoleon_, and henry c. lea's _history of the inquisition_ are not only distinguished works of scholarship, but also eminently readable and interesting expressions of the mind of a great republic considering important events and institutions in other countries to which its own history was closely related. the serious and laborious efforts of bancroft to produce a clear and complete _history of the united states_ resulted in a work of great dignity and value. but much was left for others to do in the way of exploring the sources of the nation, and in closer study of its critical epochs. this task has been well continued by such historians as john fiske, henry adams, james bach mcmaster, john codman ropes, james ford rhodes, justin winsor, and sydney g. fisher. these are only some of the principal names which may be cited to show that few countries have better reason than the united states to be proud of a school of historians whose works are not only well documented, but also well written, and so entitled to be counted as literature. the southern states, before the civil war and for a little time after, were not largely represented in american letters. in prose they had a fluent romancer, simms, who wrote somewhat in the manner of cooper, but with less skill and force; an exquisite artist of the short-story and the lyric, poe, who, although he was born in boston and did most of his work in philadelphia and new york, may perhaps be counted sympathetically with the south; two agreeable story-tellers, john esten cooke and john p. kennedy; two delicate and charming lyrists, paul hayne and henry timrod; and one greatly gifted poet, sidney lanier, whose career was cut short by a premature death. but the distinctive spirit of the south did not really find an adequate utterance in early american literature, and it is only of late years that it is beginning to do so. the fine and memorable stories of george w. cable reflect the poesy and romance of the creole life in louisiana. james lane allen and thomas nelson page express in their prose the southern atmosphere and temperament. the poems of madison cawein are full of the bloom and fragrance of kentucky. among the women who write, alice hegan rice, "charles egbert craddock," ruth mcenery stuart, "george madden martin," and mary johnston may be named as charming story-tellers of the south. joel chandler harris has made the old negro folk-tales classic, in his _uncle remus_,--a work which belongs, if i mistake not, to one of the most enduring types of literature. but beyond a doubt the richest and finest flowering of _belles lettres_ in the united states during the nineteenth century was that which has been called "the renaissance of new england." the quickening of moral and intellectual life which followed the unitarian movement in theology, the antislavery agitation in society, and the transcendental fermentation in philosophy may not have caused, but it certainly influenced, the development of a group of writers, just before the middle of the century, who brought a deeper and fuller note into american poetry and prose. hawthorne, profound and lonely genius, dramatist of the inner life, master of the symbolic story, endowed with the double gift of deep insight and exquisite art; emerson, herald of self-reliance and poet of the intuitions, whose prose and verse flash with gem-like thoughts and fancies, and whose calm, vigorous accents were potent to awaken and sustain the intellectual independence of america; longfellow, the sweetest and the richest voice of american song, the household poet of the new world; whittier, the quaker bard, whose ballads and lyrics reflect so perfectly the scenery and the sentiment of new england; holmes, genial and pungent wit, native humorist, with a deep spring of sympathy and a clear vein of poetry in his many-sided personality; lowell, generous poet of high and noble emotions, inimitable writer of dialect verse, penetrating critic and essayist,--these six authors form a group not yet equalled in the literary history of america. the factors of strength, and the hidden elements of beauty, in the puritan character came to flower and fruit in these men. they were liberated, enlarged, quickened by the strange flood of poetry, philosophy, and romantic sentiment which flowed into the somewhat narrow and sombre enceinte of yankee thought and life. they found around them a circle of eager and admiring readers who had felt the same influences. the circle grew wider and wider as the charm and power of these writers made itself felt, and as their ideas were diffused. their work, always keeping a distinct new england colour, had in it a substance of thought and feeling, an excellence of form and texture, which gave it a much broader appeal. their fame passed from the sectional to the national stage. in their day boston was the literary centre of the united states. and in after days, though the sceptre has passed, the influence of these men may be traced in almost all american writers, of the east, the west, or the south, in every field of literature, except perhaps the region of realistic or romantic fiction. here it seems as if the west had taken the lead. bret harte, with his frontier stories, always vivid but not always accurate, was the founder of a new school, or at least the discoverer of a new mine of material, in which frank norris followed with some powerful work, too soon cut short by death, and where a number of living men like owen wister, stewart edward white, and o. henry are finding graphic stories to tell. hamlin garland, booth tarkington, william allen white, and robert herrick are vigorous romancers of the middle west. winston churchill studies politics and people in various regions, while robert chambers explores the social complications of new york; and both write novels which are full of interest for americans and count their readers by the hundred thousand. in the short-story miss jewett, miss wilkins, and mrs. deland have developed characteristic and charming forms of a difficult art. in poetry george e. woodberry and william vaughn moody have continued the tradition of emerson and lowell in lofty and pregnant verse. joaquin miller has sung the songs of the sierras, and edwin markham the chant of labour. james whitcomb riley has put the very heart of the middle west into his familiar poems, humorous and pathetic. and walt whitman, the "democratic bard," the poet who broke all the poetic traditions? is it too soon to determine whether his revolution in literature was a success, whether he was a great initiator or only a great exception? perhaps so. but it is not too soon to recognize the beauty of feeling and form, and the strong americanism, of his poems on the death of lincoln, and the power of some of his descriptive lines, whether they are verse or rhapsodic prose. it is evident that such a list of names as i have been trying to give must necessarily be very imperfect. many names of substantial value are omitted. the field is not completely covered. but at least it may serve to indicate some of the different schools and sources, and to give some idea of the large literary activity in which various elements and aspects of the spirit of america have found and are finding expression. iii. the real value of literature is to be sought in its power to express and to impress. what relation does it bear to the interpretation of nature and life in a certain country at a certain time? that is the question in its historical form. how clearly, how beautifully, how perfectly, does it give that interpretation in concrete works of art? that is the question in its purely æsthetic form. what personal qualities, what traits of human temperament and disposition does it reveal most characteristically in the spirit of the land? that is the question in the form which belongs to the study of human nature. it is in this last form that i wish to put the question, just now, in order to follow logically the line marked by the general title of these lectures. the spirit of america is to be understood not only by the five elements of character which i have tried to sketch in outline,--the instinct of self-reliance, the love of fair-play, the energetic will, the desire of order, the ambition of self-development. it has also certain temperamental traits; less easy to define, perhaps; certainly less clearly shown in national and social institutions, but not less important to an intimate acquaintance with the people. these temperamental traits are the very things which are most distinctive in literature. they give it colour and flavour. they are the things which touch it with personality. in american literature, if you look at it broadly, i think you will find four of these traits most clearly revealed,--a strong religious feeling, a sincere love of nature, a vivid sense of humour, and a deep sentiment of humanity. ( ) it may seem strange to say that a country which does not even name the supreme being in its national constitution, which has no established form of worship or belief, and whose public schools and universities are expressly disconnected from any kind of church control, is at the same time strongly religious, in its temperament. yet strange as this seems, it is true of america. the entire independence of church and state was the result of a deliberate conviction, in which the interest of religion was probably the chief consideration. in the life of the people the church has been not less, but more, potent than in most other countries. professor wendell was perfectly right in the lectures which he delivered in paris four years ago, when he laid so much emphasis upon the influence of religion in determining the course of thought and the character of literature in america. professor münsterberg is thoroughly correct when he says in his excellent book _the americans_, "the entire american people are in fact profoundly religious, and have been, from the day when the pilgrim fathers landed, down to the present moment." the proof of this is not to be seen merely in outward observance, though i suppose there is hardly any other country, except scotland, in which there is so much church-going, sabbath-keeping, and bible-reading. it is estimated that less than fifteen of the eighty millions of total population are entirely out of touch with any church. but all this might be rather superficial, formal, conventional. it might be only a hypocritical cover for practical infidelity. and sometimes when one reads the "yellow journals" with their flaming exposures of social immorality, industrial dishonesty, and political corruption, one is tempted to think that it may be so. yet a broader, deeper, saner view,--a steady look into the real life of the typical american home, the normal american community,--reveals the fact that the black spots are on the surface and not in the heart of the country. the heart of the people at large is still old-fashioned in its adherence to the idea that every man is responsible to a higher moral and spiritual power,--that duty is more than pleasure,--that life cannot be translated in terms of the five senses, and that the attempt to do so lowers and degrades the man who makes it,--that religion alone can give an adequate interpretation of life, and that morality alone can make it worthy of respect and admiration. this is the characteristic american way of looking at the complicated and interesting business of living which we men and women have upon our hands. it is rather a sober and intense view. it is not always free from prejudice, from bigotry, from fanaticism, from superstition. it is open to invasion by strange and uncouth forms of religiosity. america has offered a fertile soil for the culture of new and queer religions. but on the whole,--yes, in immensely the larger proportion,--the old religion prevails, and a rather simple and primitive type of christianity keeps its hold upon the hearts and minds of the majority. the consequence of this is (to quote again from professor münsterberg, lest you should think me a prejudiced reporter), that "however many sins there are, the life of the people is intrinsically pure, moral, and devout." "the number of those who live above the general level of moral requirement is astonishingly large." now this habit of soul, this tone of life, is reflected in american literature. whatever defects it may have, a lack of serious feeling and purpose is not among them. it is pervaded, generally, by the spiritual preconception. it approaches life from the point of view of responsibility. it gives full value to those instincts, desires, and hopes in man which have to do with the unseen world. even in those writers who are moved by a sense of revolt against the darkness and severity of certain theological creeds, the attempt is not to escape from religion, but to find a clearer, nobler, and more loving expression of religion. even in those works which deal with subjects which are non-religious in their specific quality,--stories of adventure, like cooper's novels; poems of romance, like the ballads of longfellow and whittier,--one feels the implication of a spiritual background, a moral law, a divine providence,-- "standeth god within the shadow, keeping watch above his own." this, hitherto, has been the characteristic note of the literature of america. it has taken for granted that there is a god, that men must answer to him for their actions, and that one of the most interesting things about people, even in books, is their moral quality. ( ) another trait which seems to me strongly marked in the american temperament and clearly reflected in american literature is the love of nature. the attractions of the big out-of-doors have taken hold upon the people. they feel a strong affection for their great, free, untended forests, their swift-rushing rivers, their bright, friendly brooks, their wooded mountain ranges of the east, their snowy peaks and vast plains and many-coloured canyons of the west. i suppose there is no other country in the world where so many people break away from the fatigues of civilization every year, and go out to live in the open for a vacation with nature. the business of making tents and camp outfits for these voluntary gypsies has grown to be enormous. in california they do not even ask for a tent. they sleep _à la belle étoile_. the audubon societies have spread to every state. you will not find anywhere in europe, except perhaps in switzerland, such companies of boys and girls studying the wild flowers and the birds. the interest is not altogether, nor mainly, scientific. it is vital and temperamental. it is the expression of an inborn sympathy with nature and a real delight in her works. this has found an utterance in the large and growing "nature-literature" of america. john james audubon, henry thoreau, john burroughs, clarence king, john muir, ernest seton, frank chapman, ernest ingersoll,--these are some of the men who have not only carefully described, but also lovingly interpreted, "nature in her visible forms," and so have given to their books, beyond the value of accurate records of observation, the charm of sympathetic and illuminative writing. but it is not only in these special books that i would look for evidence of the love of nature in the american temperament. it is found all through the poetry and the prose of the best writers. the most perfect bit of writing in the works of that stern calvinist, jonathan edwards, is the description of an early morning walk through a field of wild flowers. some of the best pages of irving and cooper are sketches of landscape along the hudson river. the scenery of new england is drawn with infinite delicacy and skill in the poetry of bryant, whittier, and emerson. bret harte and joaquin miller make as see the painted desert and the ragged sierras. james lane allen shows us the hemp fields of kentucky, george cable the bayous of louisiana. but the list of illustrations is endless. the whole literature of america is filled with pictures of nature. there is hardly a familiar bird or flower for which some poet has not tried to find a distinct, personal, significant expression in his verse. ( ) a third trait of the american temperament is the sense of humour. this is famous, not to say notorious. the americans are supposed to be a nation of jokers, whose daily jests, like their ready-made shoes, have a peculiar oblique form which makes it slightly difficult for people of other nationalities to get into them. there may be some truth in the latter part of this supposition, for i have frequently observed that a remark which seemed to me very amusing only puzzled a foreigner. for example, a few years ago, when mark twain was in europe, a despatch appeared in some of the american newspapers giving an account of his sudden death. knowing that this would trouble his friends, and being quite well, he sent a cablegram in these words, "report of my death grossly exaggerated, mark twain." when i repeated this to an englishman, he looked at me pityingly and said: "but how could you exaggerate a thing like that, my dear fellow? either he was dead, or he was alive, don't you know." this was perfectly incontestable, and the statement of it represented the english point of view. but to the american incontestable things often have a double aspect: first that of the solemn fact; and then that of the curious, unreal, pretentious shape in which it is dressed by fashion, or vanity, or stupid respectability. in this region of incongruities created by the contrast between things as they really are and the way in which dull or self-important people usually talk about them, american humour plays. it is not irreverent toward the realities. but for the conventionalities, the absurdities, the pomposities of life, it has a habit of friendly satire and good-tempered raillery. it is not like the french wit, brilliant and pointed. it is not like the english fun, in which practical joking plays so large a part. it is not like the german joke, which announces its arrival with the sound of a trumpet. it usually wears rather a sober face and speaks with a quiet voice. it delights in exposing pretensions by gravely carrying them to the point of wild extravagance. it finds its material in subjects which are laughable, but not odious; and in people who are ridiculous, but not hateful. its favourite method is to exaggerate the foibles of persons who are excessive in certain directions, or to make a statement absurd simply by taking it literally. thus a yankee humorist said of a certain old lady that she was so inquisitive that she put her head out of all the front windows of the house at the same time. a westerner claimed the prize of inventiveness for his town on the ground that one of its citizens had taught his ducks to swim on hot water in order that they might lay boiled eggs. mr. dooley described the book in which president roosevelt gave his personal reminiscences of the spanish-american war under the title "_alone in cubea_." once, when i was hunting in the bad lands of north dakota, and had lost my way, i met a solitary horseman in the desert and said to him, "i want to go to the cannonball river." "well, stranger," he answered, looking at me with a solemn air of friendly interest, "i guess ye can go if ye want to; there ain't no string on ye." but when i laughed and said what i really wanted was that he should show me the way, he replied, "why didn't ye say so?" and rode with me until we struck the trail to camp. all this is typical of native american humour, quaint, good-natured, sober-faced, and extravagant. at bottom it is based upon the democratic assumption that the artificial distinctions and conventional phrases of life are in themselves amusing. it flavours the talk of the street and the dinner-table. it makes the americans inclined to prefer farce to melodrama, comedietta to grand opera. in its extreme and degenerate form it drifts into habitual buffoonery, like the crude, continuous jests of the comic supplements to the sunday newspapers. in its better shape it relieves the strenuousness and the monotony of life by a free and kindly touch upon its incongruities, just as a traveller on a serious errand makes the time pass by laughing at his own mishaps and at the queer people whom he meets by the way. you will find it in literature in all forms: in books of the professional humorists from artemus ward to mr. dooley: in books of _genre_ painting, like mark twain's _huckleberry finn_ and _pudd'nhead wilson_, or like _david harum_, which owed its immense popularity to the lifelike portrait of an old horse trader in a rural town of central new york: in books of sober purpose, like the essays of lowell or emerson, where a sudden smile flashes out at you from the gravest page. oliver wendell holmes shows it to you, in _the autocrat of the breakfast table_, dressed in the proper garb of boston; you may recognize it on horseback among the cowboys, in the stories of owen wister and o. henry; it talks the mississippi river dialect in the admirable pages of charles d. stewart's _partners with providence_, and speaks with the local accent of louisville, kentucky, in _mrs. wiggs of the cabbage patch_. almost everywhere you will find the same general tone, a compound of mock gravity, exaggeration, good nature, and inward laughter. you may catch the spirit of it all in a letter that benjamin franklin sent to a london newspaper in . he was having a little fun with english editors who had been printing wild articles about america. "all this," wrote he, "is as certainly true as the account, said to be from quebec, in all the papers of last week, that the inhabitants of canada are making preparations for a cod and whale fishery this summer in the upper lakes. ignorant people may object that the upper lakes are fresh, and that cod and whales are salt-water fish; but let them know, sir, that cod, like other fish, when attacked by their enemies, fly into any water where they can be safest; that whales, when they have a mind to eat cod, pursue them wherever they fly; and that the grand leap of the whale in the chase up the falls of niagara is esteemed, by those who have seen it, as one of the finest spectacles in nature." ( ) the last trait of the american temperament on which i wish touch briefly is the sentiment of humanity. it is not an unkind country, this big republic, where the manners are so "free and easy," the _tempo_ of life so quick, the pressure of business so heavy and continuous. the feeling of philanthropy in its broader sense,--the impulse which makes men inclined to help one another, to sympathize with the unfortunate, to lift a neighbour or a stranger out of a tight place,--good will, in short,--is in the blood of the people. when their blood is heated, they are hard hitters, fierce fighters. but give them time to cool down, and they are generous peacemakers. abraham lincoln's phrase, "with malice toward none, with charity for all," strikes the key-note. in the "mild concerns of ordinary life" they like to cultivate friendly relations, to show neighbourliness, to do the useful thing. there is a curious word of approbation in the rural dialect of pennsylvania. when the country folk wish to express their liking for a man, they say, "he is a very common person,"--meaning not that he is low or vulgar, but approachable, sympathetic, kind to all. underneath the surface of american life, often rough and careless, there lies this widespread feeling: that human nature everywhere is made of the same stuff; that life's joys and sorrows are felt in the same way whether they are hidden under homespun and calico or under silk and broadcloth; that it is every man's duty to do good and not evil to those who live in the world with him. in literature this feeling has shown itself in many ways. it has given a general tone of sympathy with "the under dog in a fight." it has led writers to look for subjects among the plain people. it has made the novel of american "high life" incline generally to satire or direct rebuke. in the typical american romance the hero is seldom rich, the villain seldom poor. in the weaker writers the humane sentiment dwindles into sentimentality. in the stronger writers it gives, sometimes, a very noble and manly note. in general you may say that it has impressed upon american literature the mark of a moral purpose,--the wish to elevate, to purify, to fortify the mind, and so the life, of those who read. is this a merit or a fault in literature? judge for yourselves. no doubt a supremely ethical intention is an insufficient outfit for an author. his work may be "chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow and hangs on dian's temple," and yet it may be without savour or permanence. often the desire to teach a good lesson bends a book from the straight line of truth-to-the-facts, and makes a so-called virtuous ending at the price of sincerity and thoroughgoing honesty. it is not profitable to real virtue to dwell in a world of fiction where miracles are worked to crown the good and proper folk with unvarying felicity and to send all the rascals to prison or a miserable grave. nor is it a wise and useful thing for literature to ignore the lower side of life for the sake of commending the higher; to speak a false and timid language for fear of shocking the sensitive; to evade the actual problems and conflicts which men and women of flesh and blood have to meet, for the sake of creating a perfectly respectable atmosphere for the imagination to live in. this mistaking of prudery for decency, this unwillingness to deal quite frankly with life as it is, has perhaps acted with a narrowing and weakening effect upon the course of american literature in the past. but just now there seems to be a reaction toward the other extreme. among certain english and american writers, especially of the female sex, there is a new fashion of indiscriminate candour which would make balzac blush. but i suppose that this will pass, since every extreme carries within itself the seed of disintegration. the _morale_ of literature, after all, does not lie outside of the great circle of ethics. it is a simple application of the laws which embrace the whole of human life to the specific business of a writer. to speak the truth; to respect himself and his readers; to do justly and to love mercy; to deal with language as a living thing of secret and incalculable power; not to call good, evil, or evil, good; to honour the noble and to condemn the base; to face the facts of life with courage, the humours of life with sympathy, and the mysteries of life with reverence; and to perform his task of writing as carefully, as lovingly, as well as he can,--this, it seems to me, is the whole duty of an author. this, if i mistake not, has been the effort of the chief writers of america. they have spoken surely to the heart of a great people. they have kept the fine ideals of the past alive in the conflicts of the present. they have lightened the labours of a weary day. they have left their readers a little happier, perhaps a little wiser, certainly a little stronger and braver, for the battle and the work of life. the measure of their contribution to the small group of world-books, the literature that is universal in meaning and enduring in form, must be left for the future to determine. but it is sure already that american literature has done much to express and to perpetuate the spirit of america. * * * * * herbert croly's the promise of american life _cloth, mo, $ . net_ president j. g. schurman of cornell university writes of this book: "i regard mr. croly's book as a serious and weighty contribution to contemporary american politics. a treatise on the fundamental political ideas of the american people which attempts to develop their full content and to re-read american history in the light of these developed ideas cannot, of course, be made light literature; but the author brings to the weighty subject with which he deals a lucid and vivacious style and a logical sense of arrangement. and thoughtful readers who are interested in fundamental political principles, once they have started the book, are pretty certain to finish it.... for my own part i have found the book exceedingly stimulating. it is also instructive, for the author seems to be thoroughly versed in the modern political and economic history not only of america but of europe as well. finally, the volume has the immense attraction of dealing with a subject which of all political subjects is now most prominent in the mind not only of thoughtful citizens, but, one might almost say, of the american people." "'the promise of american life' will beyond doubt be recognized by students of the great philosophical currents of american history and political development as an unusual and remarkable work.... mr. croly acutely analyzes american democracy and pseudo-democracy, while his treatment of the actual present tendencies of democratic ideals is even more instructive and suggestive than the purely historical part of his book. he writes with a free pen and is both apt and keen-witted in his way of illustrating theories and beliefs by practical applications. one chapter, for instance, which will attract very special attention is that which considers the aims and methods of four typical reformers, jerome, hearst, bryan, and roosevelt."--_the outlook._ by archibald cary coolidge, ph.d. professor of history in harvard university the united states as a world power _cloth, mo, $ . net_ this book is based on the lectures delivered by the author at the sorbonne in paris in the winter of - . among the questions considered as affecting the relations of the united states with other countries are immigration and race questions, the monroe doctrine and our relations with latin america, the spanish war and the acquisition of colonies, our relations with the chief continental powers, with england and with canada, the isthmian canal, the united states in the pacific and our relations with china and with japan. "we know of no volume which sums up so well and in so brief a space the wide interests which have attracted public attention during the last decade and which, incidentally, are certain in view of our development to loom still larger on the national horizon. many americans will doubtless welcome the opportunity of not only reducing to order and simplicity in their minds the vast mass of information relating to the movements and interests of the united states as a world power, which they have acquired from desultory reading, but also of refreshing their memory as to the historical development of which these movements form, for the present, the climax."--_the chicago inter-ocean._ "the book is justly entitled to recognition as a work of real distinction. it has substance as well as symmetry and force; it is void of dogmatism or special pleading, but it moves the reader to thought; it handles serious and complicated questions with a light touch, but the impression of its solid qualities is the impression that remains."--_new york post._ "a comprehensive and impartial statement of the nature and extent of our national responsibilities.... the book is not a dry political treatise as the title might suggest, but is as absorbingly interesting as the best histories. on account of this, as well as of its unblinking comprehensiveness, it deservedly ranks as a great book."--_philadelphia telegraph._ _books on american history and politics_ the american commonwealth by james bryce _crown vo, cloth, $ . net_ this edition in one volume revised for the use of colleges and high schools. "we have here a storehouse of political information regarding america such as no other writer, american or other, has ever provided in one work.... it will remain a standard."--_new york times._ the united states: an outline of political history by goldwin smith _cloth, mo, $ . net_ "a literary masterpiece, as readable as a novel, remarkable for its compression without dryness, and its brilliancy without rhetorical effort."--_the nation._ foundations of american foreign policy by albert b. hart _cloth, mo, $ . net_ "exceptionally instructive and illuminating."--_new york tribune._ the industrial history of the united states by katherine coman _cloth, mo, $ . net_ "a most excellent guidebook for a region of history that has been as yet but little studied. its points of excellence are many."--_dun's review._ a century of expansion by willis fletcher johnson _cloth, mo, $ . net_ "a refreshing, vigorous presentation of the facts, consequences, and responsibilities of national expansion."--_pittsburg chronicle telegraph._ readings in american government and politics by charles a. beard _cloth, mo, $ . net_ a collection of interesting material illustrative of the different periods in the history of the united states, prepared for those students who desire to study source writings. memories of a hundred years by edward everett hale _cloth, vo, $ . net_ "history built up from personalities and broadened in conclusions and estimates. it is biography of the best kind."--_the outlook._ the principles of politics by jeremiah w. jenks _cloth, mo, $. net_ "the book should be of interest to both student and general reader."--_boston transcript._ world politics by paul s. reinsch _half leather, mo, $ . net_ this volume discusses world politics at the end of the nineteenth century as influenced by the oriental situation, and points out the relation of the various european powers and of the united states to this situation. colonial government by paul s. reinsch _half leather, mo, $ . net_ "we know of no volume of the same size that conveys so much information as this, in so clear and orderly a manner."--_new york times._ colonial administration by paul s. reinsch _half leather, mo, $ . net_ "this is the most comprehensive and thorough study of colonial methods yet produced on our side of the atlantic."--_chicago record-herald._ a history of american political theories by charles edward merriam _cloth, mo, $ . net_ this book presents a description and analysis of the characteristic types of political theory that have from time to time been dominant in american politics. the lower south in american history by william garrott brown _cloth, mo, $ . net_ "the author of this volume has judgment, insight, imagination, scholarship, and a great subject."--_the outlook._ documentary source book of american history by william macdonald _cloth, mo, $ . net_ "the book is filled with vitally important documents dealing with american history."--_scientific american._ the spirit of american government by j. allen smith _half leather, mo, $ . net_ "the book is a noteworthy study of our constitution and deserves the attention of all interested in good government, good politics, good citizens."--_education._ published by the macmillan company - fifth avenue, new york [transcriber's notes: a right pointing hand (a right index) is indicated in the text by [index].] uncle sam by albert matthews uncle sam by albert matthews reprinted from the proceedings of the american antiquarian society volume xix worcester, massachusetts the davis press uncle sam. by albert matthews. arising in obscure ways, often originating in derision or abuse or satire, sometimes repudiated by those to whom they are applied, at other times adopted in spite of the ridicule, the origin of nicknames is singularly elusive, and there are few words or phrases of which it is more difficult to trace the history. moreover, nicknames are almost invariably associated in the popular mind with some person or place or thing having a similar name; and so a problem already difficult is made doubly so by the necessity of attempting to obtain information about very obscure persons. the history of nicknames usually follows one general course: those who, at the time of origin, perhaps know the real explanation, fail to record it, and then, a generation or so having passed by and the true origin having been forgotten, a series of guesses is indulged in. in yankee, brother jonathan, and uncle sam, we americans have perhaps more than our fair share of national sobriquets; and we are, so far as i am aware, the only nation to the government of which a sobriquet has been given in distinction from the people. for while uncle sam has occasionally been applied to us as a nation, its use is almost wholly restricted to our government. what has been said above about the popular tendency to connect nicknames with persons is well illustrated in all of our national sobriquets. when the history of yankee comes to be written, it will be found necessary to consider a famous pirate who was the terror of the spanish main in the seventeenth century; a negro who lived in south carolina in ; several members of a family which was well known in cambridge, massachusetts, during the eighteenth century; the yankoos, an imaginary tribe of indians invented in for the purpose of explaining a word which then first came into general use in this country; and yankee as a family name. the history of brother jonathan involves an inquiry into an alleged english poet of the seventeenth century; a london coffee-house of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries named jonathan's; jonathan hastings, a tanner who lived in cambridge early in the eighteenth century; jonathan carver, the noted traveller; and jonathan trumbull, the distinguished governor of connecticut.[ ] and in uncle sam we are confronted with a similar problem--this time an alleged contractor and inspector named samuel wilson, who lived in troy during the first half of the nineteenth century. the story connecting uncle sam with samuel wilson first appeared in print, so far as is known, in , and no example of the term earlier than has until now ever been cited.[ ] before considering the samuel wilson story, let us see what the history of the term uncle sam has actually been. for sixty-six years the statement has been repeated that the nickname arose at the outbreak of the war of , varied occasionally by the assertion that the term originated during the revolutionary war. both statements are incorrect, as the term is not known to have been used until the war of was half over; but the nickname certainly did originate during that war.[ ] moreover, for a year or so it was avoided by those who favored the war, and was employed only by those who opposed the war. hence the term was at first apparently used somewhat derisively. in order to understand how this could have been the case, it will be necessary to glance at some of the manifestations of the war. we are all so familiar with the causes, events, and consequences of the war of , that it is unnecessary to dwell upon them here; yet some passages from contemporary newspapers will perhaps give us a more vivid impression of the thoughts and feelings engendered by that contest than will the formal writings of learned historians. an editorial note headed with the historic words "era of good feelings," which appeared in the _columbian centinel_ of july , , began as follows: "during the late presidential jubilee many persons have met at festive boards, in pleasant converse, whom party politics had long severed. we recur with pleasure to all the circumstances which attended the demonstrations of good feelings" (p. - ). to us of the present day, who take our politics more calmly, it is not easy to understand the furor and turmoil which characterized the war of . but if political warfare nowadays is less abusive and vituperative than it was a century ago, as is certainly the case, yet also it is distinctly less picturesque. is it possible that in the matter of nicknames, we americans have lost our inventive capacity? what has there been in the past decade to match "father of his country," "old hickory," "mill boy of the slashes," "old man eloquent," "tippecanoe," "old bullion," "rail-splitter," "plumed knight," and scores of other sobriquets that will readily occur to all? it is true that the nicknames which were so commonly bestowed during the war of were chiefly satirical; but on that very account they are the more valuable for our present purpose. in a speech delivered in congress on january , , david r. williams said: "sir, i feel a deadly hate against great britain. yes, sir, if the red artillery of heaven were in my hands, i'd soon drive the fast anchored isle from her moorings."[ ] immediately williams was nicknamed "mr. thunderbolt williams," "thunder-and-lightning williams," "jupiter williams," "thunder & lightning david;" and his words lingered in the popular mind for fourteen years at least.[ ] war with england was declared june , . in a proclamation dated june , governor caleb strong of massachusetts spoke of "the nation from which we are descended, and which for many generations has been the bulwark of the religion we profess."[ ] at once "the bulwark of our religion" and "bulwark strong" became bywords in the war papers.[ ] in a speech delivered in congress on january , , josiah quincy said: "an armistice was proposed by them. it was refused by us. it was acceded to by the american general, on the frontiers. it was rejected by the cabinet.... they renewed hostilities. they rushed upon canada. nothing would satisfy them but blood. the language of their conduct is that of the giant, in the legends of infancy. _fee, faw, foo, fum, i smell the blood of an englishman, dead, or alive, i will have some._"[ ] the man who later was commemorated by lowell in an essay entitled "a great public character," was, during the war of , known as "mr. fum"[ ] or "orator fum,"[ ] and we read of "the degrading doctrine inculcated by '_fee, fo, fi, fum_' federalists."[ ] john adams was "duke of braintree"[ ] and "old brimborion."[ ] john armstrong, who was made secretary of war in january, , was nicknamed "duke of newburgh," in allusion to the famous newburgh addresses of .[ ] jefferson was called "tall tommy,"[ ] "thomas the magician,"[ ] and "thomas conundrum."[ ] president madison was "little jemmy,"[ ] "king james" or "king jemmy,"[ ] "james the great,"[ ] and "mundungus,"[ ] and was referred to as "james the first emperor of the virginians and king of the united states."[ ] timothy pickering was "uncle tim."[ ] on november , , general alexander smyth issued a proclamation,[ ] whereupon it was said that "during this time gen. _proclamation_ curvetted about."[ ] general james wilkinson was called "don" or "don jamie," in allusion to don quixote.[ ] besides these nicknames applied to persons, there were several epithets which were employed to designate a class. those who favored the war were called "wildcats,"[ ] "war-dogs,"[ ] "war-hirelings,"[ ] "war-men,"[ ] and "war-sharks,"[ ] but the favorite term was "war-hawks." under the head of "political intoxication," the following appeared in the _columbian centinel_ of february , (p. - ): "our _war-hawks_ when pot valiant grown, could they the british king dethrone, would sacrifice a man a day;-- to me the reason's very plain, why topers talk in such a strain-- they want a double[a] _can-a-day_. [a] _upper_ and _lower_." "the noisy and vociferous demagogues and war hawks," said the _portland gazette_, "and office hunters in this vicinity, ... have never once _slipt out of their beds of down_, or _paid a single cent_ from their pockets, in support of their darling war."[ ] the "war-hawks" retaliated by calling the peace men "tories" and likening them to the loyalists of the revolution. "the _war-hawks_ of that vicinity," said the _new york evening post_ of october , , "came to his house and began abusing him with the usual slang of _federalist_, _old tory_, &c." (p. - ). nowhere was the depth of popular feeling more clearly shown than in the toasts that were offered at the various dinners which were so freely partaken of on the fourth of july and on other occasions. such dinners would now seem somewhat provincial, but they were exceedingly common late in the eighteenth and early in the nineteenth centuries, and no doubt they were of service in fostering the spirit of nationality.[ ] the following toasts were given in . at philadelphia: "may the tories of n. england repent--_or be damned_."[ ] at norwich, vermont: "_the tories!_--too mean to live, too wicked to die--unworthy of heaven, and too bad for hell;--may the angel of darkness convey them beyond the bounds of either."[ ] in were given the toasts which follow. at boston: "may the traitorous designs of _junto federalists_ and their wicked declaration, that '_britain is the bulwark of our religion_,' become more and more obnoxious by appointing 'fee, fow, fum' orators to promulgate their detestable principles."[ ] at sutton, massachusetts: "caleb strong: the addresser of gage,[ ] the defender of impressment, the justifier of indian massacres, the advocate of england, and the enemy of america.--may he retire, repent, and yet be saved."[ ] at philadelphia: "governor strong: eternal infamy and execration to the foul hypocrite who could be base enough to pronounce the most savage, unprincipled and blood thirsty nation on the face of the earth the 'bulwark of our religion.' _over the hills and far away._"[ ] at camp meigs: "the tories and apologists for the wrongs done us by the british government where they ought to be, _kissing their monarch's toe. rogue's march._"[ ] at new york: "_tories_--old, new--native and exotic--marshal's passports--time--three seconds--destination--'_the fast anchored isle_.'"[ ] in were given the following toasts. at belfast, maine: "the war-hawks and vultures at washington:--having _usurped_ the place of the towering eagle, may they be _expelled_ from the capitol, with their _wings clipped_ and a label about their necks, to the _wilds_ of _kentucky_, the _native haunts_ of birds of _prey_."[ ] at scituate, massachusetts: "_the president of the united states_--respect for the office, but contempt for the incumbent--an immediate resignation his first duty--the island of elba his last retreat."[ ] at hudson, new york: "_massachusetts_--british influence but poor bait for codfish--may she let down her net the right side of the ship."[ ] at winchendon, massachusetts: "_james i. of america._--in the imitation of his prototype may he soon be compelled by the voice of the people to abdicate in favour of a rightful heir.--_ cheers._"[ ] at new york: "_timothy pickering._--'a greater liar parthia never bred.'"[ ] it is clear that every one was in an irritated frame of mind, the merest trifle being sufficient to arouse bitter feelings, and even to cause men to come to actual blows. duel after duel was fought by those in the upper classes of society--whether military, naval, or civil; and even among respectable people hand to hand fights seem occasionally to have taken place.[ ] to add to the general irritation, several especially unpopular laws were enacted. an act laying direct and other taxes was approved by president madison on july , and went into effect on december , .[ ] in a worcester paper of december , , appeared the following: "_the new army_--the tax-gathering campaign is about opening, and will undoubtedly be both brilliant and successful, as the army of assessors and collectors is very numerous and ably supported by the strong arm of the government.--this _patriotic_ band of harpies will unquestionably acquit themselves with great skill and adroitness in diving to the bottom of the farmers' pockets and filching away the hard-earnings of many a tedious day."[ ] long before this, however, there had been clashes between united states custom house officers and others. a communication dated portland, massachusetts,[ ] may , , beginning with the statement that "a most daring infringement of the laws took place here upon the evening of the th," went on to describe the seizure of goods by custom house officers, who were set upon by smugglers, the latter making off with the goods.[ ] in september, , what is described as "a battle" took place at granville, new york, on the borders of vermont, between united states custom house officers and officials of new york. meanwhile, however, we get our first glimpse of uncle sam. an article half a column in length, headed "for the troy post," was printed in that paper of september , , and began as follows: "'loss upon loss, and no ill luck stiring [_sic_] but what lights upon uncle sam's shoulders,' exclaim the government editors, in every part of the country. the albany _argus_ of last tuesday laments the disasters and disappointments of our border war, in most pathetic strains &c. &c." in a note is given this explanation: "this cant name for our government has got almost as current as 'john bull.' the letters u.s. on the government waggons, &c. are supposed to have given rise to it" (p. - ). in the _lansingburgh gazette_ of late in september or possibly october , , appeared the following: _"land privateering._--the following is a short sketch of a recent battle, under the act[ ] to encourage land-privateering, between what are called in this part of the country, _uncle sam's men_ and the _men of new-york_:--on friday se'nnight, a quantity of goods were seized pursuant to the act aforesaid, by a custom house officer at granville, in washington county, under the pretence that they had been smuggled from canada. on the monday succeeding the owner obtained a writ of replevin, and the sheriff, after meeting with some opposition, succeeded, in possessing himself of the goods, according to the laws of this state. _uncle sam's men_, however, feeling little disposition to be deprived of their booty in this manner, (for secure as they thought of the whole, they had _plundered_ but a small part of the goods,) raised a band of war hawks, and attempted a rescue. the sherriff called the posse of the neighborhood to his assistance, and the parties being nearly equal, altho' the war-hawks were rather the most numerous, a battle royal ensued. it was long and obstinately contested; but ended in the complete discomfiture of _uncle sam's_ party, who retired from the conflict, marked with many a broken head and bruised limb, leaving the _men of new-york_ in possession of the field of battle and the goods."[ ] in a communication dated burlington, vermont, october , , appeared the following: "the _patriotic_ volunteers, who have _marched_ here to guard the public stores in the absence of the regular army, are taking '_long furloughs_,' and volunteering for _home_ by tens and fifties, and hundreds.--the pretence is, that _uncle sam_, the now popular explication of the u. s., does not pay well; and that the cold begins to pinch."[ ] from a paper published at herkimer, new york, on january , , is taken the following: "_'uncle sam's' hard bargains._--on thursday afternoon of last week, about thirty sleighs, 'more or less'[ ] loaded with the 'weak and wounded, sick and sore' of our armies on the frontiers, passed through this village for greenbush. never before have we beheld such a picture. half-naked, half-frozen, and by their looks half-starved: some with and some without legs, others upon crutches, or supporting each other from falling, with their heads or arms bandaged, and the blood still oozing from their half drest wounds--their meagre, emaciated and ghastly appearance presented at once to the eye of the beholder, a striking picture _of the horrors of war_ and _neglect_."[ ] in a paper published at windsor, vermont, in february, , are found allusions to secretary armstrong and josiah quincy: "[_the following extraordinary advertisement is copied from the last (windsor) washingtonian._] "_slaves wanted!_ "uncle sam, a worthy gentleman slaveholder (_of virginia_) wants to purchase, at dollars a head, , ('more or less') stout, able-bodied, full-blooded yankees, to aid field marshall, _the duke of newburgh_, in taking possession of a plantation he has lately bargained for, (_with himself_) if he can get it, in canada. apply at the truly fortunate lottery office;--or, elsewhere, if more convenient;--as every 'office-holder or citizen,' in the united states, is fully authorized and empowered to contract, as the acknowledged agent of his _uncle_. "n. b.--uncle sam's _purse_ is rather low--but no matter. the _duke_ will guarantee the pay--'forcibly--_if he must_.'"[ ] in the _herkimer american_ of april , , was printed the following: "_economy._--a few days since, in a neighboring town _twelve_ united states' waggons were _repaired_, for which the blacksmith was paid _one thousand eight hundred dollars_ out of _uncle sam's_ purse. _query._ how much is the usual cost of a new waggon?"[ ] in or about may, , the keene _sentinel_ printed the following: "_more economy!_--colonel pickering in his speech on the loan bill, stated, on direct information from two members of the former congress, that a waggon started with bushels of corn for the army--that the team of horses consumed bushels on the way--reserved to feed them on returning, and delivered bushels, which must, at this rate, have cost _fifty dollars_ a bushel! "everyone remembers the vinegar transported from boston to albany, which might have been procured _cheaper_ at the latter than the former place. "_uncle sam's_ teams are continually passing thro' this town, with cannon balls, &c. for the fleet at vergennes. these balls are transported from boston, at an expense of not less than _twenty shillings_ for every wt. i. e. every lb. ball costs a dollar for transportation only. now it is well known there are several foundaries in the vicinity of the lake, and one very extensive one in vergennes.--what then could induce the contractor to resort to this useless waste of the _sinews of war_? quere. do not the contractors have a certain per cent? if so, the larger the bills are, the better for them."[ ] an extract dated baltimore, june , , reads as follows: "a detachment of uncle sam's troops, under major keyser have embarked from baltimore, to aid in raising the blockade of barney's flotilla. [this is as it should be,--the regulars are paid and fed for the common defense.]"[ ] the following passage is dated keene, new hampshire, november , : "the soldiers, drafted for the defence of portsmouth are mostly on their return home. by some _arrangement_ between the governor and general chandler, the latter, it seems, undertook to provide for, and _pay_ the troops. the _names_ of those poor fellows are on _uncle sam's_ pay roll; but not a cent of money have any of them received. this will come when the government loan is filled, and this loan will be filled when public credit is restored, either before, or _after_ 'the _troubled night_ of this administration departs.'"[ ] the following story appeared in the _columbian centinel_ of december , : "_uncle sam_ and _john bull_. "u. sam pays his soldier-servants in paper money ('chequer bills) which the poor fellows carry to the brokers, and sell at a loss from to dollars in a hundred, and which uncle sam thinks is so much saved. "but _john bull_, an old fool, carries his paper money to market himself, gets as much gold and silver for it as he can--and pays off his soldier-servants in ready rhino, thereby losing all the discount himself. "who then shall say, that uncle sam is not a prudent, calculating fellow--and john bull a fool and a spendthrift?"[ ] the _plattsburg herald_ of december , , contained the following: "'uncle sam's pay'--again.--the detatched militia, of this state, who have been stationed at this post for these three months past, are principally discharged, and are to leave this place to-day. for the encouragement of the citizens of this state to unite in defence of 'free trade and sailor's rights,'--... we have to inform them that the aforesaid militia are now permitted to leave this, and get to their homes as they can, without (as they inform us) a cent of their pay, or even so much as the offer of a single treasury note, some of them the distance of miles.... who will not unite in this righteous war, and support the just and wise administration who declared it?--union! union!"[ ] in the _salem gazette_ of january , , was printed the following: "according to the recruiting orders lately issued, all men enlisted, before they pass muster, must be _stripped_. this is well enough, the peacable _citizens_ have been _stripped_ by the war-hawk party long since; and it is high time the system should be extended to the _military_ of uncle sam's family."[ ] the _new bedford mercury_ of january , , contained the following: "_uncle sam's bargains._ "on tuesday last, the deputy collector of the th collection district, agreeable to previous notice, proceeded to sell the real estate of about persons of this town, for payment of direct taxes. no person appearing to purchase, the whole was _knocked down to uncle sam_--whether uncle sam or his agents will ever dare attempt to take possession of these purchases, is another part of the business."[ ] the above passage was quoted early in by hezekiah niles, who appended this note: "u.s. or uncle sam--a cant term in the army for the united states."[ ] * * * * * in the _columbian centinel_ of june , , appeared the following: a district paymaster of the u.s. residing in n.y. by the name of _whittleby_ has advertised having been robbed of _thirty thousand_ dollars of uncle sam's money intended to pay the militia. it was in his portmanteau, which _some how_ or other, and _somewhere_ or other, was cut open, and the money all rifled! the pay-master having a bad memory, could not recollect the denominations of bills; and forgot to offer a reward for the detection of the 'nefarious and daring wretch'" (p. - ). uncle sam apparently made his first appearance in verse in a song called "siege of plattsburg, sung at the theatre, in albany in the character of a black sailor. tune--'boyn water.'" there are four stanzas, the first as follows: "back side albany stan' lake champlain, one little pond, haf full a' water plat-te-bug dare too, close pon de main, town small--he grow bigger do herearter. on lake champlain, uncle sam set he boat, and massa m'donough, he sail 'em; while gen'ral m'comb make plat-te-bug he home, wid de army, who courage nebber fail 'em."[ ] at this point, let us pause a moment and review the evidence--evidence which thus far has been drawn wholly from the newspapers. the term uncle sam is first found in september, , or when the war was half over, though even then it was alleged to have "got almost as current as 'john bull.'"[ ] while this statement may be true as regards the neighborhood of greenbush,[ ] at which place the camp was a rendezvous for the soldiers, it is not true of the country as a whole.[ ] the term first appeared in papers published in cities or towns either in new york--as troy, lansingburgh, and herkimer; or in vermont--as burlington and windsor, in short, it arose exactly where one would expect it to arise--either in the neighborhood of greenbush or along the canadian frontiers where the fighting was done. finally, there is one singular feature of the evidence. every instance of uncle sam thus far given, except that in the "siege of plattsburg," is taken from a peace paper, while not once does the term occur in a war paper. it is not easy to see why the war papers should have avoided the term, and the fact that they did would seem to indicate that it was employed somewhat derisively by the peace men. possibly the sobriquet was regarded as merely lacking in dignity. or it may be, feeling running so high, that the mere fact of its being taken up by one party was sufficient to condemn it in the eyes of the other. but whatever the reason, the fact is striking, and is comparable to the avoidance of the word yankee by the new englanders previous to the battle of lexington. does not an absolute boycott point at least to a distaste? it should also be noted that by "uncle sam's men" were meant, at first, not soldiers but united states custom house officers. thus far, however, the term has been merely a colloquialism, found only in the newspapers. let us now follow its progress in the literary language. its first appearance in a book was in a political skit published in , and written partly in biblical phrase. whose identity was concealed under the pseudonym of frederick augustus fidfaddy, the alleged author of the adventures of uncle sam, i do not know. the book itself,[ ] like james k. paulding's diverting history of john bull and brother jonathan (published in ) and all similar skits, is modelled on arbuthnot's law is a bottomless pit--usually called the history of john bull--published in . in it we find not merely uncle sam, but sam, samuel, samuelite, uncle samuel, and uncle samuel's lady--meaning congress. a few extracts follow: "'what! another history of the war? we cannot be always reading' exclaims a smoking lounger, while he strikes his silver headed rattan against the door-post of the bookseller. softly, my friend, the work professes to be the adventures of your own dear uncle, if you are a native american, or of your _uncle-in-law_, if you are not.... shall amadis de gaul, don quixote and earl strongbow, confer unfading glories on the respective countries which were the theatres of their exploits; and miser-like, pocket all the renown of romantic chivalry? forbid it uncle sam, and all his sons!... in short, the learned author, in imitation of high authorities, solicits the indulgence of the public:-- . with regard to the appearance of our common uncle sam. although, he is old enough to be very whimsical, he is like the author, a green character on the stage.... behold said thomas,[ ] how mine uncle samuel hath fought in times past against john bull and hath prevailed, nevertheless, he oweth at this time, many talents of silver.... the place chosen for the second attempt to innoculate the clownish snowfieldians[ ] with blessings of liberty, was queenston, a pleasant town separated from the dominions of sam, by that frith of water which is known by the name of the st. lawrence.... now the man proctor[ ] the son of belial of whom we have spoken had his evil heart stirred within him again to vex the sons of samuel. and as his manner was he assembled again the wicked sons of cain, and devised mischief against the small band of samuelites which lay at lower sandusky.... it becomes us to notice a remarkable change in uncle sam's lady. she has lately discarded all her former notions of parsimony and philosophic whims of economy, and has most graciously bestowed on herself a very splendid salary, and whereas, formerly her family servants received only six dollars _per diem_, they now receive fifteen hundred, for each entertainment or levee she holds, to see company."[ ] it has already been noted that in books published in and , paulding did not employ the term uncle sam.[ ] but in a work published in he wrote: "this subject reminds me of a queer fellow that went by the name of _paddy whack_, who came over from a place called _knockecroghery_, as i think and palmed himself upon a good-natured kinsman of mine, whom we familiarly called _uncle sam_. pat, ... was grandson, by the mother's side, to the well known humorist, _paddy from cork_, who wore his coat buttoned behind to keep his belly warm; and the old man was so pleased with his mode of eating buttermilk without any teeth, that he insisted upon having him christened after his name.... so he took up the business of patriotism, and fastened himself upon _uncle sam_, who was a liberal, good-hearted old fellow, that kept open house to all comers, and received _pat_ with kindness and hospitality, because he was poor and an exile."[ ] the first foreigner to use the term was apparently w. faux, who in a book written between and frequently employed it. "almost all americans," he quotes a mr. perry as saying, "are boys in everything but vice and folly! in their eyes _uncle sam_ is a right slick, mighty fine, smart, big man."[ ] on november , , hezekiah niles wrote: "i am, however, diverted from the subject i meant to speak of--that is, the 'ways and means' to keep the wheels of the government a-going; a most serious concern, especially to those who live upon the treasury, or expect to become rich by _plucking_ 'uncle sam's' great grey goose."[ ] in the _baltimore patriot_ of november , , appeared the following: "another presidential caricature. ... it is a proof sheet of a print entitled--'caucus curs _in full_ yell, _or a_ war whoop _to saddle on the_ people _a_ pappoose president.' in the background stands the president's house, on the right of which '_uncle sam's treasury pap house_,' with its '_amalgamation-tool department_'" (p. - ). in mrs. anne royall, an eccentric lady who wrote several books of travel, not lacking in sharp hits, remarked: "it often happened while in washington, that i met with 'uncle sam's' men, as they call themselves. walking in the capitol square one day, i stepped up to a man whom i found there at work, and asked him whom he worked for, (meaning his employer, from whom i wished to obtain some information,) 'me,' said the fellow, 'i work for uncle sam,' in a tone of unqualified impudence. no matter where you meet those understrappers you may distinguish them by their unparalleled effrontery."[ ] one of paulding's innumerable skits was "the history of uncle sam and his boys: a tale for politicians," originally published in the _new york mirror_ in . in this we read: "once upon a time there lived, and still lives, in a country lying far to the west, a famous squire, rich in lands and paper money. report made him out to be the son of john bull, who every one knows has children in all parts of the world.... john bull had christened this son of his by the name of jonathan; but by and by, when he became a man grown, being a good hearty fellow, about half horse half alligator,[ ] his friends and neighbours gave him the nickname of uncle sam; a sure sign that they liked him, for i never knew a respectable nickname given to a scurvy fellow in my life. be this as it may, his family and all his neighbours at last came to call him nothing else but uncle sam; and all his beef, pork, and flour, in fact everything that belonged to him, was marked with a huge u. s., six inches long. as i have a great respect for universal example, i shall give him this name in the sequel of my history, which i hereby commend to the special attention of all wise men, more especially the wise men of the east. as to the fools, everybody knows they are so scarce now-a-days, that i hereby snap my fingers and defy them."[ ] in david crockett wrote: "them that danced should pay the piper; but i suppose they will all say as the young man said of the old quaker when the robbers stopped the mail-coach. the old gentleman gave up his purse; the young man held back: a pistol was presented at him: 'oh,' says he, 'don't shoot; old uncle always pays for me!' so poor old uncle sam, i suppose, will pay for all: and i am glad that the funding system has paid off our national debt, so that a few hundreds of thousands won't hurt us much now. general jackson can pay off the post-office debt as he said he would the old debt, _by borrowing_; and then we'll burn all the books and old extra contracts, and begin _dee novo_, as the latin scholars say in congress."[ ] in charles j. latrobe, australian governor and traveller, remarked: "you may recollect i mentioned in a former letter, a certain double-barrelled fowling-piece which the commissioner had brought away from a government agent on the missouri. it had kept us company ever since, going among us generally by the name of 'uncle sam,' such was the _soubriquet_ given by the americans to the general government, from the usual initials u.s. or united states, affixed upon government property."[ ] in edward s. abdy, an englishman, observed: "i mention this trifling circumstance, because it illustrates a striking feature in the national character. 'uncle sam' is the veriest slave of habit in existence, and dislikes trouble. he would rather put up with an inconvenience than put himself out of his way." in a note he added: "this appellation corresponds with our 'john bull'; and is supposed to be derived from the initials u.s. as the nation has not yet been able to fix upon a distinctive title, perhaps that of caucasia would not be inappropriate."[ ] #/ on december , , general george a. mccall said: "at the usual hour for the examination of recruits, one bright spring morning, the surgeon and myself having _assembled_ in my office high up in market street for the purpose i have stated, the sergeant brought, among other candidates for the honor of serving '_uncle sam_,' a perfect hercules in physical development."[ ] in there appeared in bentley's miscellany a series of articles called uncle sam's peculiarities, from which the following is extracted: "we must here digress from our immediate subject, for the purpose of properly introducing one of the most celebrated characters now _talked_ of. this personage, _major jack downing_ by name, is in everybody's notice as a great american jester, but, like _uncle sam_, is _but a name_. there may originally have been a major jack downing, a comical 'military' officer, and there may also have been an uncle sam in boston, whose initials happening to be the same as the initial letters of the united states was, from a postmaster, or government contractor of massachusetts bay, converted into the impersonation, or great federal representative of the twenty-six states, including jonathan's own five particular states, new hampshire, connecticut, new england, massachusetts, and rhode island. but major jack and uncle sam of boston (_mortal_ sam) both sleep with their forefathers, if they ever had any, leaving only their names behind; glorious jack being famous in _story_, and uncle sam's initials, u. s., being wedded to _e. pluribus unum_, for better or worse, until the twenty-six stars of north america shall be separated by some violent effort of nature, or a general convulsion of yankee republicanism. but if _major jack_ is never seen _in propria persona_, he is sometimes represented by others, who prefer his name to their own. one of mister joseph miller's jokes is of a fanatic, who gave thanks for being shown some relicts in a monastery, and added, 'this is the sixteenth head of john the baptist i have seen in italy.' a traveller in the united states is reminded of this joe, and of king dick's 'six richmonds in the field,' by hearing of major jack downing of american ubiquity, who is spread abroad and met with as a resident in most of the large towns and many of the quiet villages, and is moreover, one of the most witty correspondents of that many-headed monster, the public press.... the military are for a minute obstructed by six gaily-painted covered carts filled with merchandise, which their owners, the 'western merchants,' are carrying home; one 'fresh spring-water' locomotive from long island, an 'american ginger champagne' waggon, and a dirty cart carrying the mail of 'u. s.' (uncle sam, or united states)."[ ] in marryat wrote: "i fell in with major f----, with whom i had been previously acquainted, who informed me that he was about to send a detachment of troops from green bay to fort winnebago, across the wisconsin territory. as this afforded me an opportunity of seeing the country, which seldom occurs, i availed myself of an offer to join the party. the detachment consisted of about one hundred recruits, nearly the whole of them canada patriots, as they are usually called, who, having failed in taking the provinces from john bull, were fain to accept the shilling from uncle sam."[ ] having thus traced the history of uncle sam from its inception in down to , previous to which no example has hitherto been cited, let us now turn our attention to the origin of the term. three explanations have been advanced. nearly the entire third page of the boston _sunday herald_ of august , , was filled with an article and illustrations on the "nova scotia home of uncle sam. origin of his odd costume. sam slick of slickville, the product of judge haliburton's pen, and his sayings." the writer said: "strange as it may seem, one must go beyond the borders of the united states to find the birthplace of 'uncle sam.'" then followed a description of windsor, where judge haliburton was born. the notion is apparently based wholly on the pseudonym assumed by judge haliburton--"sam slick." this newspaper yarn does not, of course, deserve serious consideration, and may be dismissed with the remark that thomas chandler haliburton, having been born december , , was less than sixteen years old at the outbreak of the war with england, and that it was not until that he employed the pseudonym of "sam slick."[ ] the most popular explanation of the origin of uncle sam first appeared in print, so far as i have been able to ascertain, in john frost's book of the navy, published in . it did not originate with frost, and no doubt he obtained it from a newspaper. it is as follows:[ ] "_origin of 'uncle sam.'_ "much learning and research have been exercised in tracing the origin of odd names, and odd sayings, which, taking their rise in some trifling occurrence or event, easily explained or well understood for a time, yet, in the course of years, becoming involved in mystery, assume an importance equal at least to the skill and ingenuity required to explain or trace them to their origin. 'the swan with two necks'--'the bull and mouth'--'all my eye, betty martin,' and many others, are of this character--and who knows but, an hundred years hence, some 'learned commentator' may puzzle his brain to furnish some ingenious explanation of the origin of the national appellation placed at the head of this article. to aid him, therefore, in this research, i will state the facts as they occurred under my own eye. "immediately after the declaration of the last war with england, elbert anderson, of new-york, then a contractor, visited troy, on the hudson, where was concentrated, and where he purchased, a large quantity of provisions--beef, pork, &c. the inspectors of these articles at that place were messrs. ebenezer and samuel wilson. the latter gentleman (invariably known as '_uncle sam_') generally superintended in person a large number of workmen, who, on this occasion, were employed in overhauling the provisions purchased by the contractor for the army. the casks were marked e. a.--u. s. this work fell to the lot of a facetious fellow in the employ of the messrs. wilson, who, on being asked by some of his fellow-workmen the meaning of the mark (for the letters u. s., for united states, were then almost entirely new to them,) said 'he did not know, unless it meant _elbert anderson and uncle sam_'--alluding exclusively, then, to the said 'uncle sam' wilson. the joke took among the workmen, passed currently; and 'uncle sam' himself being present, was occasionally rallied by them on the increasing extent of his possessions. "many of these workmen being of a character denominated 'food for powder,' were found shortly after following the recruiting drum, and pushing toward the frontier lines, for the double purpose of meeting the enemy, and of eating the provisions they had lately laboured to put in good order. their old jokes of course accompanied them, and, before the first campaign ended, this identical one first appeared in print--it gained favour rapidly, till it penetrated and was recognized in every part of our country, and will, no doubt, continue so while the united states remain a nation. it originated precisely as above stated; and the writer of this article distinctly recollects remarking, at the time when it first appeared in print, to a person who was equally aware of its origin, how odd it would be should this silly joke, originating in the midst of beef, pork, pickle, mud, salt, and hoop-poles, eventually become a national cognomen." this story was introduced by bartlett into his dictionary of americanisms in ; was repeated, with variations, by john f. watson[ ] in and again in ; was given, also with variations, by arthur james weise[ ] in , in , and again in ; and is now found in almost every book of reference.[ ] before submitting the story to critical examination, let us see who anderson and the wilsons were. elbert anderson, jr., of whom we have already caught a glimpse,[ ] need not detain us long. the following advertisement appeared in several albany, troy, and new york newspapers in and : "_proposals for beef and pork._ "sealed proposals will be received through the medium of the post-offices at albany and new-york, directed to the subscriber, until the th of october, for barrels prime pork and barrels prime beef, to be delivered in the months of january, february, march and april, at waterford, troy, albany and new-york. the whole to be put up _in full bound barrels_ of white oak. no proposals need be offered for less than one hundred barrels. per cent will be paid in advance at the time of executing the contract, per cent on the first day of january, and per cent the first day of march, the remainder on the first day of may, . the contractor reserves to himself the privilege of choosing his inspector in the counties the provisions are put up in--the preference will be given to those whose reputation and security will insure the faithful compliance of the terms of the contract. "elbert anderson, jun. "october st, . _army contractor._"[ ] on november , , edward wilson, said to have been born july , ,[ ] at west cambridge (now arlington), massachusetts, married lucy francis of medford.[ ] at west cambridge were born ebenezer wilson on august , , and samuel wilson on september , . about edward wilson took his family to mason, new hampshire, and later he went to troy.[ ] ebenezer and samuel wilson removed to troy about and soon became prominent in the life of the young town. in september, , the following advertisement appeared in troy newspapers: "slaughtering & packing "the undersigned having two large and convenient slaughter-houses, beg leave to acquaint their customers and others, that they will be enabled to _kill_, _cut_ and _pack_ head of cattle per day; and, from their local situation, pledge themselves to accommodate those who may favour them with a call, on terms as low as can be obtained in the state. "they have on hand a large supply of barrels and salt, which will be disposed of on the lowest terms. "all those who shall be under the necessity of waiting hours for their cattle to be slaughtered, shall have them pastured free of expence. e. & s. wilson. "_troy, september , ._"[ ] in the _troy post_ of october , , appeared this paragraph, which may or may not refer to the wilsons: "we are informed that one house in this town has paid twenty thousand dollars during the last month for transporting provisions, flour, whiskey, &c. from this place to plattsburgh, for the use of the army of the north" (p. - ). in the same paper of june , , under the head of "hogs----wanted," was printed this advertisement: "boardman, mann & co. wish to purchase one hundred and twenty thrifty barrow shotes, for which cash will be paid on delivery at their stillhouse in troy. for further particulars inquire at the store of wilson, mann & co." (p. - ). in the _troy post_ of september , (p. - ), appeared the following: "notice "the copartnership of the subscribers, under the firm of wilson, mann & co. is by mutual consent this day dissolved. all persons indebted to, or that have any demands against said firm are requested to call on james mann for settlement, who is duly authorized to settle the same. "ebenezer wilson "james mann "samuel wilson "troy, sept , . "n. b. the business in future will be conducted by james mann at the store lately occupied by wilson, mann & co."[ ] edward wilson, the father of the two brothers, died at troy, june , ; but neither the troy nor the albany papers contained an obituary notice.[ ] ebenezer wilson died july , , the following notice appearing in the new york _commercial advertiser_: "new york, saturday, july . "died--suddenly, yesterday afternoon, mr. ebenezer wilson, sen. aged . mr. w. has for years been extensively engaged in business as an inspector and packer of beef both in troy, and this city. he was an ornament to the christian church, and a worthy, industrious, and excellent man in all the duties of life."[ ] in the troy directory (i, ) for , the first published, is found this entry: "wilson, samuel, ferry continued,"--which, miss jessie f. wheeler writes me,[ ] "means, i suppose, ferry street continued up the hill." samuel wilson died at troy on july , . of the many notices which appeared in the troy papers, the following, signed "trojan," is the most interesting: "death of the late samuel wilson. "when an individual passes from us, who has been long known, and whose business connections have been very extensive, it is proper that some thing more than a mere passing notice should be taken of his death, as well as a just allusions [_sic_] to some of the principal acts of his life. the subject of this brief notice was an early pioneer in the settlement of this place, commencing in , and he took an active part in the extension of all the business facilities adopted by himself and his associates, and was himself engaged in, and prosecuted successfully, at least four distinct kinds of business, employing about hands constantly, while he took the over-sight of each particular branch, in connection with his brother eben.--he prosecuted the mercantile business in connection with slooping; the brick-making business very extensively; the distillery business; farming, on a pretty large scale, and the slaughtering business on an extensive plan. during the war of he supplied the army very generally, especially at the north, from his extensive yards. his tact for managing laborers was very peculiar; he would always say 'come boys,' instead of 'go,' and thereby secured a greater amount of labor than ordinary men.--his success in business he mainly attributed to a strict _system_ in his plans, and the constant habit of _early rising_, and to this habit he undoubtedly owed his uniform good health, and his useful life. he had eight brothers and two sisters all of whom were tenacious of this habit, and all but two are now dead, but their ages averaged full years each. in his political creed he was strictly _republican_ and was warmly attached to the democratic party, and in the election of general jackson to the presidency, he took a very active part, serving as a _standing chairman_ of the party both at his first and second election. in his religious creed he was tolerant to all. he was united to no church, but at the age of three score years his mind became deeply imbued with religion, and feeling his responsibility to his maker, he solemnly dedicated himself to god and united with the presbyterian church in this city.--his walk and conversation since the solemn transition, evinced the sincerity of his profession, and he has left a pleasing assurance both to the church and his friends that he now 'rests from his labors and his works follow him.'"[ ] before returning to the story related by frost, there is one further piece of evidence to be presented. under date of albany september , , was printed in the _albany gazette_ in september and october of that year an advertisement which was in part as follows: "slaughtering & inspection. wilson and kinnicut, take this method to inform their friends and the public in general, that they have made considerable improvements in their slaughter house in albany, where they will put up beef and pork on as reasonable terms as any body in the state."[ ] while i have been unable to identify the members of this firm of wilson and kinnicut, the advertisement is of interest; and it is certain that there was a wilson family in albany and that one or more members of it were named samuel.[ ] if we compare the facts as brought out in these extracts with the story as related by frost, it must be acknowledged that in many respects the latter is not inconsistent with the former. it has been proved that anderson was a contractor; that ebenezer and samuel wilson owned a slaughtering establishment; and that ebenezer wilson at least was an inspector.[ ] if absolute proof is lacking that the wilsons received contracts for the supply of beef, that samuel wilson was an inspector, and that samuel wilson was commonly called "uncle sam" wilson, yet these statements are so extremely probable that their truth may well be conceded.[ ] moreover, the story is plausible and there is no _a priori_ objection to be raised against it. on the other hand, certain facts militate strongly against the story. first, the nickname uncle sam, so far from springing into existence at the outbreak of the war, did not make its appearance until the war was half over. secondly, the absence of any trace of the story until --or a generation after the event--is ominous. thirdly, a remarkable feature of the obituary notices of samuel wilson which were written for the troy newspapers deserves to be dwelt upon. not one of them connected samuel wilson with uncle sam. it is true that the uncle sam story is found in two troy papers, but in each case it was copied from an albany paper.[ ] this fact, coupled with the further fact that no book about troy contained the story until , seems to indicate that the popular story is not native to troy.[ ] fourthly, the statement that "the letters u. s., for united states, were then almost entirely new," is not only so preposterous as to be beyond belief, but can be proved to be untrue. as a matter of fact, the abbreviations u. s. or u. states, as also g. b. or g. britain, were common early in the nineteenth century;[ ] and it would no more have been possible for men in to ask the meaning of the letters u. s. than would such an inquiry be possible now. fifthly, the early evidence, while it may not be absolutely conclusive, not only fails to corroborate the wilson story but strongly points to another conclusion; while the earliest known example of uncle sam is from a troy paper, but _without_ reference to samuel wilson. sixthly, the apparent fact that the nickname was at first used somewhat derisively does not tend to confirm the popular yarn. finally, in connection with the wilson story, we must consider a stanza in a song said to have been sung about . much has been written about "the original yankee doodle song." the song thus generally spoken of begins with the line "father and i went down to camp." in act i, scene iii, of andrew barton's "the disappointment: or, the force of credulity: a new american comic opera," printed in , the air of yankee doodle made its first known appearance under that name.[ ] when the british troops arrived at boston in it was stated, under date of september of that year, that "the yankey doodle song was the capital piece in their band of music;"[ ] and, much to the annoyance of the good people of boston, the british persisted in playing the air at intervals for another seven years. as the "father and i" song was written not earlier than , obviously it could not have been "the original" yankee doodle song. in , j. farmer and j. b. moore, believing that "the burlesque song ... is passing into oblivion," gave "a copy of the song as it was printed thirty-five years since, and as it was troll'd in our yankee circles of that day."[ ] as printed by farmer and moore, the song had eleven stanzas, the tenth being as follows: "old uncle sam. _come_ there to change some pancakes and some onions, for _lasses cakes_, to carry home to give his wife and young ones." that this version was actually printed in rests upon the assertion of farmer and moore. this society owns a copy of "the yankey's return from camp" which was probably printed in .[ ] the boston public library owns a copy, entitled "the farmer and his son's return from a visit to the camp,"[ ] which i believe to be earlier[ ] than the version in the library of this society. in it was stated that "the verses commencing 'father and i went down to camp,' were written by a gentleman of connecticut, a short time after gen. washington's last visit to new england."[ ] now this visit was made in , and, curiously enough, it was in that very year that royall tyler's play of "the contrast" was acted; and in that play, published in , the words made their earliest known appearance in print.[ ] the stanza quoted above is first found in the version of and is not in either of the three versions certainly printed in or before . hence we cannot, without better evidence, accept the farmer and moore stanza as antedating . yet it is perfectly possible that the stanza was written before the war of ,[ ] and if it was, the fact would seem to be all but fatal to the wilson story. the third explanation of the origin of uncle sam is that the sobriquet was merely a jocular extension of the letters u. s. this explanation, like the wilson story, rests purely on assumption. there is nothing in the least either unusual or remarkable in the process of abbreviating a term and then expanding it. in the amenities of political warfare in this country in , it was considered the height of wit to dub a politician "d. d." and then expand the initials into something derogatory. in this way john petitt became "dirty dog," stephen a. douglas became "debauched douglas," and david r. atchison became "drunken davy."[ ] during the same period in england, we find the same manifestation. the london transport corps regiment, which was formed in and for service in the crimea, went by the nickname of the "london thieving company." when its name was changed in to military train, it was dubbed "murdering thieves," "muck tumblers," "muck train," and "moke train,"--the third a corruption of the last, said to have been due to the employment of spanish mules instead of horses.[ ] i can well remember how, as a boy, i used to wonder whether general grant had actually been christened u. s. and whether those letters stood for the united states. 'i have since learned that grant was called not only "united states" grant, but also "uncle sam" grant, "unconditional surrender" grant, and "united we stand" grant.[ ] during the past decade the south african war has enabled us to observe these nicknames in the very making. a london newspaper of january , , asserted that "by a facetious adaptation of initials as roman numerals [c.i.v.], the city of london imperial volunteers, now on their way to the front, achieve the title of the th, an appellation likely to commend itself to the regiment."[ ] nicknames have a way of disappearing rapidly, but this particular one seems to have stuck.[ ] but it was by no means the only one in which the c. i. v. rejoiced. those who opposed the war invented "chamberlain's innocent victims," while tommy atkins converted the initials into "can i venture?" a more unpleasant nickname was "covered in vermin."[ ] the imperial yeomanry were collectively called "innocent youths."[ ] does the history of the term uncle sam, now given for the first time, tend to support or to overthrow this explanation of the origin of the sobriquet? while the initials u. s. were well known in and , yet no doubt the war made them still more common. "the letters u. s.," explained the _troy post_ of september , , "on the government waggons, &c. are supposed to have given rise to it."[ ] on october , , a writer spoke of "uncle sam, the now popular explication of the u. s."[ ] by implication it may be inferred that this was the view of paulding in ,[ ] of abdy in ,[ ] and of an unknown englishman in .[ ] it was stated at the beginning of this paper that the history of nicknames usually follows one general course,--that those who, at the time of origin, perhaps know the real explanation do not record it, and that later people begin guessing. must it not be admitted that uncle sam is an exception to the rule? that those who first used the sobriquet did record its origin? and that the explanation they gave is the true explanation? footnotes: [ ] see brother jonathan, publications of the colonial society of massachusetts, vii, - . [ ] "she was called catalina, and, like all other vessels in that trade, except the ayacucho, her papers and colors were from uncle sam" (two years before the mast, , p. ). this extract is quoted in farmer and henley's slang and its analogues ( ), where it is dated . the preface to dana's book is dated july, . uncle sam was first recognized in in bartlett's dictionary of americanisms, whence it found its way into the edition of worcester and into subsequent dictionaries. [ ] the term does not appear in the following books, where, if known at all or in general use, it would be certain to turn up: j. k. paulding, the diverting history of john bull and brother jonathan, by hector bull-us, ; the beauties of brother bull-us, by his loving sister bull-a, (a reply to paulding's book); w. dunlap, yankee chronology, ; the wars of the gulls, ; paulding, the united states and england, ; the reviewers reviewed, ; d. humphrey, the yankey in england, . the first appearance of the term in a book was in the adventures of uncle sam, . see p. , below. besides these books, political skits (written largely in biblical language) were not uncommon in the newspapers. see _columbian centinel_ (boston), november , , p. - ; _the yankee_ (boston), august , , p. - ; _portsmouth oracle_, february , , p. - ; _columbian centinel_, march , , p. - . while john bull, brother jonathan, and john codline (that is, new englanders) figure in these skits, there is no allusion to uncle sam. it may be added that in his jonathan bull and mary bull, written in , madison makes no mention of uncle sam. [ ] view of the state of parties in the united states (second edition, ), p. . the author of this work gives january , as the date of williams's speech. the true date is january . see the _connecticut courant_ of february , , p. - . [ ] see _connecticut courant_, january , , p. - ; _portsmouth oracle_, june , , p. - ; _columbian centinel_, august , , p. - ; _new york herald_, august , , p. - ; the yankee in london, , p. . "general david r. williams," said the _portsmouth oracle_ of january , , "commonly called thunder and lightning david, has resigned his command, without sinking the fast anchored island" (p. - ). in the _lansingburgh gazette_ of december , , appeared the following: "'thunder & lightning' williams, formerly a member of congress, and lately for about a month a brigadier-general, is elected governor of south carolina" (p. - ). [ ] _new england palladium_, june , , p. . [ ] even as late as march , , the expression was still remembered. see _niles' register_ of that date, xxiv, . [ ] _columbian centinel_, february , , p. - . see also quincy's speeches delivered in the congress of the united states ( ), pp. , . in harper's encyclopædia of united states history ( ) will be found reproduced a caricature of quincy, described as follows: "in one caricature he was called 'josiah the first,' and had upon his breast, as the decoration of an order, crossed codfishes, in allusion to his persistent defence of the new england fisheries. he was also called 'king' because of his political domination in new england. in the caricature his coat was scarlet, his waistcoat brown, his breeches light green, and his stockings white. in a space near the head, in the original, were the words, 'i, josiah the first, do, by this royal proclamation, announce myself king of new england, nova scotia, and passamaquoddy, grand master of the noble order of the two codfishes'" (vii, ). [ ] _military monitor_ (new york), july , , i, . [ ] _aurora_ (philadelphia), october , , p. - . the following toast was given at passyunk in : "governor strong and orator fum--two peas of a pod. groans!" (_aurora_, july , , p. - ). [ ] _independent chronicle_ (boston), september , , p. - . in connection with quincy, it is perhaps worth while to quote the following, for the sake of what is apparently an unrecorded use of the term hand organ: "the _virginia argus_--one of mr. madison's hand organs--calls upon the federalists of the north to abandon quincy" (_columbian centinel_, august , , p. - ). [ ] _columbian centinel_, november , , p. - . [ ] _columbian centinel_, october , , p. - . [ ] the two anonymous addresses or letters, as they are sometimes called, written in march, , will be found in a collection of papers, relative to half-pay and commutation of half-pay, granted by congress to the officers of the army, fish-kill, , pp. - . in the _columbian centinel_ of july , , "brutus" asked: "as a friend to liberty and republicanism, i wish to inquire whether mr. _armstrong_ lately made a brigadier general in our army by president _madison_, is the same man, who has been supposed to have written the letters to the army in , advising them to retain their arms, till they had forced the civil authorities to comply with their demands, and compensated themselves by plundering the innocent and defenceless citizens?" (p. - ). in the _new york herald_ of january , , is the following: "_new secretary at war._--gen. armstrong's appointment has passed the senate by a majority of three. yesterday we mentioned that a captain jones of philadelphia, was appointed _secretary of the navy_. so that we have for a secretary of the navy a man who headed a philadelphia mob, to encourage the administration to pursue the war, and a secretary of the army, a man who exerted his best abilities to induce the heroes of the revolution to turn their arms against their own country. nothing was wanting to compleat the administration but a man for secretary of the treasury who once headed a rebellion, and they have him in albert gallatin" (p. - ). william jones was the new secretary of the navy. in the _new york herald_ of september , , is an extract taken from the _federal republican_ (of washington): "_appointments-in-petto_--bombastico inchiquin to be attorney general, vice marquis of whitewash, so long inimical in the cabinet to secretary mars.--_note_: this nomination can only be read, at present, by a _rush-light_. brigadier-general boanerges to be secretary of war, vice duke of newburgh, to be removed under the standing rescript of the virginia dynasty" (p. - ). "bombastico inchiquin" was charles j. ingersoll, author of inchiquin, the jesuit's letters ( ); the "marquis of whitewash" was apparently william pinckney; "rush-light" is an allusion to richard rush; while the identity of "brigadier general boanerges" escapes me. satirical allusions to the "virginia dynasty" were long common in the northern newspapers. in the _columbian centinel_ of february , , a correspondent said: "i was one of those who predicted in the year , that the _virginia_ dynasty, which was at that time coming into power therein ever after to remain, would violate the public faith then pledged to the public creditors" (p. - ). see also _new york evening post_, november, , p. - ; _columbian centinel_, november , , - ; _columbian centinel_, june , , p. - . [ ] a satirical poem called "an intercepted letter, from tall tommy to little jemmy" appeared in the _salem gazette_ of november , , p. - . [ ] "and it came to pass ... that there arose a mighty man in the land, called thomas, the magician, on account of his great skill and cunning in dark and mysterious projects" (adventures of uncle sam, , p. ). [ ] the yankee in london, , p. . [ ] see note , above. [ ] _new york herald_, april , , p. - . [ ] _connecticut courant_, january , , p. - . [ ] "the reins of government were now held by mundungus, the great tetrarch of the nation, the apostle and successor of the great conundrum" (the yankee in london, , p. ). [ ] _portsmouth oracle_, august , , p. - . in the _columbian centinel_ of january , , appeared these lines (p. - ): "then, soon will the country submit to the thing which we wanted--_to make_ madison _king_!" [ ] a poetical skit entitled "all tories together," which appeared in the _aurora_ of october , , began thus (p. - ): "oh! come in true jacobin trim, with birds of the same color'd feather, bring your plots and intrigues, uncle tim, and let's all be tories together." in the _northern centinel_ (burlington, vermont) of december , , appeared the following: "but, the bold _benevolents_ of vermont have lately smuggled from the enemy a governor of the true british stamp, and have placed him upon the throne of state. this must eclipse the boasted feats of _bulwark strong_, _uncle tim_, and _fi-fo-fum_, these three champions, will need something more than their own sagacity, to place them again in the front rank of toryism, nothing short of their smuggling out the duke of york and mrs. clark can raise these eastern heroes to a level with his majesty's brave subjects in vermont" (p. - ). the allusion is to the recent election by the legislature, there having been no election by the people, of martin chittenden as governor of vermont. by "benevolents" are meant members of the washington benevolent societies, then common. [ ] "the proclamation, dated "camp near buffalo," is printed in the _columbian centinel_ of november , , p. - . a parody on the proclamation, ending as follows, was printed in the _albany gazette_ of december , (p. - ): "and thus i close my _message_ with the name of alexander smyth! a gen'ral, _brigadier_, _inspector_, commander, conq'ror, and protector-- whose 'brock's _black reg'ment_' ne'er did fear yet, in _camp_ at buffalo, or _near_ it." sir isaac brock, to whom hull had capitulated, was killed at queenston on october , . the boasting proclamations issued by the american generals were a constant source of ridicule in the peace papers. in his proclamation of july , , general hull said: "had i any doubt of eventual success, i might ask your assistance, but i do not. i come prepared for any contingency--i have a force that will look down all opposition, and that force is but a vanguard of a much greater" (_columbian centinel_, august , , p. - ). the _portsmouth oracle_ of september , , spoke of hull's proclamation "to look down opposition" in canada (p. - ). the _connecticut courant_ of december , , said that hull "issued a look down proclamation to the affrighted canadians" (p. - ). the _manlius times_, quoted in the _new england palladium_ of october , , stated that "the _proclamation campaign_ has again commenced upon the niagara frontiers" (p. - ). in the _salem gazette_ of december , , appeared the following: "the same collectors will be employed next winter to execute the same duties _in the moon_, which, it is expected, will be 'looked down' during the next campaign!" (p. - ). on august , , hull ignominiously gave up himself, his army, and detroit, and incidentally enriched the language with a new verb. the surrender of burgoyne at saratoga, of lincoln at charleston, and of cornwall's at yorktown, had given rise to the words "burgoynade," "to burgoyne," "lincolnade," and "cornwallisade." the _connecticut courant_ of september , , said: "should gen. dearborn enter the territory, he ought, if he means not to be hull'd, or defeated, to have or , men" (p. - ). the _military monitor_ of october , , quoted the following from the _aurora_: "these facts show the absurdity of the idea of a force of , men marching to be hull-ed, in a country where , of their countrymen were once before burgoyned" (i, ). the _new hampshire gazette_ of april , , remarked: "from every section of the union, we hear of the march of troops and active preparations to open the campaign on the northern frontier with vigor and unless our gallant army is again _hulled_, the british flag will soon disappear from canada" (p. - ). the _new york herald_ of march , , quoted the following from a herkimer (new york) paper: "the prevailing opinion now is, that the campaign will be opened at niagara; some suppose detroit. if at the latter place, with the paltry force now marching in that direction, we shall most certainly get _hull'd_" (p. - ). [ ] _columbian centinel_, december , (p. - ). the following is taken from the _yankee_ (boston) of december , (p. - ): "_general smyth_--again. "how many militia and volunteers, with such generals as _hull_, _smyth_, et cetera, will conquer canada? "a yankee answer by another question--how many snow balls will heat an oven?" in the _columbian centinel_ of december , , appeared the following (p. - ): "a letter from _albany_, says, 'all the _generals_ from _canada_ are extremely mortified and crest-fallen. the boys at _buffalo_ form themselves into groups, and sing the following altered stanza of _yankee doodle_:'-- "'_when_ smythe _a_ brag_adier had got, he prov'd a darned coward-- he durst not go to_ canada _for fear of being devoured. _yankee doodle, doodle do-- yankee doodle dandy-- mind the_ back _step of the march-- and with your_ legs _be handy_.'" [ ] _salem gazette_, may , (p. - ). in the _salem gazette_ of november , , appeared a paragraph headed "braggardism! _wilkinson's glorious expedition to canada!_" (p. - ). the unsuccessful expedition into canada gave rise to an epigram printed in the _columbian centinel_ of december , : "_gen._ wilkinson's _late expedition_. with conquest how his bosom burn'd!-- he _went_--he _saw_--and then--_return'd_." [ ] "some of the _wildcats_ of congress," said the _columbian centinel_ of june , , "have gone home, unable to incur the awful responsibility of unnecessary _war_" (p. - ). [ ] _columbian centinel_, october , , p. - ; june , , p. - . [ ] _columbian centinel_, june , , p. - . [ ] _columbian centinel_, june , , p. - . [ ] _columbian centinel_, september , , p. - . [ ] quoted in the supplement to the _albany gazette_ of november , (p. - ). the term was sometimes used attributively. thus we hear of "the war-hawk government" (_columbian centinel_, september , , p. - ); of "the war-hawk party" (_portsmouth oracle_, january , , p. - ); of "the war-hawk rulers" (_columbian centinel_, september , , p. - ); and of "our war-hawk selectmen" (_connecticut courant_, august , , p. - ). [ ] in a speech on the admission of the territory of orleans, delivered in congress on january , , josiah quincy declared it as his "deliberate opinion that, if this bill passes, ... it will be the duty of some" of the states "to prepare definitely for a separation--amicably, if they can; violently, if they must" (speeches, , p. ). while this remark has become historic, it is almost invariably misquoted. in a speech made in congress on january , , henry clay, referring to quincy, said: "the gentleman can not have forgotten his own sentiments, uttered even on the floor of this house, 'peaceably if we can, forcibly if we must'" (works, , v, ). it is the clay version that has become a familiar quotation. in the _boston herald_ of november , , appeared the following: "in a signed article in the huntsville, ala., _mercury_, r. t. bentley, a well-known man, says: "'it appearing that theodore roosevelt, the head and front of the republican party, which represents the dangerous policies of civilization, protective tariff, imperialism and social equality, has been elected president of the united states by a strictly sectional vote, and has established an insurmountable barrier between the north and south, i feel constrained to express my humble opinion, as a true and patriotic american citizen of the south, that if the republican party should continue its dangerous policies for the next yrs. and should triumph in the next national election, that the states which voted for a. b. parker should secede from the union and by force of arms resist an oppression which means the early fall of our great republic.'" at the present day such a statement merely excites amusement, as no one takes it seriously; but in it was different. [ ] _aurora_, july , , p. - . [ ] _portsmouth oracle_, august , , p. - . [ ] _aurora_, july , . [ ] caleb strong was one of the twenty-eight "barristers and attornies at law" who addressed gage on july , (_boston news-letter_, july , , p. - ). those who addressed gage on his departure in october, , were of course loyalists; but the addresses to gage on his arrival in were signed by both loyalists and ardent patriots. perhaps no one received harder blows from his opponents in the war of than strong. the following toast was given at bernardston, massachusetts: "the governor of massachusetts. in the loyal addresser of gage, in and the eulogist and special pleader of the 'bulwark of our religion'" (_aurora_, august , , p. - ). at pittsfield, massachusetts: "caleb strong--the man, who by cunning concealment and tory prevarication, would endeavor to reason away the rights of his country, is unworthy of its confidence" (_aurora_, july , , p. ). at passyunk: "execration to the hoary head traitorous vindicator of the barbarities of the monstrous government of england: his treason is only equal to his cowardice; 'england has done us no essential injury:' you lie you v----" (_aurora_, july , , p. - ). there is an expression in the last toast that has a familiar sound at the present day. [ ] _aurora_, august , , p. - . [ ] _aurora_, july , , p. - . [ ] _national intelligencer_ (washington), july , , p. - . [ ] _military monitor_, april , , i, . the following amusing paragraph may be quoted here: "_remarkable incident._--on the th of july, , general chandler gave as a toast at _augusta_:--'the th of july --may we on that day _drink wine within the walls of quebec_!' on this same th of july he was within the walls of _quebec_ (a prisoner) and from the known hospitality of the citizens of that place we have no doubt his wish was literally gratified" (_columbian centinel_, july , , p. - ). [ ] _columbian centinel_, march , , p. - . [ ] _columbian centinel_, july , , p. - . [ ] _bee_ (hudson), july , , p. - . [ ] _massachusetts spy_, july , , p. - . it is curious to see how history repeats itself. between and his death, president mckinley was sometimes alluded to as "william i." in the _boston herald_ of january , , we read of "kaiser theodore," and in the same paper of november , , of "theodore i." just as monroe was alluded to in as "the heir apparent," so now the same term is applied to secretary taft. see _nation_, august , , lxxxv, ; _boston herald_, november , , p. - ; _boston evening transcript_, december , ; _boston herald_, march , , p. - . even the word "imperial" is not new to our politics. in the _new york herald_ of may , , it was satirically said that "the _bewilderification_ of the enemy, on beholding our imperial standard, baffles all description" (p. - ). two examples of the spreadeagleism of the times will prove amusing. the following toast was given at waterville, maine, on july , : "_the eagle of the united states_--'may she extend her wings from the _atlantic_ to the _pacific_; and fixing her talons on the _isthmus of darien_, stretch with her beak to the _northern pole_'" (_salem gazette_, july , , p. - ). capt. ross bird of the united states army having been placed under arrest and bereft of his sword, he sent in his resignation, in part as follows: "in leaving the service, i am not abandoning the cause of republicanism, but yet hope to brandish the glittering steel in the field, and carve my way to a name which shall prove my country's neglect; and when this mortal part shall be closetted in the dust, and the soul shall wing its flight for the regions above, in passing by the palefaced moon, i shall hang my hat upon brilliant mars, and make a report to each superlative star--and arriving at the portals of heaven's high chancery, shall demand of the attending angel to be ushered into the presence of washington" (_new york herald_, november , , p. - ). [ ] _new york herald_, july , , p. - . [ ] two may be specified. the following is taken from the _new york herald_ of april , : "_fracas at albany._--by the passengers in the steam boat we are informed, that a fracas took place in albany last wednesday [april ], between col. peter b. porter and john lovett, esq., occasioned by some publications which have been made relative to the affair between col. s. van rensselaer and col. porter. it is said col. porter, after some high words had passed, attacked mr. lovett with a cane, on which mr. lovett closed in with him and was like to demolish him, when some of the by-standers interfered and put an end to the contest" (p. - ). the other case, curiously enough, concerns a man of whom we shall hear later in connection with the alleged origin of uncle sam. in the _albany gazette_ of september , , appeared this (p. - ): "the following note has been handed to us by mr. butler--we do not intend to prejudge the cause of dispute by its insertion. the _gazette_ will be freely open to mr. anderson. "elbert anderson, jun. contractor u. s. army, is a base _villain_, a _liar_ and a _coward_. james butler. " th _september_, ." anderson and butler apparently had a hand to hand scrimmage at plattsburgh, for in the _albany gazette_ of september , , was printed a communication in part as follows (p. - ): "_albany_, th, _sept._ . "messrs. websters and skinners, "a publication having appeared in your paper, during the absence of the contractor, signed '_james butler_,' a friend to the former gentleman, who was an eye witness to the fracas at plattsburgh, requests you to publish the following statement from the _plattsburgh republican_, of the th inst.... "a rash man has applied to the contractor for the army, epithets of a libellous and scurrilous nature.... "_plattsburgh, sept. , ._" so far as i have noted, the incident closed with the publication in the _albany gazette_ of october , , of a card from butler dated lansingburgh, september , stating that the writer of the above letter was "an infamous liar" (p. - ). [ ] see _new hampshire gazette_, september , , ; _new york herald_, august , , ; _columbian centinel_, december , . [ ] _massachusetts spy_, december , , p. - . [ ] it will be remembered that until maine was part of massachusetts. [ ] quoted in the _national intelligencer_ (washington), june , , p. - . [ ] i do not know what act is meant. [ ] quoted in the _new york herald_, october , , p. - . i have been unable to find a copy of the _lansingburgh gazette_ containing the extract. [ ] quoted in the _columbian centinel_, october , , p. - . [ ] the words "more or less" apparently occurred in the official accounts of the capture of york in april, , but i have not been able to discover in exactly what connection. at all events, they caused much fun in the peace papers. "one dead indian, 'more or less,'" said the _new york herald_ of july , , p. - . "_wanted_," declared the _columbian centinel_ of december , , "about five hundred ('more or less') able-bodied, stout-hearted _real americans_, to collect our _land tax_ in our territory of canada" (p. - ). [ ] quoted in the _connecticut courant_, february , , p. - . the same passage is quoted in the _massachusetts spy_ of february , , p. - , and february , p. - , except that in both instances the words "'uncle sam's' hard bargains" are omitted. [ ] quoted in the _salem gazette_, february , , p. - . see p. , note , above. [ ] quoted in the _new york spectator_, may , , p. - . the passage was also printed in the _massachusetts spy_ of may , , p. - . [ ] quoted in the _portsmouth oracle_, may , , p. - . the story of the wagon which started with forty bushels of corn, related by timothy pickering, was reprinted in the _massachusetts spy_ of may , , p. - , but "uncle sam" is omitted. [ ] quoted in the _columbian centinel_, june , , p. - . [ ] quoted in the _new york herald_, november , , p. - . [ ] the story was reprinted in the _new york herald_ of december , , p. - . [ ] quoted in the _new york herald_, december , , p. - . [ ] the extract was reprinted in the _portsmouth oracle_ of january , , p. - ; and in the _connecticut courant_ of february , , p. - . [ ] quoted in the _salem gazette_, january , , p. - ; _portsmouth oracle_, february , p. - ; _connecticut courant_, february , p. - . [ ] supplement to _niles' register_, vii, . that volume ended with the issue of february , . [ ] supplement to _niles' register_, ix, . that volume ended with the issue of february , . the _albany register_ of december , , advertised a play, farce, and "naval pillar" to take place at the theatre the following evening "in honor of the memorable naval conflict on lake champlain, fought on the glorious eleventh of september" (p. - ). the song in the text may have been written for that occasion, though it is not mentioned in the advertisement. [ ] see p. , above. [ ] there are constant allusions in the newspapers to greenbush. the _connecticut courant_ of september , , printed an extract dated pittsfield, september : "_democratic economy._--within a few days past, several waggon loads of _vinegar_ and _molasses_ have passed through this village, on the way from boston to greenbush, near albany. these articles were purchased at boston for the use of the troops at greenbush. the vinegar cost the government five dollars per barrel, in boston; and according to the statement of the teamsters, the expence of transportation would be much more than the first cost. now we are told, and we believe correctly, that vinegar can be purchased in albany at less than four dollars per barrel. and we presume that molasses can be bought in albany and new-york, as cheap as in boston.--why, then, this enormous expence of transportation!--so goes the people's money!" (p. - ). [ ] as late as february, , the editor of a baltimore paper thought it necessary to explain the meaning of the term. see p. , note , above. the newspapers throughout the war literally swarm with allusions to john bull, yankee, yankee doodle, and brother jonathan. on the other hand, no allusion to uncle sam has yet been found before september, , while from then until i have encountered less than thirty examples, all of which are quoted or cited in the present paper either in text or footnotes. this statement is based on an examination of newspapers published during - in portsmouth, salem, boston, worcester, hartford, troy, albany, new york, philadelphia, baltimore, and washington. [ ] as this tract of pages is apparently rare, i give the title: "the adventures of uncle sam, in search after his lost honor. by frederick augustus fidfaddy, esq., member of the legion of honor, scratch-etary to uncle sam, and privy counsellor to himself. middletown: printed by seth richards. ." it was copyrighted may , . [ ] jefferson. [ ] the canadians. [ ] henry a. proctor, the british general. [ ] adventures of uncle sam, pp. , , , , , , , . [ ] see p. , note , above. [ ] letters from the south written during an excursion in the summer of , ( ), ii, , , . [ ] memorable days in america ( ), p. . see also pp. , , , , , , , . [ ] _niles' register_, xxi, . see also xxi, , . [ ] sketches, p. . in her southern tour, published in , mrs. royall wrote: "besides the collector [at the custom house, new orleans], they have ... clerks, gaugers, inspectors, &c. most of these were as shabby a set of gawks, as ever disgraced uncle sam" (p. ). [ ] this singular expression, now obsolete or obsolescent, was common in the first half of the nineteenth century. it was originally the slang of the boatmen on the mississippi and other western rivers. see c. schultz, jr., travels ( ), ii, , . the _salem gazette_ of june , , a few days before war was declared with england, printed the following: "curious terms of defiance, new-orleans april . '_half horse half alligator_'--has hitherto been the boast of our up-country boatmen, when quarreling. the present season however has made a complete change. a few days ago two of them quarreled in a boat at natchez, when one of them jumping ashore declared with a horrid oath that he was a _steamboat_. his opponent immediately followed him, swearing he was an _earthquake_ and would shake him to pieces--and in fact almost literally executed his threat." the _salem gazette_ added "it is these monsters of the western wilds that are forcing the people of the atlantic shores into an unnecessary and ruinous war" (p. - ). [ ] _new york mirror_, february , , viii, , . the indefatigable paulding contributed to the _united states and democratic review_ for april, , an article called "uncle sam and his 'b'hoys,'" from which the following is extracted: "uncle sam talks 'big' sometimes, like his old dad, squire bull, who was reckoned the greatest bragger of his day, till uncle sam grew up and disputed the point with him" (xxviii, ). [ ] tour to the north and down east, p. . uncle sam had previously figured in the narrative of the life of david crockett ( ), p. . [ ] the rambler in america, i, . [ ] journal of a residence and tour in the united states, ii, . [ ] letters from the frontiers ( ), p. . see also p. . this is the first use of the term by an army officer that i have noted. [ ] bentley's miscellany, iv, , . [ ] diary in america, ii, , . [ ] the clockmaker; or the sayings and doings of samuel slick, of slickville, first appeared in the columns of the _nova scotian_ in - , and was first published in book form at halifax in . in a conversation supposed to have taken place between edward everett and sam slick, the latter remarked: "well, i don't know, said i, but somehow or another, i guess you'd found preaching the best speculation in the long run; them are unitarians pay better than uncle sam (we call, said the clockmaker, the american public uncle sam, as you can the british, john bull)" (the clockmaker, second edition, concord, , p. ). mr. robert g. haliburton relates this anecdote of judge haliburton: "on his arrival in london, the son of lord abinger (the famous sir james scarlett) who was confined to his bed, asked him to call on his father, as there was a question which he would like to put to him. when he called, his lordship said, 'i am convinced that there is a veritable sam slick in the flesh now selling clocks to the bluenoses. am i right?' 'no,' replied the judge, 'there is no such person. he was a pure accident. i never intended to describe a yankee clockmaker or yankee dialect; but sam slick slipped into my book before i was aware of it, and once there he was there to stay'" (in haliburton: a centenary chaplet, toronto, , pp. , ). [ ] book of the navy, pp. , . the story occurs in the "naval anecdotes" in the appendix. some of the stories and songs in this appendix appear in the supplement to _niles' register_, , ix; but the wilson story is not there. as an illustration of the extraordinary changes undergone in repetition, i give the story as it was printed in by brewer in his dictionary of phrase and fable: "sam. _uncle sam._ the united states government. mr. frost tells us that the inspectors of elbert anderson's store on the hudson were ebenezer and his uncle samuel wilson, the latter of whom superintended in person the workmen, and went by the name of 'uncle sam.' the stores were marked e.a.--u.s. (_elbert anderson_, _united states_), and one of the employers being asked the meaning, said u. s. stood for 'uncle sam.' the joke took, and in the war of independence the men carried it with them, and it became stereotyped" (p. ). brewer goes on to say: "_to stand sam._ to be made to pay the reckoning. this is an americanism, and arose from the letters u. s. on the knapsacks of the soldiers. the government of uncle sam has to pay or 'stand sam' for all. (_see above._)" in de vere wrote: "in the army, it seems, even this designation [i. e. uncle sam] was deemed too full and formal, and, as early as the year , it became a familiar saying among soldiers, to _stand sam_, whenever drinks or refreshments of any kind had to be paid for. as they were accustomed to see _uncle sam_ pay for all their wants, to _stand sam_, became to their minds equivalent to the ordinary slang phrase: to stand treat" (p. ). in j. maitland said: "sam, 'to stand sam' (amer.), to stand treat" (american slang dictionary, p. ). and in j. m. dixon wrote: "sam.--_to stand sam_--to entertain friends; to pay for refreshments. u. sam is a contraction for 'uncle sam,' a jocular name for the u. s. government. the phrase, therefore, originally means to pay all expenses, as the government does" (dictionary of idiomatic english phrases, p. ). brewer's statement, having been adopted by several writers, requires consideration. as a matter of fact, not only is the phrase "to stand sam"--meaning "to be answerable for," "to become surety for," "to pay the reckoning," or "to pay for the drinks,"--not an americanism, but it has never, so far as i know, even been employed in this country. the words "sam" and "sammy" have been used in various senses in english dialects for a hundred and thirty years, an instance dated being recorded in the english dialect dictionary. to the examples of "upon my sam," an expletive, quoted in the same work from frank's nine days ( ), p. , and zack's on trial ( ), p. , may be added another from r. marsh's tom ossington's ghost ( ), p. . "sammy," meaning "foolish, silly," was recognized as early as in pierce egan's edition of grose's classical dictionary; and examples dated and are quoted in farmer and henley's slang and its analogues ( ). the expression "to stand sam" or "to stand sammy" is recognized in halliwell's dictionary of archaic and provincial words ( ), in wright's dictionary of obsolete and provincial english ( ), in hotten's dictionary of modern slang, cant, and vulgar words ( ), in barrère and leland's dictionary of slang, jargon & cant ( ), in farmer and henley's slang and its analogues ( ), and in the english dialect dictionary. "landlady," wrote moncrieff in , "serve them with a glass of tape, all round; and i'll stand sammy" (tom and jerry, iii, ). besides this extract, farmer and henley quote others from ainsworth's rookwood ( ), hindley's cheap jack ( ), black's white heather ( ), henley's villon's good-night ( ), licensed victuallers' _gazette_ ( ), and milliken's 'arry ballads ( ); and to these may be added others from _punch_, august , , lxxxi, , and from w. de morgan's joseph vance ( ), p. . every known example is from a british author. during the ascendancy of the know-nothing party, however, the word "sam" was used in this country for a brief period. "the allusion," wrote farmer in , "is to uncle sam, the national sobriquet, the know nothings claiming that in a nation mostly made up of immigrants, only native-born citizens should possess and exercise privileges and powers" (americanisms old and new, p. ). "the name," said h. f. reddall in , "contains, of course, an allusion to 'uncle sam,' the personification of the government of the united states" (fact, fancy, and fable, p. ). a few examples may be given. in a letter dated randolph, pennsylvania, july , , a correspondent said: "i take it for granted that you are with us heart and hand in the new movement known as 'know somethings;' but i believe quite as readily recognized under the yankee cognomen, 'jonathan.' the order is fully organized in this state, and is progressing finely. all the secret organizations therefore of this character are blended, and _e. pluribus unum_. the 'sams' are going over _en masse_, and although some of our election returns may be credited to sam, yet i assure you that all candidates elect are the workmanship of jonathan. sam is dead! plucked up by the roots! buried in cotton!" (_kansas herald of freedom_, august , , p. - ). on february , , congressman samuel carruthers wrote: "i went twice (and but twice), into their [know-nothing] councils. i 'saw sam.' it took two visits to see him all over. i made them. i saw enough and determined never to see his face again" (in h. j. desmond's know-nothing party, , p. ). in governor wise of virginia wrote to a committee of the tammany society: "as to your other motto--'civil and religious liberty'--ours was saved by the virginia democracy in . we struck the dark lantern out of the hands of ineffable sam, and none now are found so poor as 'hurrah!' for him" (_new york tribune_, january , , p. - ). in h. j. desmond remarked: "those inducted into the first degree do not appear to have been informed as to the name of the order. they were brought into 'the august presence of sam.'... in illinois the know-nothing order split into two factions, 'the sams' insisting upon an anti-catholic program and 'the jonathans' proposing not to antagonize catholics who owed no civil allegiance as distinguished from spiritual allegiance to the pope. the jonathans triumphed" (know-nothing party, pp. , ). exactly what the know-nothings meant by "sam" is not apparent from these extracts; but fortunately the question need not further detain us. one more statement may be considered here. in a. s. palmer remarked: "sambo, the ordinary nickname for a negro, often mistaken as a pet name formed from _sam, samuel_, ... is really borrowed from his spanish appellation _zambo_,.... a connexion was sometimes imagined perhaps with _uncle sam_, a popular name for the united states" (folk-etymology, pp. , ). it may be doubted whether any one has ever seriously advanced the notion that sambo is formed from sam or samuel, or that there is a connection between sambo and uncle sam. "this _negre sambo_ comes to me," wrote r. ligon in , "and seeing the needle wag, desired to know the reason of its stirring" (true & exact history of the island of barbados, pp. , , ). before we read of "sambo negro helping caring goods" (new england historical and genealogical register, xxxiv, ). in the _boston news-letter_ of october , , an advertisement stated that "there is a negro man taken up ... calls himself _sambo_" (p. - ). in "sambo a negro servant" was married to hagar (new england historical and genealogical register, xxxviii, ). in the _boston gazette_ of july , , "a negro man named _sambo_" was advertised as a runaway (p. - ). in the _massachusetts spy_ of february , , we read: "the moan of the poor black man interrupted the sweet song of the mocking bird. we could not distinguish all the voices that rose from the field, but the ear caught a fragment of the poor negro's song:--the lash of the driver forced a scream of anguish that moment from sambo, and we heard no more" (p. - ). [ ] watson's version of is as follows: "while on this subject, it may be as well to give a passing notice of another national name just growing into common use--we mean the term '_uncle sam_,' which first came into use in the time of the last war with england; but the cause of its origin is still unknown to millions of our people.--the name grew out of the letters e. a.--u. s., marked upon the army provisions, barrelled up at troy, for the contractor, elbert anderson, and implied the initials of his name, and u. s. for the united states. in happened that these provisions were inspected there by samuel wilson, usually called, among his hired men, '_uncle sam_.' one of his workmen, on being asked the meaning of the letters, e. a.--u.s., replied, archly, it meant elbert anderson and uncle sam--(wilson). the joke went round merrily among the men, some of whom going afterwards to the frontiers, and there partaking of the very provisions they had assisted to pack and mark, still adhered to calling it uncle sam; and as every thing else of the army appointments bore also the letters u. s., uncle sam became a ready name, first for all that appertained to the united states, and, finally, for the united states itself--a _cognomen_ which is as likely to be perpetuated, as that of john bull for old england" (annals of philadelphia and pennsylvania, ii, ). watson's version of differed slightly from the above: "_uncle sam_, is another national appellation applied to us, by ourselves, and which, as it is growing into popular use, and was first used at _troy_, new york, it may be interesting to explain, to wit: the name grew out of the letters e. a. u. s. marked upon the army provisions, barrelled up at troy, during the last war with england, under the contract of elbert anderson; and implied his name, and u. s. the united states. the inspector of those provisions, was samuel wilson, who was usually called by the people, _uncle sam_. it so happened that one of the workmen, being asked the meaning of the initials on the casks, &c., waggishly replied, they meant elbert anderson and _uncle sam_--wilson. the joke took; and afterwards, when some of the same men were on the frontiers, and saw the same kind of provisions arriving to their use, they would jocosely say, here comes uncle sam. from thence it came to pass, that whenever they saw the initials u. s., on any class of stores, they were equally called uncle sam's; and finally, it came by an easy transition, to be applied to the united states itself" (annals and occurrences of new york city and state, p. ). the bibliography of watson's books on philadelphia and new york requires a note. in he published, in one volume, annals of philadelphia, being a collection of memoirs, anecdotes & incidents of the city and its inhabitants from the days of the pilgrim founders. (collation: title, p.; copyright, p.; advertisement, pp. iii, iv; preface, pp. v-vii; contents, pp. viii-xii; annals of philadelphia, pp. - ; appendix: containing olden time researches & reminiscences, of new york city, pp. - .) in he published historic tales of olden time: concerning the early settlement and advancement of new york city and state. in he published historic tales of olden time, concerning the early settlement and progress of philadelphia and pennsylvania. in he published, in two volumes, annals of philadelphia and pennsylvania, in the olden time; being a collection of memoirs, anecdotes, and incidents of the city and its inhabitants, and of the earliest settlements of the inland part of pennsylvania, from the days of the founders. this work was copyrighted in , though the title page bears the date . in the advertisement, which is dated july, , watson says: "the reader will please observe, that this work having been _closed in manuscript_, in , that therefore, all reference to any given number of years back, respecting things passed or done so many '_years ago_,' is to be understood as counting backward _from the year_ " (p. xi). in he published annals and occurrences of new york city and state, in the olden time. in he published, in two volumes, annals of philadelphia and pennsylvania, in the olden time. this edition contains some matter not in the edition. finally, in , willis p. hazard published, in three volumes, the annals of philadelphia and pennsylvania, the first two volumes being identical with the edition of watson's work, the third volume an addition by hazard. the uncle sam story first appeared in the edition of annals of philadelphia and pennsylvania (ii, ); and in the edition of annals and occurrences of new york city and state, in the olden time (p. ), though the two accounts, as seen above, differ somewhat. [ ] in mr. weise gave the following account: "among the well known citizens of troy in , was samuel wilson. being one of the first settlers, and besides having a kind and benevolent disposition, he won the esteem and affection of everybody in the village, and was more generally designated as uncle sam than by his proper name. it is related that on one occasion his youngest son wandered away from home and was lost. a gentleman found him crying in a strange place, and asked him whose boy he was, and received for an answer, that he was uncle sam's boy. by this appellation the father was readily recognized and he was returned to his parents. during the military operations along the northern border in the war of , samuel and ebenezer wilson were engaged in an extensive slaughtering business, employing about one hundred men, and were slaughtering weekly more than one thousand head of cattle. during this year, he and his brother received a contract from elbert anderson, jr., an army contractor, to supply the troops stationed at greenbush with beef, 'packed in full bound barrels of white oak.' samuel wilson was also appointed at this time inspector of beef for the army, and was accustomed in this line of duty to mark all the barrels of meat passing his inspection with the abbreviated title u. s. of the united states. in the army at the cantonment at greenbush, there were a number of soldiers who had enlisted in troy, and to whom 'uncle sam' and his business were well known. the beef received from troy, they always alluded to as uncle sam's beef, and the other soldiers without any inquiry began to recognize the letters u. s. as the initial designation of uncle sam. a contractor from the northern lines strengthened this impression thereafter, when, purchasing a large quantity of beef in troy, he advertised that he had received a supply of uncle sam's beef of a superior quality. the name 'uncle sam,' a few only knowing its derivation, became in a little while the recognized familiar designation of the united states, and is now as well known to the world as is the appellation john bull" (history of the city of troy, p. ). mr. weise's version of , differing somewhat from the above, is as follows: "among the contractors supplying the army of the north with provisions was elbert anderson, jr., who, on october st, advertised in the troy and albany newspapers for proposals for 'two thousand barrels of prime pork and three hundred barrels of prime beef,' to be delivered to him in the months of january, february, march, and april, at waterford, troy, albany, and new york. ebenezer and samuel wilson, who were then extensively engaged in slaughtering cattle in the village, contracted to furnish him a quantity of beef 'packed in full-bound barrels of white oak.' from time to time they delivered it at the camp at greenbush, where the soldiers from troy designated it as 'uncle sam's,' implying that it was furnished by samuel wilson, whom they and other people of the village were accustomed to call 'uncle sam.' the other recruits, thinking that the term was applied to the letters u. s., stamped upon the barrels by the government inspector of beef, began using the appellation 'uncle sam' figuratively for the united states, in the same way that the name 'john bull' is used to designate the english nation" (troy's one hundred years, p. ). mr. weise also gave the story in his city of troy and its vicinity ( ), p. . [ ] these of course need not be specified. in the _boston daily advertiser_ of april , , was printed an article headed "origin of the term uncle sam. a story that is vouched for by rev. g. f. merriam--the original 'uncle sam' house." it is in part as follows: "sterling, apr. .--rev. g. f. merriam of mt. kisco, n. y., who is in sterling as a guest of his son and daughter, told a story of the origin of the term 'uncle sam,' as applied to the united states. he said a farm in mason, n. h., belonging to the estate of mrs. persis wilson, who died recently, and which estate he was engaged in settling, was the birthplace and boyhood home of uncle samuel wilson, who was the original 'uncle sam.' the story, vouched for by rev. mr. merriam, ... is this:--samuel wilson was one of a family of children, ... and he and his younger brother, edward, located when they were young men, in albany, n. y., and at the time of the war of , became extensive contractors for government supplies. they were at this time well known in the vicinity of albany as 'uncle sam' and 'uncle ned.' the packages of supplies when sent away to united states government supply depots, were marked 'u.s.,' and people sometimes questioned what those magic letters stood for. they were told that as the packages came from uncle sam wilson, they of course meant 'uncle sam,' and from this little thing the name spread, until the government itself was referred to as uncle sam. the farm where these men lived as boys, fell into the hands of another brother, capt. thomas wilson, and then to his son, deacon j. b. wilson, who died several years since, and his widow, mrs. persis wilson, lived there until her death last winter. rev. mr. merriam was a particular friend of the family, and as executor is attending to the sale of the property. the house contains many relics ... and many historic articles, the sale of which, apr. , will doubtless attract many of the curiosity hunters. the original 'uncle sam' house is standing, although a new house has been erected near by, and everything is to be sold" (p. - ). edward wilson was older than either ebenezer or samuel. a letter addressed in to the rev. mr. merriam brought no reply. [ ] see p. , note , above. [ ] _albany gazette_, october , , p. - . the same advertisement appeared in the _troy post_, of october , p. - , of october , p. - , and of october , pp. - ; and in the _new york herald_ of january , , p. - , though in the last the advertisement was dated october . i have noted several other references to anderson. in the _new york evening post_ of october , , appeared the following: "[index] col. mapes and the officers under his command, in behalf of their men, return thanks to elbert anderson, junr. esq. for his liberal present of bushels of potatoes, boxes of chocolate, and box of tea--also, a waggon load of potatoes from saml. hobart and stephen striker, on behalf of the inhabitants of gravesend; ..." (p. - ). in the _albany gazette_ of december , , was printed a letter from anderson himself (p. - ): "_messrs. websters and skinners_, "a statement having appeared in your paper, purporting to be the substance of a declaration made by col thorn, that 'two or three thousand barrels of provisions have been deposited within a mile and a half of the canada line.' as that statement may mislead the public and invite the enemy to encroachments, i beg leave to state thro your paper, that there is not more provisions deposited or left near the line than is sufficient for the subsistence of the men there stationed for the winter: the surplus being removed, to my certain knowledge, to burlington, and other places of presumed safety, and i believe the same care and prudent precaution has been taken as respects the munitions of war that were at champlain. "elbert anderson, jun. "_albany, dec. , ._ _army contractor._" [ ]this statement is made in j. b. hill's history of mason ( ), p. ; but there is no record of his birth in the vital records of arlington ( ). [ ] lucy francis was born march , - (vital records of medford, , p. ), and died at mason, december , . [ ] for the wilsons, see, besides the books by mr. weise cited above, hill's history of mason, p. ; cutter's history of arlington ( ), p. ; vital records of arlington, pp. , . edward and lucy wilson had thirteen children. [ ] _northern budget_, september , , p. - ; september , p. - ; october , p. - . the same advertisement, except that the date was changed to september , appeared in the _troy gazette_ of september , , p. - . [ ] the notice was repeated in the _troy post_ of october , , and . the business of the firm was dry goods and groceries. in spite of the dissolution of partnership, the advertisement of wilson, mann & co., dated may , , appeared in the _troy post_ of october , . james mann, who continued the business, was a son of benjamin mann of keene, new hampshire. several years ago i had a correspondence with mrs. louise benson, a descendant of benjamin mann. mrs. benson merely spoke of the existence in her family of the tradition about the wilson story, but was unable to give me any new facts. [ ] the _troy post_ of june , , (p. - ), contained a notice of the marriage on june of elizabeth wilson, a daughter of ebenezer wilson, and the rev. james ogilvie of new york. [ ] quoted in the _troy sentinel_, july , , p. - . mr. barton kindly sent me the same notice copied from the _albany argus_ of july , . in his collections on the history of albany, published in , joel munsell quoted (ii, ), under the head of "beef packing in albany," an article taken from _knickerbocker_ containing this passage: "in albany was not only a great cattle packing centre, but the same was true of troy, waterford, lansingburgh and catskill. uncle eb. wilson was at catskill; perry and judson at albany: c. p. ives, lansingburgh; and capt. turner at batestown, near troy." when this passage was written it is impossible to say, as munsell does not specify the volume or date of _knickerbocker_, a magazine which began publication in . as, however, the writer specifies the year , it is certain that his "uncle eb. wilson" was not identical with our ebenezer wilson; but the coincidence in name is worth recording. [ ] in the library of our society and in that of the new york historical society i have found various troy and albany newspapers, but those files were very incomplete. at my request, miss wheeler of the troy public library searched for me the files owned by that library: and i am indebted to her for several valuable and interesting extracts. [ ] _troy daily budget_, august , , p. - . other notices of samuel wilson appeared in the troy papers. "[index]died--samuel wilson, aged eighty eight years, died this morning at his residence ferry street. the deceased was one of the oldest inhabitants of this city. he came to troy about the year , and consequently had resided here years. he was about the last of those termed 'first settlers.' mr. w. purchased the lands east of the city, now owned by messers. vail and warren, and occupied by them for farming purposes till about . he then sold them all, except about four acres, upon which his present residence stands. he has been one of the most active business men of the community, and we can truly say that he was an honest and upright man" (_troy daily times_, july , p. - ). "[index]samuel b. wilson, another of our oldest citizens, died at his residence on ferry st. hill this morning. he was about or years of age" (_troy daily budget_, july , p. - ). "b." is evidently a printer's error. "[index]_samuel wilson_, aged , died yesterday morning at his residence ferry street. mr. wilson was one of the oldest inhabitants of the city" (_troy daily traveller_, august , p. - ). "died. on monday morning, samuel wilson, in the th year of his age. his relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend his funeral this (tuesday) afternoon at o'clock, at his late residence, no. ferry-st." (_troy daily traveller_, august, , p. - ). "died. in this city, july , mr. samuel wilson, aged years. funeral services will be held this (tuesday) afternoon at o'clock, at his late residence, ferry st." (_troy daily whig_, august , p. - ). the hasty burial may have been due to the fact that cholera was then raging in troy. see _troy daily traveller_, august and . it will be observed that in the above notices, written for the troy papers, there is no allusion to the uncle sam story. in the _albany evening journal_ of august , , appeared the following, which i copy from the _new york tribune_ of august : "'uncle sam.'--the death of samuel wilson, an aged, worthy and formerly enterprising citizen of troy, will remind those who were familiar with incidents of the war of , of the origin of the popular subriequet [_sic_] for the 'united states.' mr. wilson, who was an extensive packer, had the contract for supplying the northern army with beef and pork. he was everywhere known and spoken of as 'uncle sam,' and the 'u.s.' branded on the heads of barrels for the army were at first taken to be the initials for 'uncle sam' wilson, but finally lost their local significance and became, throughout the army, the familiar term for 'united states.' the wilsons were among the earliest and most active citizens of troy. 'uncle sam,' who died yesterday, was years old" (p. - ). the same notice was printed in the _troy daily budget_ of august , p. - ; and in the _troy daily whig_ of august , p. - . in the new england historical and genealogical register for october, , was printed the following: "wilson, mr. samuel, troy, n. y. july, _æ._ . it was from this gentleman that the united states received the name of _uncle sam_. it came in this way,--mr. wilson had extensive contracts for supplying the army with pork and beef, in the war of . he was then familiarly known as _uncle sam_ wilson. his brand upon his barrels was of course u. s. the transition from united states to _uncle sam_ was so easy, that it was at once made, and the name of the packer of the u. s. provisions was immediately transferred to the government, and became familiar, not only throughout the army, but the whole country" (viii, ). [ ] _albany gazette_, september , , p. - ; october , p. - . the troy papers of september and october, , have been searched in vain for this advertisement. it is of course possible that the wilson of the firm of wilson and kinnicut of albany was samuel wilson of troy, but it would be rash to assert their identity. the name kinnicut does not appear in the albany directory for , the first published. an advertisement dated july , , in regard to "fresh goods just received by pierce & kinnicut," was printed in the _troy northern budget_ of september , (p. - ); and in a previous issue of the same paper occurred the name of robert s. kinnicut. a notice, dated december , , of the dissolution by mutual consent of partnership of the firm of r. s. kinnicut and zebina sturtevant was printed in the _albany register_ of june , , (p. - ). in the albany directory for appeared the name of "sturdivant, zebina, grocer" (munsell's annals of albany, , v. ). [ ] the albany directory for contained the names of ishmael wilson, laborer; newman wilson, teamster; samuel wilson, potter; and widow martha wilson, teacher. samuel wilson was a constable in the second ward. (munsell's annals of albany, v. , .). mrs. jane wilson, wife of samuel wilson, globe manufacturer, died may , . (munsell's annals of albany, , vii, .) samuel wilson, of the firm of james wilson & son, died at schodack on august , . (munsell's annals of albany, , ix, ). [ ] see the obituary notice of ebenezer wilson, p. , above. [ ] i am indebted to mr. weise for courteous replies to several queries. he writes me: "the fact that the wilsons received contracts for the supply of beef to the troops encamped at the cantonment at greenbush, and that samuel wilson was an inspector, together with the information respecting the sites of the wilson slaughtering houses in troy, i obtained from old inhabitants of troy intimately acquainted with the two brothers." mr. weise adds that the notes taken by him when preparing his various books on troy are stored and so are inaccessible at present. [ ] see p. , note , above. [ ] see the trojan sketch book, edited by miss abba a. goddard ( ); hunt's merchants magazine for june, , xiv, - ; d. o. kellogg's city of troy ( ); hunt's merchants magazine for september, , xxi, - ; john woodworth's reminiscences of troy ( , second edition in ). mr. weise's history of the city of troy was published in . [ ] "the army of the u.s." (_salem gazette_, january , , p. - ). "an ambitious president ... might march the militia ... out of the u. s. and keep the whole of the regular force within" (_connecticut courant_, january , , p. - ). "the gull traps which are now set through the u. states" (_columbian centinel_, february , , p. - ). "equipped at the expense of the u.s." (_salem gazette_, july , , p. - ). "the army of the u.s." (_yankee_, august , , p. - ). "which cost the u.s. five dollars to transport to greenbush" (_columbian centinel_, september , , p. - ). "war ... between the u.s. and g.b." (_columbian centinel_, december , , p. - ). "four regiments of u.s. troops" (_columbian centinel_, december , , p. - ). "the enemies of the u. states" (_new york spectator_, january , , p. - ). "the president of the u. states" (_national intelligencer_, january , , p. - ). "the u. s. senate" (_new york spectator_, february , , p. - ). "what shall we say of her conduct during the present war with the u.s.?" (_national intelligencer_, april , , p. - ). "a regiment of u. s. troops" (_columbian centinel_, june , , p. - ). "the navy of the u.s." (_yankee_, july , , p. - ). "u.s. law" (_new england palladium_, august , , p. - ). "gen. varnum, ... (whose recent votes in the u. states' senate shew, that he is beginning to reflect)" (_new england palladium_, september , ). all these citations, which could be multiplied indefinitely, are of an earlier date than the first appearance of uncle sam. a few instances previous to may be given. "major rice of hingham, we are informed, is appointed a colonel in the u.s. army" (_columbian centinel_, october , , p. - ). "the president of the u. states" (_columbian centinel_, march , , p. - ). "christopher gore, esq. commissioner of the u. s. at the court of london" (_columbian centinel_, march , , p. - ). "the president of the u.s." (_columbian centinel_, march , , p. - ). but while, as thus seen, the initials u. s. were perfectly familiar to americans in and , yet no doubt the war with england made them still more common. attention may also be called to the example of "u.sam" quoted on p. , above. [ ] page . a copy of the opera in the ridgway branch of the library company of philadelphia has written in ink on the title page, "by col. thomas forrest of germantown. s." who "s." was, i do not know. john f. watson also stated that "mr. forrest wrote a very humorous play, (which i have seen printed)" (annals of philadelphia, , p. ). [ ] _new york journal_, october , , p. - . [ ] collections, historical and miscellaneous; and monthly literary journal, iii, , . [ ] it is in a collection of songs, ballads, etc., in three volumes, presented to the society by isaiah thomas in august, , and stated by him to have been "purchased from a ballad printer and seller, in boston, . bound up for preservation--to shew what the articles of this kind are in vogue with the vulgar at this time, ." in the rev. dr. edward everett hale printed this version in his new england history in ballads, pp. - . [ ] my attention was called to this in by mr. worthington c. ford, who kindly sent me a blue print of it. as the library officials have for years been unable to find the volume containing the original, my blue print is valuable. the title, and the fact that at the top of the broadside is a cut of a drummer and three soldiers, make me think that this version is older than the other. [ ] by earlier, i merely mean that it was printed earlier. the words of the two versions are practically identical. [ ] historical magazine, i, . [ ] the contrast, act iii, scene i, p. . for purposes of comparison, i give the first stanza. tyler has it: "father and i went up to camp, along with captain goodwin; and there we saw the men and boys, as thick as hasty-pudding." the version owned by this society reads: "father and i went down to camp, along with captain gooding, and there we see the men and boys, as thick as hastypudding." the farmer and moore version is as follows: "father and i went down to camp, along with captain goodwin, where we _see_ the men and boys as thick as hasty-_puddin_." it is of course possible that my blue print is earlier than , but its date is purely conjectural. dr. hale writes: "an autograph note of judge dawes, of the harvard class of , addressed to my father, says that the author of the well-known lines was edward bangs, who graduated with him." it is curious that some (but not all) of the lines should have first been printed in a play written by a member of the harvard class of . [ ] in a song called brother jonathan, doubtless written in , when war with france was thought imminent, and printed in in the nightingale, or rural songster (dedham), p. , is found this stanza: "i think it's darned wrong, be sure, because we us'd 'em clever; an' uncle vums a sailor works much harder than a weaver." throughout the war of , song after song was written to the air of yankee doodle. [ ] an article headed "the d.d.'s," which was printed in the _kansas herald of freedom_ of august , , begins as follows: "the _missouri democrat_ has a very fine article under this head. it says the politicians have lately taken upon themselves the liberty of conferring the degree of d.d. upon its voters with a most promiscuous irreverence" (p. - ). it states that thomas h. benton was responsible for the nicknames applied to petitt and douglas. [ ] notes and queries, ninth series, v, , (may , june , ); tenth series, vii, (march , ). [ ] see w. f. g. shanks's personal recollections of distinguished generals ( ), p. . [ ] _lloyd's weekly newspaper_, quoted in notes and queries, ninth series, v. (february , ). [ ] notes and queries, ninth series, x, (december , ). [ ] notes and queries, ninth series, x, (december , ). [ ] notes and queries, ninth series, x, (december , ). by a still further exercise of humor, an article in an english journal on the london "bobby" is headed "robert again" (black and white, july , , xxvi, ); while the london _times_ converts tommy atkins into "mr. thomas atkins." similarly, uncle sam becomes uncle samuel, of which an instance dated has already been given. (see p. , above.) "our good uncle samuel," wrote general randolph b. marcy in (border reminiscences, p. ). a letter which appeared in the _philadelphia aurora_ of october , , was signed "johannes taurus" (p. - ). [ ] see p. , above. [ ] see p. , above. [ ] see p. , above. [ ] see p. , above. [ ] see p. , above. it need hardly be pointed out that the word "uncle" has long been employed in this country. in a play written in , david humphreys made doolittle, the yankee hero, thus soliloquize about the countess st. luc, another character in the play: "i like her tu; though she is so tarnation strange and sad, by what i larnt jest now. she's quite a decent, clever woman--ladyship, i shood say; about as nice and tidy a crittur as ever trod shews'-leather. (_looking at the glass as he passes, and admiring himself_) well! my fortin's made. i woodn't give that (_snapping his fingers_) to call the _president_ and all the _congress 'uncle!'_ why, i am as fine as a fiddle" (act i, p. ). on september , , hawthorne said: "the revolutionary pensioners come out into the sunshine to make oath that they are still above ground. one, whom mr. s---- saluted as 'uncle john,' went into the bar-room, walking pretty stoutly by the aid of a long, oaken staff" (american note-books, , i, ). in lowell wrote: "'do you think it will rain?' with the caution of a veteran _auspex_, he evaded a direct reply. 'wahl, they _du_ say it's a sign o' rain comin', said he. i discovered afterwards that my interlocutor was uncle zeb. formerly, every new england town had its representative uncle. he was not a pawnbroker, but some elderly man who, for want of more defined family ties, had gradually assumed this avuncular relation to the community" (moosehead journal, prose works, , i, ). the _salem, gazette_ of june , , contained a paragraph headed, "the cogitations of uncle john" (p. - ). it has already been pointed out that timothy pickering was nicknamed "uncle tim," see p. , above. * * * * * transcriber's notes: punctuation errors repaired. archaic spelling retained. footnote , "june" was italicized in the original text. it was changed to plain text to match the format of the rest of the text. (_portsmouth oracle_, june ) introducing the american spirit by edward a. steiner the confession of a hyphenated american mo, boards net c. introducing the american spirit what it means to a citizen and how it appears to an alien. mo, cloth net $ . from alien to citizen the story of my life in america. illustrated, vo, cloth net $ . the broken wall stories of the mingling folk. illustrated, mo, cloth net $ . against the current simple chapters from a complex life. mo, cloth net $ . the immigrant tide--its ebb and flow illustrated, vo, cloth net $ . on the trail of the immigrant illustrated, mo, cloth net $ . the mediator a tale of the old world and the new. illustrated, mo, cloth net $ . tolstoy, the man and his message a biographical interpretation. _revised and enlarged._ illustrated, mo, cloth net $ . the parable of the cherries illustrated, mo, boards net c. the cup of elijah idyll envelope series. decorated net c. [illustration: the american spirit _courtesy of the survey v. d. brenner_] _introducing the american spirit by edward a. steiner author of "from alien to citizen," "the immigrant tide," etc._ [illustration] _new york chicago toronto fleming h. revell company london and edinburgh_ copyright, , by fleming h. revell company new york: fifth avenue chicago: north wabash ave. toronto: richmond street, w. london: paternoster square edinburgh: princes street _to professor richard hochdoerfer, ph. d. erudite scholar and most lovable friend, this book is dedicated_ _introducing the introduction_ "_das ist ganz americanish_." whenever a german says this, he means that it is something which is practical, lavish, daringly reckless or lawless. it means a short cut to achievement, a disregard of convention, an absence of those qualities which have given to the older nations of the world that fine, distinguishing flavor which is a fruit of the spirit. many attempts have been made to enlighten the old world upon that point; but in spite of exchange-professorships and some notable, interpretative books upon the subject, we are still only the "land of the dollar." we are not loved as a nation, largely because we are not understood, and we are not understood because we do not understand ourselves, and we do not understand ourselves because we have not studied ourselves in the light of the spirit of other nations. coming to this country a product of germanic civilization, knowing intimately the slavic, semitic, and latin spirit, the writer was compelled to compare and to choose. yet he would never have dared write upon this subject; not only because it was a difficult task, but because he had been so completely weaned from the old world spirit that he had lost the proper perspective. moreover, of formal books upon this subject there was no dearth. during the last ten years, however, he has had the advantage of being the _cicerone_ of distinguished europeans who came to study various phases of our institutional life, and they brought the opportunity of fresh comparisons and also of new view-points in this realm of the national spirit. these unconventional studies, most of which received their inspiration through the visit of the herr director and his charming wife, are here offered as an introduction to the american spirit, not only to the herr director and the frau directorin, but to those americans who do not realize that a nation, as well as man, "cannot live by bread alone;" that its most precious asset, its greatest element of strength, is its spirit, and that the elements out of which the spirit is made, are so rare, so delicate, that when once wasted they cannot readily be replaced. as the sin against the holy spirit is the one sin for which the gospel holds out no forgiveness for the individual, so there seems to be no hope for the nation which transgresses against this most vital element of its higher life. inasmuch also as the spirit is something which guides and cannot be guided, these informal introductions appear in no geographic or historic sequence, but are necessarily left to the leading of the spirit, of which "no man knoweth whence it cometh or whither it goeth." e. a. s. _grinnell, iowa_. contents i. the herr director meets the american spirit ii. our national creed iii. the spirit out-of-doors iv. the spirit at lake mohonk v. lobster and mince pie vi. the herr director and the "missoury" spirit vii. the herr director and the college spirit viii. the russian soul and the american spirit ix. chicago x. where the spirit is young xi. the american spirit among the mormons xii. the california confession of faith xiii. the grinnell spirit xiv. the commencement and the end xv. the challenge of the american spirit i _the herr director meets the american spirit_ the herr director and i were sitting over our coffee in the _café bauer_, _unter den linden_. in the midst of my account of some of the men of america and the idealistic movements in which they are interested, he rudely interrupted with: "you may tell that to some one who has never been in the united states; but not to me who have travelled through the length and breadth of it three times." he said it in an ungenerous, impatient way, although his last visit was thirty years ago and his journeys across this continent necessarily hurried. i dared not say much more, for i am apt to lose my temper when any one anywhere, criticizes my adopted country or questions my glowing accounts of it. but i did say: "when you come over the next time, let me be your guide." "why should i want to go over again?" he replied. "it's a noisy, dirty, hopelessly materialistic country. you have sky-scrapers, but no beauty; money, but no ideals; garishness, but no comfort. you have despatch, but no courtesy; you are ingenious, but not thorough; you have fine clothes, but no style; churches, but no religion; universities, but no learning. no, i have been there three times. that's enough. i know all about it. _fertig!"_ and with that he dismissed me without giving me a chance to relieve my feelings, of which there were many; although he took advantage of a minute that was left and told me that i was an _unausstehlicher americaner_ whose judgment had been warped by my great love for my adopted country. evidently the herr director reversed his decision not to come to this country; for the following spring i received a cablegram to meet him on the arrival of his ship at the hamburg-american dock, which of course i promptly did. the herr director and the frau directorin stepped onto the soil of the united states with a predisposition to be martyrs, to endure the sufferings entailed by travel with as little grace as possible, and to suppress to the utmost all pleasurable emotion. on the other hand, i was determined to show off my united states from its best side, to woo and win the herr director's and the frau directorin's approval. in my laudable endeavor i seemed to be supported by that divine providence which watches over the whole world in general, but over the united states in particular. the weather was perfect, the sky festooned in fleecy clouds, the air charged by a divine energy; and when the sun shines upon the harbor of new york--well, even the most taciturn european cannot resist it. the herr director and the frau directorin greeted all the good lord's endeavor and mine, with an air of condescension as something due their station. from force of habit they worried and fussed about their baggage, although there was nothing to worry or fuss about, for it was safe on its way to the hotel. they were shot under the river and the busy streets of manhattan and whirled up to the twenty-first story of their thirty-two-storied hotel without having taken more than a dozen steps to reach it. the herr director and the frau directorin refused to be impressed by the rooms assigned them, in which not a single comfort or luxury was missing, and complained because they were not as big as barns and the ceilings not as high as a cathedral. the frau directorin eyed the bath-room almost in silence; but she did wonder why they put out a whole month's supply of towels at once, instead of doing it in the provident european way of one towel every other day. the herr director and the frau directorin, like all europeans who can afford to travel, are exceedingly æsthetic, and at the same time fond of good food, and their first approving smile was won at the breakfast table, when they were each face to face with half a grapefruit of vast circumference, reposing upon a bed of crushed ice. their smiles broadened when they had introduced their palates to an american breakfast food, a crispy bit of nut-flavored air bubble, floating upon thick, rich cream; and, although they had made up their minds that american coffee was vile and they must not taste it, they could not resist its aroma, and drank it with a relish. when the herr director said: _"der kaffee ist gut,_" i knew that my prayers were being answered, and that the good lord still loves the united states of america. most of us have shown off something--a baby, school-children, a schoolhouse, a town, an automobile, a cemetery. you know that feeling of pride which thrills you, that fear lest pride have a fall if it or they fail to "show up." but have you ever tried to show off a country--a country which you love with a lover's passion; a country whose virtues are so many, whose defects are so obvious; a country whose glory you have gloried in before the whole world, but whose halo has so many rust spots that you wish you might have had a chance to use sapolio on it ere you let it shine before your visitors? a country of one hundred million inhabitants, of whom every fourth person smells of the steerage, when you wish that they all smelled of the mayflower; a country where more people are ready to die for its freedom than anywhere, and more people ought to be in the penitentiary for abusing that freedom; a country of vast distances, bound together by huge railways and controlled by unsavory politicians; a country with more homely virtues, more virtuous homes, than anywhere else, yet where the divorce courts never cease their grinding and alimonies have no end? ah! to show off such a country, and to have to begin to do it in new york, beats showing off babies, school-children, automobiles, and cemeteries. the herr director was sure he would hate our sky-scrapers; he had seen them from the ship, and the assaulted sky-line looked to him like the huge mouth of an old woman with its isolated, protruding teeth. frankly, i myself am not interested in sky-scrapers; i prefer the elm trees which shade the streets of the quiet town where i live. i thank god daily for the men who had faith enough to plant trees upon those wind-swept prairies. they were mighty spirits who came to the edges of civilization and drove the wilderness farther and farther back by drawing furrows, sowing wheat, and planting trees--those men whom heat and a relentless desert could not separate from that other ocean with its golden gate to the sunset and the oldest world. determining to have and to hold it till time is no more, they proceeded to unite the two oceans in holy wedlock. a task which involved another nation in hopeless scandal and bankruptcy, they completed with as little ceremony as that which prevails at a wedding before a justice of the peace. those were the men who went among savages, yet did not become like them; who for homes dug holes in the ground among rattlesnakes, prairie-dogs, and moles, and made of such homes the beginnings of towns and cities. if i admire the sky-scrapers it is because they are an attempt on the part of this same type of people to do pioneering among the clouds. public lands being exhausted, they proceed to annex the sky and people it, now that the frontier is no more. what the herr director and the frau directorin would say to the sky-scraper meant to me, not whether they would say it is beautiful or ugly, but whether they would discover in it the spirit of america, the daring spirit of the pioneers who built towers of babel, though reversing the process; for they began with a confusion of tongues which outbabeled babel, and finished on a day of pentecost when men said: "we do hear them all speaking our own tongue, the mighty works of god." we moved along broadway, pressing through the crowds, the herr director puffing and panting, the frau directorin doing likewise. the flatiron building with its accentuated leanness lured them on until we came to the open space of madison square and they were face to face with the metropolitan tower. the herr director said: "_gott im himmel!_" the frau directorin said: "_um gottes himmels willen!_" and then they gazed their fill in silence. i have never "done" europe with a guide, nor have i ever had an american city introduced to me through a megaphone, so i scarcely knew what to say. i did not know the exact height of that tower, nor how many tons of steel support it, nor the size of the clock dial which tells the time of day up there "among the dizzy flocks of sky-scrapers"; but i did know that the tower represented some big, daring thing, an expression of the spirit which could not be defined nor easily interpreted to another. after his first outburst the herr director continued to say nothing--he was stunned; so was the frau directorin. we walked on, looking up, higher and higher still, until our eyes met another tower, the woolworth building--a shrewd yankee five-and-ten-cent enterprise, flowering into purest gothic. the cathedrals of europe are wonderful, undoubtedly. master minds drew the plans and master hands built them, slowly, by an age-long process. they turned religious ideals into stone lace and lilies, hideous gargoyles and brave flying buttresses, aisles and naves and rose windows. yes, they are quite wonderful. but to turn spools of thread, granite-ware, and dust-cloths into this glory of steel and stone is, to me, more marvellous still. the spirit of the pioneer cleaving the sky has become beautiful as it has ascended. we are worrying a great deal about our lack of sensitiveness to beauty and form; we chide ourselves as being crude and unresponsive to art; we rush madly into the study of æsthetics and buy old masters at the price of a king's ransom; yet we are not truly fostering america's art sense. it ought not to come in the old world's way--by glorifying dogmas and creeds, by petrifying religion into buttresses and incasing our dead in tombs of beryl and onyx. it ought not to come with its mixture of paganism and religion, its armless venus and its headless victory. it should come first as it is coming--with the making of homes good to live in, factories planned to work in, stores fit to do business in, and schools built to teach in. it is coming--yes, it is coming. but when our strong boys shall make filagree silver ornaments, carve pretty things on bits of ivory, or exhaust their energy in painting a lock of hair--when that time comes, we shall be an old people ready for our ornamented tombs. next i took the herr director and the frau directorin through a portal flanked by pillars worthy to crown any athenian hill; i led them into a parthenon in which athena herself might have joyed to be worshipped, and we heard the echoing and reëchoing of a chant which lacked nothing but incense and organ notes to make one think one's self in an old world cathedral. the chant was not a _miserere_, but a call to entrust one's self to the depths of the earth--to descend into tubes of steel, beneath the river, and then travel to the fair cities of the living, throbbing, thriving west. it was a railway terminal without choking smoke, blinding dust, or deafening noise; also without that hideous mechanical ugliness which ruskin so hated. this was merely a place from which one started to reach oshkosh or kokomo, keokuk, kalamazoo, or kankakee. yet more beautiful portals never swung to mortals in their fairest dreams of journeying to the abodes of bliss. the spirit of america, at last crowned by beauty. we reached our hotel fairly exhausted by our morning's walk; but, after being properly refreshed, the herr director ventured to criticize. "yes, you are a wonderfully resourceful people, keen and energetic, but chaotic. you take an italian _campanile_ and elongate it fifty times; or a gothic church, and attenuate it; or a romanesque cathedral, and support it by ionic pillars; or a cigar box, and enlarge it a million times. you put all these things side by side, and no one asks: will they harmonize, or will they clash? "each man builds as he pleases, although he may blot out the other man's work and waste colossal energy merely to express himself. the result is confusion. you can feel that unrest, that discord, in the air. my nerves fairly ache! no, we shall not go out this afternoon. we must rest our nerves." the herr director always spoke for his wife as well as for himself, thus expressing the collective spirit of the old world. they both retired for a long rest, while i was left wondering how to introduce new york to them in the evening. at five o'clock in the afternoon they emerged from their apartments, their wearied old world nerves rested, and, after being stimulated by a cup of coffee, were ready for further adventures. broadway at that hour of the afternoon is bewildering. the shoppers have almost deserted it, and it is crowded by the clerks who served them, the cashiers who received their money, the girls who trimmed their hats, the men who cut their garments, the bookkeepers and the floor-walkers. whole towns seem to pour out of the department stores and lofts; the makers and menders of garments flee from the heart of the city, from this pulsing machine which has been going at a dangerous speed. they go from it eagerly, with a brave show of courage, as if the ten hours' labor had not broken their spirits or wearied their energy. to count the ants of a busy hill would be easier than even to estimate the numbers of that throng. they climb the steps of the elevated railway trains, and crowd them, and cram the cars until they fairly bulge. they lay siege to the surface cars, which merely crawl through the busy streets, so heavy are they and so closely does one car follow the other. they descend into the depths of the earth, and breathe the humid, human air of those noisy catacombs. they walk by companies, regiments, and great armies, dodging automobiles which infest the streets with their speed and their stenches. they accomplish it all with so little friction to each other's spirit, with such a silent good nature, with such a sense of self-reliance, and with so little official machinery to control them, that even the herr director said: "this is wonderful!" although he declared that he would suffocate in that throng, and the frau directorin cried out every few minutes, "_um gottes himmels willen!_" there was an absence of politeness, but we saw little rudeness; there were accidents, but the crowd did not lose its head; there were discomforts, but little display of ill nature; each for himself, and yet no clashing. the american crowd is more wonderful than the american sky-scrapers. at the royal opera in vienna, the approach to the ticket office is guarded by steel inclosures in which every prospective buyer is separated from the other, and one has to zigzag between these pens until he reaches the official's window. crowding is rendered impossible, but, to make the obviously impossible more actually impossible, there is the usual number of uniformed guards. watch the american crowd--this group of unlike, self-centered individuals; in a moment it is organized, it obeys itself--or rather, it obeys its spirit, the american spirit of self-direction, with its genius for organization. to me, the american crowd is so wonderful because it shows this other side of its spirit. it is heterogeneous, like the architecture of its buildings, perhaps even more so--if that be possible. here are jews from russia's crowded pale, where they had to slink along with shuffling gait and dared go so far and no farther--so fast and no faster. there are the slavic peasants, who on their native soil, prodded by the goad, moved ox-like along an endless furrow, drawing the plow of autocracy. next is the italian, volatile and yet static with his age-long burdens, with his fiery nature cramped into his diminutive frame. here is the negro, the child-man, the shackles of whose slavery are scarcely broken. the asiatic, too, comes with hardly courage enough to lift his softly treading feet; while leading them all is this strident, giant child of the anglo-saxon race whose wind-swept cradle was rocked by freedom, and who with dominant will has spanned the oceans and crossed the mountains. of these myriads whom he leads, some will be a drag upon progress, and detain the strong or perhaps retard the race; yet they are trying to keep up, and by their efforts, by delving in the deep, by feeding with their brute strength our huge enginery, may make the flowering of the american spirit easier. yes, the anglo-saxon is leading them; but will he continue to lead, now that he no longer travels in the prairie schooner, but in the automobile--now that he wields the golf club and tennis racket, rather than the spade and plow on the prairie? will he now lead them from the breakers of newport as well as once he led them from plymouth rock? will he lead them from the exclusive club as once he led them into the inclusive home? these were the doubts which filled my mind, but which i did not share with my guests as i guided them; for we were to spend the evening together, and one needs all one's faith in new york at night. we spent the early evening hours travelling around the world. we went to arabia, where dusky children from the desert play in the gutters of bleecker street; to greece, where spartan and athenian youth dream of the golden days of pericles; to china, with its joss-house, its faint odors of sandalwood, and its stronger odors wafted from the bowery. we visited russia, and saw its ghetto-dwellers more numerous than abraham ever thought his progeny would become; we spent some time in hungary, with its _gulyas_ and _czardas_. we went to bohemia, with its _narodni dom_; to italy, south and north, with its strings of garlic, its festoons of sausages, its hurdy-gurdy, and its rich harvest of children. we had glimpses of france, of its _table d'hôte_ and painted women; travelled through darkest africa, touched upon india, and then were back again upon broadway. as in the sky above us the architectures of the world strive to blend and fuse, making a mighty new impress; so below, these colonies to the right and colonies to the left, like the huge limbs of some ill-shapen monster, try to blend into america. what is it all to be when blended? of course we went to the theater. we saw a german problem play made over to please the american taste. the herr director knew the play almost by heart, and he nearly jumped upon the stage in righteous indignation when in the last act, where the author drops all his characters into a bottomless pit and everything ends in confusion, the play ended in the conventional "god-bless-you-my-children," "happy-ever-after" manner. we walked the streets of new york until past midnight, and finally looked down upon it from the roof of our hostelry. we could see the moon creeping out and shedding its mellow glow over the gayly lighted city. the noises were almost musical up there--like sustained organ notes--and we talked about the play with its happy ending. "you are right," i said; "that happy ending is foolish and childish. things do not always end happily; but this thing, this experiment in making a nation out of torn fragments, this founding of cities in a day out of second and third hand material, this experiment in man-making and nation-building must end well; for, if it doesn't, god's great experiment has failed. shall i say, god's last experiment has failed? you see we _mustn't_ fail--it _must_ end well." the streets were all but silent. from the great clock on the metropolitan tower hanging in mid-air, came the flashes that marked the morning hour. thick mists floated in from the sea and filled the narrow, chasm-like streets with weird, fantastic shapes. the herr director said good-night. the frau directorin did likewise. they said it very solemnly, as behooves those who have looked deep into the heart of a great mystery who have felt the touch of a mighty spirit striving, struggling, agonizing to shape a new nation out of the world's refuse. ii _our national creed_ the herr director and the frau directorin wished to go to church on sunday, and after eating a piously late breakfast i spread before them new york city's religious bill of fare, bewildering in its variety and puzzling in its terminology. i gave them a choice between four varieties of catholics: roman, greek, old and apostolic; more than twice that number of lutherans, separated one from the other by degrees of orthodoxy and nearness to or farness from their historic confessions. there were methodists who were free and those who were episcopalian, episcopalians who were not methodists but were reformed, and those who made no such pretensions; all these invited us to worship with them. many varieties of baptists announced their sermons and services, offering a choice between those who were free and those who were just baptists, and between those who were baptists on the seventh day and those who did not specify the day on which they were baptists. we also had a chance to discriminate between dutch reformed, german reformed or presbyterian reformed, and united presbyterians divided from other presbyterians (presumably unreformed) for reasons known to the fathers who died long since. if we had been radically inclined we might have browsed among unitarians, ethical culturists, and could even have worshipped among those who make a religion out of not having any. the most interesting column to the herr director was that which contained our exotic cults, those we have imported and those which prove that we have not neglected our home industry. it was disconcerting to me, who was trying to introduce our national spirit, to realize how varied its religious expression is, and the herr director got no little amusement out of the story i told him of the student in one of our colleges who, it is said, came to the librarian and asked for a book on "wild religions i have met." when the librarian suggested it might be seton thompson's book on wild animals, he said it was not in the department of zoölogy, but in philosophy in which the assignment for the reading was given. the book was then quickly found. it was prof. william james' "the varieties of religious experience." when we succeeded in rescuing the frau directorin out of the maze of sunday supplements in which she was entangled, we started in pursuit of a proper place of worship, in anything but a worshipful mood. i was bent upon showing that which is vastly more difficult to interpret than sky-scrapers, the herr director was doubtful that we had any religious spirit at all, and the frau directorin mourned the fact that she had to leave behind her so much paper which might have served such good purposes if she had it at home. fifth avenue recovers something of its departed exclusiveness on sunday morning; for although the cheaper stores are crowding upon those which never descend to bargain counters, this is not true of the churches. they still are in good repute, and await the stated hour of service on sunday morning without excitement, having advertised nothing, offering no ecclesiastical bargains; content to live as the birds of the air, whom the "heavenly father feedeth." the street was almost deserted; here and there a taxicab darted on its way to or from the railway station; the hour of the limousines had not yet come, and the people who strolled along were evidently, like ourselves, unfashionable sojourners seeking a tabernacle in gotham's wilderness. sauntering along the street was less interesting than usual, for not only were there no crowds, the shop-windows were all artistically curtained and there was nothing to see. the frau directorin did not like it at all, "for what good is it to walk along the shopping streets if you can't look into the shops?" "you see, my dear," the herr director remarked, "that is to help you obey one of the ten commandments which womankind is especially prone to break, 'thou shalt not covet.' incidentally it proves that we are in a country in which you are allowed to do as you please every day and do nothing on sunday." "no," i replied, "it merely proves that we are trying to save one day a week from the contamination of our materialistic existence." "it merely proves," he echoed, "that you have inherited from your anglo-saxon ancestors the worst thing they could leave you: their hypocrisy. i stepped behind a curtained bar this morning and found it running at full blast. you evidently do your drinking in private on sunday and your praying in public. you know we in germany do the opposite." "no, you do your praying and drinking both in public, and both seem to be a part of your religion," i answered. "very likely you are right. there is about us this taint of hypocrisy; but that only shows that we are a deeply religious people, conscious of the fact that our ideals are upon a higher plane than our performance. we are not as eager as you are to proclaim our frailties from the housetop. "the average american wants you to believe him to be a pretty decent fellow till you find him out to be different; while you germans make a virtue of a certain kind of brutal frankness, which is worse than hypocrisy, since you try to make it an excuse for all sorts of private and national sins. the real criminal is never a hypocrite." i do not know what would have happened to me if at that moment we had not reached st. patrick's cathedral. the full, rich organ notes seemed to soothe the herr director's ruffled spirit, and our discussion ended as we entered the welcoming portal. in a church which in all places and all ages remains the same, there was nothing for my guests to see or hear to which they were not accustomed. there was the priest, alone with the great mystery which he was enacting, and by his side the diminutive ministrants. the crowd which filled every available space in that huge interior was silent and reverent. now the tinkling of a bell, like a command from heaven, bade all kneel, and now the same bell bade them rise. the incense, the stately chant, and then the hushed, expectant throng going forward to partake from the priest's hand of the means of grace, which he alone could offer in the name of the one holy catholic church--all this could not fail to impress us. into the august and solemn atmosphere there came from a near-by church the chimed notes of a hymn-tune such as the people once sang defiantly when they proclaimed their religious freedom. it was a spiritual war tune which soldiers could sing, and strangely enough it seemed to fit into this atmosphere as if it were the one thing which the service needed. it recalled the self-assertion of the people before their god, their man god, who was born in a stable, who worshipped as he worked, and worked as he worshipped, hurling his anathemas at those who blocked the gates of the kingdom to them who would enter, yet did not enter themselves. evidently the herr director felt as i felt; for he whispered to me, "the reformation." when i nodded my approval, he said: "but see how unmoved she is, this rock-founded church. it will take something more than hymn-tunes to disturb her." we left the cathedral while the hungry multitude was being fed with the sacrament of our lord, and our spirits, too, had been fed, although we were not of that fold. while the roman catholics were finishing their worship, the protestants were making ready to begin. the first bells had chimed appealingly, not commandingly, and a thin stream of worshippers appeared on the avenue, growing thinner as it divided, entering one or the other of those edifices where men were to worship according to the dictates of their conscience, their taste, or their social position. many strangers, like ourselves, were looking critically at the church bulletins as yesterday we had looked into the show windows, and it was the frau directorin who said she felt as if she were going shopping for religion. the herr director said that he had no objection to our inventing or importing as many religions as we pleased; but he did object to our exporting any, for we were making the task of regulating and controlling them very difficult. moreover he did not see how we could develop any kind of common, national ideals with such a confusion of religions. "you have, or pretend to have, a democratic government, and your strongest church is monarchic to the core." i had to admit that religiously we are a very chaotic people, and that we are daily adding to that chaos; yet these facts might prove what i had been trying to make clear to him: that this is fundamentally a religious country, and that as a whole we are the most religious people in the world. i supported this statement by quoting a good german authority, the late prof. karl lamprecht, who thinks we have a great future as a people, because we are "capable of religious improvement." "improvement!" the herr director sniffed derisively. "wherever i look i see improvements: churches turned into theaters, theaters into churches, and residences which are still perfectly good turned into sky-scrapers. chaos is not an improvement upon order. nothing is finished, nothing complete, not even your religion." just then we were compelled to pass along a wooden walk from which we looked into a canyon blasted out of the rock, upon which still stood the foundation of the house which was being turned into a sky-scraper. "you see, that is the way we improve; we go deeper each time," i remarked. "but in religion," the herr director retorted, "you do not go deeper, you go higher, and that is no improvement." for the second time the chimes were pealing, and we entered a sanctuary of friendly yet dignified english gothic. an usher, who looked very american and well fed and out of place, guided us to a pew in the more than half empty church, from which nothing was missing in the way of ecclesiastical furnishings. one thing it lacked and that no architect can build and no money can buy--spirit. the organ was played by a master, the processional was splendidly staged, the rector looked prosperously pious, prayers were read and confessions uttered without any disquieting, spiritual agony, and the anthems were correctly sung by the picturesque boys' choir. the curate preached a sermon on manliness; a sermon so thin and emasculated that even the frau directorin, whose english is limited, could understand it, and said she would like to come again "for the good english." i left the church deeply disappointed, and to the herr director's taunts about "improvements" i did not reply, realizing more than ever how difficult and dangerous is this task of introducing the _spirit_, especially when one goes to church in the spirit of pride, rather than in the spirit of meekness. no clergyman can spoil the whole of sunday, for there is always the dinner, and having found a _table d'hôte_ in harmony with the herr director's national and religious ideals, we continued our discussion somewhat fitfully, if, at times, rather vehemently. one of the things the herr director missed in the church where we tried to worship was reverence. he missed it everywhere and thought it due to the fact that we do not teach religion in the public schools. this was rather amusing to me, for just prior to that statement he had told me of one of his nephews who, upon approaching his final examinations, said: "if it were not for this accursed religion i could get through without trouble;" and i called his attention to the fact that although i had no difficulty with my "exams" in religion, invariably having an "_ausgezeichnet_" which is equivalent to an a, i was always "_schlecht_" in conduct. i had found religious instruction a very irreligious procedure, for the man who taught it was irreligious enough to whip me so that i could not lie upon my back for a week, the cause being that i would not say yes to his credo. moreover i told the herr director i thought all religious instruction irreligious which did not teach the child its whole duty to society, but taught religion from only the narrowing racial or sectarian standpoint. religion, i pointed out to him, can after all not be taught; it has to be caught. it is a contagion which comes from a spiritual personality, and our public schools are not religious or irreligious because certain subjects are found or not found in their curricula, but because the teachers have this spiritual personality or lack it. i am convinced that this ethical quality predominates in our public schools, not only because so many of our teachers are women, but because we are fundamentally a religious people. at this point i became conscious that the attention of the herr director and the frau directorin had flagged; for their response to my homily was an eloquent tribute to the tenderness of the breast of a long island duck, which they had been enjoying while i talked. as they were consequently in a lenient mood towards the whole world and therefore the united states, i renewed my laudable and difficult effort, and, as is often best, through the medium of a story. at the time the elective system was introduced into harvard university, attendance upon chapel was made voluntary. "i understand," said a severe critic of this procedure, "that you have made god elective in your college." "no," replied the astute president, "i understand that god has made himself elective everywhere." the point of my story was lost upon both my guests. when i paused, the frau directorin asked me how it was possible to serve so lavish a bill of fare for so little money, and the herr director asked the waiter why they called this a long island duck when the portions were so short. thus the conviction was forced upon me that our environment was not conducive to the discussion of the american spirit and that i must await a more auspicious occasion. late in the afternoon that occasion came; not on fifth avenue but on one of those streets where churches are fewest and humanity thickest; where sunday brings liberation from toil, where cleanliness and godliness have an equally difficult task in coming or abiding; where nations and races must mingle and cannot easily blend, where the america which is to be is in the making, and where the spirit must manifest itself if we are to be a nation with common ideals. i like to take my friends to the east side of new york city. i glory in its self-respect, its brave struggle against poverty and disease, its bright children filling all the available space and asserting their childhood by playing in the busy street, defying its noisy traffic. they make of each hurdy-gurdy the center of a great festival, dancing as the elves are said to dance, because it is their nature to. i like to point out the faces of patriarchs, prophets and madonnas--faces seamed by care and sorrow, yet lighted by a divine radiance and as unconscious of it as were those upon whom it shone in such fullness on that great east side of the universe which we now call the holy land. i like to have my friends meet my east side friends, the young working girls, who dress in good taste, help support a family, and maintain an unstained character in spite of small wages and the temptations of a great city. i like them to meet the growing boys who are hungry for the best the city holds, and who dream the dream of making the east side in particular, and new york in general, a better place in which to live. i am never ashamed to take my friends into the tenement houses, except as i am ashamed that they exist at all, with their stenches and the dearly bought space with twenty-four hours of darkness and no free access of air. of the people who live within i am never ashamed, for they are the brave ones, to whom labor is prayer, and living a sacrifice. i like best to show off the east side of new york on sunday, for here it is most welcomed with its respite from labor, its chance at clean clothes, its opportunity to visit and be again something more than a machine. on fifth avenue the sabbath is made for the few, on the east side it is made for the many; on fifth avenue god seems hard to find, on the east side he comes down upon the street. they are indeed worse than infidels who do not feel his spirit brooding over the crowd, and his guardian angels watching over those children--else how could they survive? best of all i know where those angels live, and it is there i took the herr director and the frau directorin; i was sure they would never leave the place doubting that we are a religious people. evidently the children also knew where their angels live for the place was in a state of siege. it is not strange that they knew, for their ancestors had walked and talked with angels, and they were not yet old enough to have lost the faith of their fathers. troops of children there were; mere children carrying children, and where there was an only child, which is rare on the east side, it was brought by a grandfather and grandmother, children themselves now, and old enough to again believe in angels. there were flowers in the room and they were for the children; bowers of roses, red roses, wafting their incense and driving out the mouldy, tenement house air which clung to the little ones. there was music, and they sang--sang as i know god wanted them to sing--gay, happy songs, which seem to be denied the children who sing in the churches. how i wished that the picturesque little choir boys on fifth avenue, who sang sixteenth century music and augustinian theology, might have had a chance to sing as those east side children sang--full throated, lustily, joyously; songs which made them shiver from very joy, and which made the frau directorin weep copiously. how i wished that the priest who chanted psalms in latin, and the other priest who intoned them in english as dead as latin, could have been there and have heard those children recite the same psalms, in east side english. yes, i have often wished that david himself might hear them; i am sure he would be proud that he had a share in writing them, even as the priests might be ashamed that they had never known just what precious reading they are. no one preached to the children although they heard the good tidings, and no one told them to be good although they were given a chance to know how good god is, when men give him a chance. there was a sacrament, a holy one; roses were given the children, and the angels who gave them shed their blood, for the roses had thorns. the next week the children were to be taken where the roses grew, and they would see that "a garden is a lovesome thing, god wot! rose plot, fringed pool, fern'd grot-- the veriest school of peace:--" but they would not have to see the garden to know that god is. we broke bread with the angels and looked into their joyously weary faces, and then we talked about the very thing i wanted my guests to know, namely: that underneath all our religious or rather credal chaos, we have a national creed if not a national religion. the herr director suggested that the fundamental doctrine of our creed is "in gold we trust," and then he began a dissertation upon our national materialism. perhaps so, i conceded; but i doubted that we are more materialistic than the people of the older world, in fact i was inclined to believe that we are less so; which of course the herr director stoutly denied, and i as stoutly affirmed. in justice to myself i must say that when my country's honor is not at stake i am less dogmatic. "perhaps we are equally materialistic," i continued, "but we are certainly more generous. we make money faster than the people of the old world, but we also give it away faster, and i believe that there is no country in which there is such a contempt for the merely rich man." "i suppose the second article in your national creed," the herr director interrupted, "is that you are the biggest country and the best people under the sun. "if i were suggesting a motto for a new coinage i would put on one side of it 'in gold we trust,' and on the other 'the biggest and the best.'" ignoring this somewhat merited slur i said: "the first and only doctrine of our national creed which we have as yet formulated is that we have a great national destiny." at that the herr director jumped excitedly from his seat, and said somewhat sneeringly, "oh, you mean you have a place under the sun. all nations have such a creed, but when we germans try to realize it, you call us a menace to civilization." it was a tense moment in my relationship to my guests, but i ventured to say: "we have a better reason for the faith which is in us than most other nations, for we are trying to realize it without killing off other people. in fact we are trying to realize it at a greater hazard than that of being conquered by an alien enemy. we are keeping open these doors which have swung both ways freely, for nearly three hundred years, and your old world weary ones have been coming; bringing their traditions, their ideals, their worn out faiths and their heaped up wrath. we did not forbid them; they have come to our towns, our schools, our homes, they are here for better for worse, and we cannot divorce them, or drive them away. "yes," i continued, much to the discomfiture of the herr director, "we _have_ a meaning to the old world, a larger meaning than you think. we have a place under the sun, not to satisfy national ambitions; but to keep alive faith in humanity." the angels around the table were disquieted by our vehemence, the frau directorin urged that it was growing late, and we left that center of quiet which we had so disturbed, to return to our hotel. we entered a street car crowded beyond its capacity by burly irishmen the worse for liquor, good-natured slavs none the better for it, aggressive looking russian jews and sleek chinamen. there were mothers with their crying babies, and thoughtless boys and girls chewing gum most viciously. after the herr director and the frau directorin had been jostled unmercifully, we left the uncomfortable car, and when we were again breathing unpolluted air the herr director asked quizzically: "do you still believe in humanity?" boldly and bravely i answered: "yes, i believe," and lifting my face to the stars i whispered: "lord, help my unbelief." iii _the spirit out-of-doors_ much to my regret the herr director did not sleep well that second night in the united states. his nerves had suffered from those first thronging impressions, he looked pale and was decidedly irritable; "for how could a man sleep or be expected to sleep in this business canyon, loud from the thunder of the elevated, and bright from the flashing of illuminated signs?" together they had the effect of an electric storm upon him. when he did fall asleep he dreamed that the metropolitan tower, the woolworth building and st. patrick's cathedral were dancing tango upon his chest. this nightmare may have been due to the fact that just before retiring we witnessed an exhibition of this modern madness, which seemed to be indulged in everywhere except in the churches and possibly the barber shops. partly also, perhaps, because the herr director insisted upon eating lobster shortly before midnight, in spite of the fact that i warned him against that indulgence. it was one of those generous, united states lobsters, and not the diminutive shell-fish with which cultured europeans merely tickle their palates. the herr director had repeatedly pointed out our bad habit of leaving a great deal of food on our plates, and to impress upon me his better manners, he had eaten the entire lobster. i had not slept well that night either, in spite of the fact that i had eaten sparingly. i think it was the herr director himself who had "got on my nerves," and i was finding this task of "showing off" my beloved united states difficult and exacting. that morning we were to leave new york and i would introduce my guests to the great american out-of-doors, and the prospect added to my already uncomfortable frame of mind. if only we might start from that marvellous central station in the heart of the city; but in order to reach our destination, which was lake mohonk, we had to cross the west side where it is irredeemably tawdry and ugly, and take one of the ferry-boats to weehawken. this somewhat inconvenient procedure made the herr director doubly critical. the fates were against us, for it was a hot, humid day, the car was crowded, and the start from weehawken anything but auspicious. in europe the herr director travels second class when he travels officially (the first, as is well known, being reserved for americans and fools), and third when he travels _incognito_, for he is a thrifty soul. nevertheless, he did not like our cars, they were "obtrusively decorated," and privacy was impossible. why should he have to look at a hundred or more human heads variously "_frisired_"? i suggested that we take seats in front, which we succeeded in doing, and then he found that if he wished to take off his collar, he would have to do it with two hundred or more human eyes fastened upon him, when the hundred people possessing them had no business to see what he was doing. i have already confessed how sensitive i am to criticism of anything american, no matter how just the criticism may be. so sensitive am i, that had he reflected upon the good looks of my wife, he could scarcely have hurt me more than when he reflected upon the beauty and arrangement of an american railway car. and yet i have often wondered why our american genius seems to have exhausted itself when it evolved the present type of car, having done nothing to it except adding or taking away some of its "gingerbread." nevertheless i lost my patience and told him that if he liked to travel cooped in with seven other passengers, four of whom he must face and two of whom might at any moment poke their elbows into his ribs; if he preferred to breathe air polluted by seven other people, and have a fresh supply of ozone only at periods and in quantities regulated by law, i did not admire his taste. as far as i was concerned i preferred to travel in this big room on wheels, rather than in a jail-like box to which the conductor alone had the key. anyway this represented american democracy with its unpartitioned space; but if he really wanted it, i could get him a stateroom in the pullman, and he could ride in isolated splendor and be aristocratically stuffy and uncomfortable. when the frau directorin in typical german phraseology complained about the draft: "_um gottes willen ein zug!_" i decided to save the day, and we retreated to the pullman stateroom. there they rested themselves back and looked tolerably happy while i, silently but fervently, prayed that this particular train would not disgrace itself by "committing" an accident. the big, american out-of-doors, even where it is old and its waste spaces are cultivated and hedged about, has something which is characteristically american. of course nature knows no political boundary; the grass is green everywhere, the sky is blue, cattle and sheep, like man, have a long and honorable ancestry. yet there is a difference which may not be due to what nature is, but to man's attitude towards her and his treatment of her. i have noticed this in passing through europe; how unerringly one knows where germanic boundaries end and those of the slav begin. german fields and forests are trim and orderly; slavic territory so ill kept and ill used that when one has a glimpse of a village even from the swift moving train, the difference is obvious. sometimes i am inclined to believe that this attitude of man affects his environment as much as we know the environment affects him. i wonder just how much of the american out-of-doors, with its generous but not gentle aspect, its subdued but untamed spirit, is due to those valiant men who came from across the sea, and in so doing restored a bit of their long-lost courage, and made masters of men who so long had been serfs and knaves. i had hoped that the sudden burst of the hudson upon my guests' vision would thrill them; but if they were thrilled, they were careful to conceal it. when i suggested the likeness of the hudson to the rhine, the herr director took it as a personal affront and said you might as well compare st. patrick's cathedral and that of cologne. they are both churches and gothic; the hudson and the rhine are two rivers, and both are big. nevertheless i insisted that there is an evident resemblance which would be complete if the hudson had a ruined castle here and there, or a picturesquely cramped village huddling against the hillside. "yes, and beside castles and picturesque villages," the herr director replied tartly, "you need a thousand years of culture and the same traditions which make the shores of the rhine sacred to us; you also need generations of patiently plodding peasants who have made a sacrament of their toil. one glance at your rotting boats lying along the shore, at the untilled, gaping spaces and glaring, inartistic sign-boards which disfigure it, is sufficient to distinguish the two rivers or perhaps even the two countries." having thus forcefully delivered himself, he scornfully pointed out the waste places and the unkempt-looking fields, asking me whether i still dared compare anything in this out-of-doors with the fine economy and splendid supervision of the natural resources of his own country. shamefacedly i acknowledged my country's guilt, and the guilt which was evident on the majestic shores of the hudson. we are wasteful, extravagant and reckless--great defects in our national spirit, and most in evidence in our treatment of nature's beauty and wealth. we shall have to remedy that, in fact we are just beginning to do it; if not from any sense of guilt, from the same sheer necessity which makes the nations of the old world careful of their national wealth. "the conservation of our national resources" is a fine phrase; it represents not only an economic, but a spiritual gain--this feeling of responsibility for the next generation. it is a new and most valuable asset of our national spirit; yet i must confess that i fear the coming of a day when we, too, shall have to practice the sordid little economies of the old world and think with anxiety about the to-morrow. it has always seemed to me that here the miracle of the loaves and fishes might be performed indefinitely, and that there always would be left over the baskets full of fragments. somehow, in common with the rest of mankind, i have associated generous plenty with the american spirit, and i trust we shall never have just our dole and no more. i recall walking one evening with the herr director and the frau directorin through the well-regulated, officially trimmed and "_streng verboten_" forest which encircles his native city. my children were with us--young, vigorous, american savages, who have a superabundance of the american spirit although they have not a drop of american blood in their veins. we passed a small mound of freshly mown hay and they promptly jumped into it, tossing a few handfuls as an offering to their aboriginal deity, the wind. if they had dashed into the plateglass window of a jeweler's shop or had desecrated the most holy shrine, they could not have caused greater consternation. "_um gottes himmels willen die polizei!_" cried the herr director and the frau directorin echoed: "_die polizei!_" although this happened about ten years ago, my children have not forgotten their fright. i suppose we still lack this virtue of economy, and yet i hope we may not lose that certain largeness of nature and that generosity of spirit which have characterized us. i love the generous spaces, the unfenced lawns, which make of the whole village one common park; the grass and clover free to the touch of our children's feet, the fragrant flowers wasting their bloom, and berries and cherries enough for the wild things of the woods. may the future not bring more high walls and narrow lanes, big game preserves for the rich, and scant patches of soil for the poor; castles for capital and tenements for labor. and may we never see written over every blade of grass: "_streng verboten_." i realized that the herr director spoke truly when he said that what we lack over here is a healthy class spirit, which the german farmer has. a sort of pride in his calling which makes him care for the soil and nourish it with a lover's passion. to him robbing the soil is as great a crime as it would be to rob his children. it is not only the emperor who regards himself as a partner with god, and sometimes the senior partner; the commonest, poorest peasant is apt to say as he drenches his field with the accumulated compost: "_ich und gott_." speaking of the farmer, the herr director admitted that in germany as elsewhere there is a trend to the city; but the tide is held back by the pride of the german farmer, who glories in having his traditions, his folksongs, and, above all, this sense of partnership with god. we scarcely have such a thing as a farmer class; we have merely merchandizers in dirt who sell not only the products of the soil, but unhesitatingly the soil itself. the land which we see from the car window, which the pioneers won from this boundless space, these houses and sheltering groves, the homesteads in which a great race was cradled, are all for sale, now that the soil is robbed of its fertility and the robbers have moved on to repeat the process elsewhere. we are doing something, he admitted, to stem the tide to the cities; we are introducing agricultural training into our public schools and are making the raising of corn and wheat a science, but not as yet a sacrament. we stayed over night in one of the half-asleep towns on the shores of the river, a town whose history is written upon the headstones in the cemetery, in the center of which the stately meeting-house stands. we met the descendants of those who sleep there, whose pride lies in the fact that their forefathers were the pioneers who fought the indians, the fevers and each other. their houses are full of old furniture shipped from england and holland, and we ate their food and drank their tea from costly silver and exquisite china which they have inherited. we looked upon the portraits of their ancestors and were told of their virtues and their fame; we saw fine memorials to the past in churches and town halls and rode in their automobiles, to see the farms bequeathed to them. one thing, alas! they have not and never will have--descendants. on one of the farms we saw a swarthy italian with a bright red rose behind his ear. his wife and children were working with him in the field, and they were doing this strange thing as they pulled weeds from the onion beds--they were singing. the herr director said significantly, "these are the heirs to all this," and i think he was a true prophet. it is a wonderful thing to invent agricultural machinery and to discover new methods by which two blades of grass can be made to grow where but one grew; yet if only some one could tune our dull american ears, so that our farmers might catch the melody of the singing land and sing with it; if our boys and girls would love wild roses well enough to wear them--if, and that is a very big if--some one could teach us americans to be proud of having descendants, we might add a new note to the great american out-of-doors, and keep it american. that night we sat upon a wide verandah, overlooking a valley through which the hudson rolled majestically; we saw populous cities, picturesque villages and bounteous farms; we looked into the heart of the out-of-doors and i was proud of it and of its free people, who ought to be a grateful people. there was deep silence everywhere; no sound except that of the birds, and they did not sing jubilantly as birds ought to sing in so blessed a place and on so glorious an evening. no one sang except the same italian who was coming home with his wife and numerous progeny. he still wore the rose behind his ear, although it had faded. those who sat with us had every luxury and more money than they knew how to spend; but they could not sing, for they were old, children there were none, and if there had been, they would not have been singing--they would have had a victrola. after the italian had eaten his frugal but pungent fare he came to the big verandah to get his orders for the next day, and the herr director spoke italian to him and he replied in that language which in itself is almost a song. his mistress asked him to bring his wife and children to sing for us. his wife did not come but the children came. they would not sing an italian song, it is true--that was just for themselves, in the fields where only god heard. they sang some sentimental thing they had heard in the "movies"--chewing gum the while. i asked them to sing something their teacher taught them but they knew nothing except "my country 'tis of thee" and the "star spangled banner," both of which they sang joylessly and not understandingly. how and why should they understand when the americans did not? it was a day full of dismal failure in my attempt to impress upon my guests the american spirit, and the failure of it was "rubbed" in by the herr director, who, as he bade me good-night, quoted as a parting shot this bit of german verse: "und wo man singt da las dich froelich nieder, denn boese menchen haben keine lieder." the rub was in his inference that we have no song because we have no noble spirit. iv _the spirit at lake mohonk_ many years ago the herr director and i were tramping through the hartz mountains in northern germany. he had not yet achieved portliness and fame; while to me, america was still the land of indians and buffaloes, and i had never dreamed of going there. we were climbing the brocken, and that which thrilled me more than its granite steeps and deeply mysterious pines was, the hundreds of school-boys and girls we met, singing as they climbed, and who, when they rested, listened to their teachers who stimulated their imagination and their patriotism by telling them the stories which had woven themselves around those mountains. the catskills are not unlike the hartz, and i remarked upon it as the herr director and i were climbing the walkill range. our destination was lake mohonk, the scene of the conference for international arbitration, organized and supported by that noble quaker, albert k. smiley; and now after his death continued by his able and generous brother daniel smiley, and his gracious wife. the frau directorin, with hundreds of other guests, had been met at the railroad station by carriages, this being one of the few places left upon earth where the automobile is excluded. the herr director was not climbing as easily as he climbed thirty years ago, and neither was i, although i made a brave show and led the way, frequently leaving him in the rear, much to his disgust. "yes," he said, mopping his brow and looking about critically, "this is somewhat like the hartz," and my heart gave a joyous leap at his admission; "but several things are missing: good company, merry songs and, above all, places of refreshment." of course i could offer him no better company than i was, as there are not many people in america who climb when they can ride for nothing; and the only refreshment available was clear water from a shaded spring. as we drank he recalled laughingly how, when we stopped at one of those nature's fountains in the hartz, a man who had watched us, came running out of his house and warned us that we might catch cold in our stomachs, at the same time politely offering to guide us to a place where we would get something not so dangerously cold, and with tempting foam at the top. i have long ago been weaned from the german custom of mixing refreshments and scenery; but one does miss the boys and girls, the merry, happy throngs, their sentimental songs and their fervent, poetic patriotism. involuntarily my mind reverted to a scene the herr director and i witnessed after we had finally reached the summit of our mountain in the hartz. it was nearly evening, and we could look far and wide above the forest into the happy and beautiful country. on the very topmost peak stood a corpulent german, surrounded by his genial group. he was reciting with fervor and genuine passion, in the broadest berlinese dialect, one of their treasured poems which begins with these lines: "high upon the hilltops of thy mountains stand i, thou beautiful and mighty fatherland." if this should happen over here, of which there is no danger, he would be laughed at, if noticed at all; over there he was treated like a high priest who called the faithful to prayer. as a people we lack not only poetic imagination, we lack also this identification of our country with the best in nature. our youth may be to blame for that, or perhaps we have so much of nature and so much which is beautiful that we have not been able to encompass it. yet there must be something very important lacking in such americans as the one whom i met very recently. he had just returned from a "seeing america first" tour, and had seen everything from niagara to the big tree groves of california. when i asked him what he thought of it all he said, coolly, "oh! it's a big country." naturally i did not tell this nor the following to the herr director. a few years ago i went with a group of americans to see one of the famous ice caves in the alps. the accommodating guides had lighted candles in the labyrinth and the sight was enchanting. one of my party, a dry-goods dealer, said with genuine enthusiasm: "my! i wish i could get such a shade of silk in new york." the other said: "too bad; so much perfectly good ice going to waste." he belonged to the much maligned tribe of ice-men. the rest of the men said nothing, although one of them did remark when we reached our hotel: "this only shows how slow they are over here. in the good old united states we would light that show with electricity." he belongs to the tribe whose name is legion. the herr director, as my readers have found, was very chary of his praise, in fact thus far i had not heard a good word from him for my united states; but that evening as we looked from the mountain house down upon the dark, deep lake, the rock gardens and the quaint bowers on every promontory, granite walls broken and scattered, and the rich valley between us and the catskills, he did say: "this is the most beautiful spot i have ever seen!" of course his generous mood was partially gendered by the unequalled hospitality of our host and hostess and by the sight of his fellow guests, who represented not only the entire united states, but the united states at its best. moreover, he and his wife had received a more than cordial welcome because they were representative foreigners and spoke english with a "cute accent." i almost felt a slight touch of jealousy upon that point although i am not of a jealous nature. but i have noticed this: to the degree that my english has improved, to that degree i have become less interesting to my american friends, so that i have sometimes been tempted to wish that i too might speak english with a "cute accent." the happy day was almost spoiled for me by the discovery that our trunks had not arrived. the herr director worked himself into a frenzy and the frau directorin had dire forebodings of having to spend the three days in the same shirt-waist. telegrams were sent in all directions, while the herr director called our much boasted of baggage system hard names; my "best laid schemes" seemed about to "gang agley" when much to my relief the trunks arrived, and i felt once more assured of the divine favor in my most strenuous efforts to "boost" my united states. the herr director had come to this country to take part in the mohonk conference, and being a prudent man, he submitted his address to me. it was written with teutonic thoroughness and as void of places of refreshment as the sahara desert or the walkill range we had climbed. i suggested a thorough revision, the cutting out of many statistics and resting his case, not upon pure business, but upon the higher plane of pure justice. he insisted upon retaining his statistics and also his appeal to the selfish and materialistic side of his audience; for he knew "something about americans" and still doubted their idealism. the next morning after breakfast we attended prayers, which is a part of the daily program of this hostelry, and presided over by the host, who usually reads the scriptures, announces a hymn and then leads in prayer. it is as impressive as it is simple and dignified, and the herr director and his wife did their first singing in america when they joined in a hymn whose tune is an old german folk-song. the program which followed the prayer service was dominated by specialists in international law and they were dry and concise enough to suit even the herr director; while the dreamers and agitators, whom he expected to hear, were almost altogether unrepresented. in fact they have grown less in this assembly each year, largely because it is thought that the whole subject has reached the point when it is a practical question to be discussed by men of affairs. no one knew better than the herr director how inevitable was the next great war and how far we were from the practical court of international arbitration. the epilogue to that great world drama had been spoken in the balkan, and spoken with vehemence, passion and fierce cruelty, and he knew its bearing upon the whole tense situation in europe. yet i am sure that even he did not know how many nations would be involved, nor how costly and deadly would be the conflict. he did foreshadow in his own condemnation of england and of england's foreign policy the element of hate between the two related nations, which was to play so important a part in the present war. the afternoon is playtime at lake mohonk, and most generous are the provisions for recreation; but the herr director did not ride or drive, nor play golf or tennis. he stayed in his room rewriting his paper, having sensed something of the spirit of lake mohonk. it is a very dignified room in which the problem of international arbitration is discussed, and although it never loses its hospitable, home-like air, one always has the feeling of being before a high tribunal, where anything but the most serious mood seems out of place; although a jest sometimes relieves the discussion. an audience of about four hundred people gathered that evening, men and women in varied walks of life, coming from all the states in the union and from many foreign countries. there were captains of industry and of infantry, admirals of fleets and presidents of colleges, statesmen and politicians, ministers, lawyers and journalists. their views ranged from those who believe that war is an unavoidable event in human history, and that a little blood letting now and then is necessary for the best of men, to those who teach that war is a curse and that a certain warrior who compared it to the worst place which human imagination can conceive, might be sued for libelling his satanic majesty who presides over that place or state. on the whole, they represented the men of action and men without illusions although with high ideals. the herr director's paper, minus its statistics, and keenly critical rather than laudatory, was received with applause, and he stepped from the platform in the best humor in which i had seen him since he reached the united states. the real joy of the lake mohonk conference, and of all conferences, is the human touch, and after the long evening session the herr director became the center of an interesting group of men who, while smoking their cigars, lost some of their american reserve and became sufficiently animated to hear and tell stories; so it was long past midnight when the informal session ended. frequently the herr director asked questions about things which he could not understand, and it was at such times that i sought to enlighten him, or have him enlightened by others; for he had become sceptical as to my own ability to inform him regarding anything american. he could not understand, for instance, that all this lavish entertainment was free, and suggested that it must be a sort of gigantic american advertising scheme, carefully concealed. when he was told that to secure a room during the season one must apply long in advance, and most likely have fair credentials before being accepted as a guest, he merely shook his head and murmured something about these "inexplicable americans." he also did not see how an hotel could flourish in any civilized country without permitting the accepted social diversions, such as card playing, dancing, and drinking something stronger than the mild beverages served at the soda fountain. he wanted to know how it was that three or four hundred americans would take three days of their time to discuss a theme which had little or nothing to do with profits. all the americans he had known about were void of ideals, and had no time for anything but business or poker. in fact he was astonished not to see poker chips littering the sidewalks. i told him that while it is true that the average american business man is always in a hurry, and gives little time to wholesome recreation, it is also true that in no country with which i am familiar do men of business give their time so generously to the consideration of the common welfare as here. they do this, not having the incentive constantly held out to the european business man, namely: recognition by the state and the reward which sovereigns may bestow, in much coveted titles and decorations. the average well-inclined american business man is incredibly patient, sitting through tedious meetings, listening to reports of various philanthropies, and earns a martyr's crown attending those interminably long banquets with their assault upon his digestion and their appeal to his sympathies. at lake mohonk the herr director met business men employing thousands of clerks to whom they grant vacations and holidays without legal compulsion, and for whom they have inaugurated welfare plans of far-reaching importance. it was certainly a revelation to him that the number of americans who are something more than animated money bags is growing larger every day. the still more difficult thing to explain to him was the frank and open discussions of national policies and the evident international view-point of those who took part in them. in all the discussions the most striking note was: "the united states wants not territory, not unfair advantage over other nations nor aggrandizement at the expense of lesser peoples, nor war, certainly not for conquest." the herr director intimated that in the exalted mood induced by being members of this conference, we could afford to be generous; but that at a time of national excitement we are no better than other people, taking what we can get and asking no questions. "uncle sam was not wholly disinterested in cuba, was he? and as far as mexico is concerned, who fermented the trouble there but this same uncle sam, that you might have an excuse to swallow as much of mexico as you wanted?" instantly my mind travelled to the time of the spanish-american war, when i was in europe, and the herr director was editing an influential german newspaper. he wrote an editorial, accusing the united states of beginning the war with spain for the sole purpose of annexing the "pearl of the antilles," and when i disputed his theory we nearly severed our "diplomatic relations." i now again vigorously pressed my point, to the great amusement of my friends and the chagrin of the herr director, who could not easily refute my statements; for while i acknowledged being an "_unausstehlicher americaner_," i happen to know the old world policies as well as he does. i mentioned austria-hungary, and its taking over of bosnia and herzegovina, without so much as "by your leave"--and germany which, to salve its hurt, sent a fleet of warships to china and helped the german eagle bury its beak in the yellow dragon's tail. i mentioned france in algeria, and england everywhere--"and uncle sam in the philippines," he interrupted. i took full advantage of that interruption to remind him that uncle sam is the only power which ever paid for anything gained by that right which in europe seems to be the only right;--the right of might. it was a difficult task which i had undertaken, to convince the herr director that the american spirit is different from that of the old world, and in spite of me he insisted that we are not a bit better than other people, but only so situated that we can afford to be generous. i assured him that i preferred to boast of our fair dealing with lesser peoples than of our victorious battles, and that i am never so loyally and enthusiastically american as when i think of our being just, rather than mighty. i have since been at lake mohonk at a time when national passions were aroused, and when those who had prophesied the early passing of the battle fever were discredited prophets. while there, a letter reached me from the herr director, in which he sent greetings to his host and hostess and the members of the conference, and in which he recalled his former accusation that we are no better than other people; for "are you not pro-ally and filling your pockets with the proceeds from the sale of war munitions? where now is your boasted fairness?" my reply was that i in common with many others wish we could wash our hands of this bloody business of selling ammunition, and that i still firmly believe that the american people will retain their poise during this dreadful upheaval. yes, even to-day i can say with no less pride than usual that i believe in the american spirit, in its sense of fairness and its love of justice, and while i trust that this country may be kept from so great a catastrophe as war, and i be kept from so severe a trial of my loyalty as having to choose on which side to fight, i know i would freely and unhesitatingly be on the side of my country, the united states of america. three glorious days had passed at lake mohonk and when the guests left that mountain top no one went more reluctantly than the herr director and his wife, and all the way back to the great city they felicitated upon their delightful experiences, while i rejoiced in my country and its spirit. when the herr director wrote his book i found that he acknowledged having discovered four things at lake mohonk. first, an unparallelled hospitality. secondly, that the leading men of america are soberly practical, unemotional, somewhat self-centered; but, at the same time, men of high ideals. thirdly, that its military men attend conferences for international arbitration, that they do not rattle their sabers, and in appearance cannot be distinguished from mere civilians. finally, that the american man boasts most and loudest of his sense of fairness; and while i write these lines, i am hoping and praying that this may indeed be not an empty boast, but an integral part of the american spirit. v _lobster and mince pie_ if i were gastronomically inclined i would study new york's cosmopolitan population and its progress towards americanization from the standpoint of its restaurants; for the appetite is most loyally patriotic. a man may cease to speak his mother tongue and have forsworn allegiance to kaiser and to king, but still cling to his ancestral bill of fare. if i were an absolute monarch and wished my alien people quickly assimilated, i would permit them to speak their native tongue and cling to the faith of their fathers; but i would close all foreign restaurants, and as speedily as possible obliterate from their memory the taste of viands "like mother used to make." i fear that it is neither goethe nor schiller, nor bismarck nor kaiser wilhelm who has kept the memory of the fatherland alive in the minds and hearts of many german people in america. dare i say that possibly much of their patriotism and loyalty is due to the taste of rye bread and sweet butter, _rindsbrust_ and _pell cartoffel_, not to mention a certain frothy amber fluid? be that as it may, when i discovered that the herr director and the frau directorin were homesick, i took them to a german restaurant to assuage their pangs; just as if, did i detect the same symptoms in an american whom i wished to make thoroughly at home in a foreign country, i would take him where a meal could be properly concluded with apple pie and cheese or ice-cream. the restaurant i selected lent itself particularly well to my purpose, for everything was imported, from the bavarian architecture to the _frankfurter_ sausages. the _menu_ card was adorned by illuminated, medieval lettering, and on the smoked rafters were painted pious and impious verses, which gave the room a literary atmosphere. it was as crowded and full of tobacco smoke and the odors of savory meats as the most loyal german could desire, and my guests were thoroughly at home. they ate their food happily, praised it discriminatingly, and studied the familiar environment carefully. as usual, certain things were lacking; for the herr director is a keen critic and never accepts anything as perfect. i agreed with him that the orchestra was too noisy and on the whole superfluous, and that the native american dining there could be easily recognized by the indifference with which he ate. we heard no loud complaining, and little or no quarrelling with the waiters. the food was accepted in a humble sort of way whether it was satisfactory or not; bills were paid, tips were given in the spirit of meekness, and accepted in the opposite way, and the guests left without any ceremony except that of paying their toll to the keepers of their hats and coats, a form of extortion quite unparallelled abroad. in striking contrast to our mere eating was my guests' enjoyment of every morsel of the food which they had selected, not simply because it was food, but because it was a note fitting into the gastronomic harmony. the head waiter and all his minions hovered about them with due reverence, and woe to him who by pose or gesture disturbed the perfect accord. a friend from nebraska who was staying at our hotel had joined us at dinner. when the waiter handed him the bewildering bill of fare, he waved it aside saying: "just bring me a big lobster stewed in milk, with a dish of pickles and a mince pie." the waiter turned pale, the herr director gasped, almost strangling on the salad he was eating, and the frau directorin looked at me despairingly. the waiter was the first to recover his composure, and cautiously suggested that the gentleman might like some lobster à la newburgh. "nix," said the nebraskan, "i want lobster à la milkburgh, and don't forget the pickles." the waiter retreated and after a long conference with his superior, informed the gentleman that he could have his lobster stewed in milk, but that it would cost him one dollar and fifty cents. "hustle it along," was the curt reply, and in about fifteen minutes he was deep in his bowl of lobster stew, flanked on either side by pickles and mince pie, while the rest of us were eating our way leisurely and artistically through a _menu_ which began with _caviar_ and ended with _camambert_ and _demitasse_. after dinner, american men, manners and ideals became the subject of a discussion into which my western friend good-naturedly entered, although he was made a horrible example of the fact that we are ill-mannered. the herr director insisted that our nation is too young to have any except bad manners, and while no doubt we had improved in the years since he first made our acquaintance, the improvement had not yet permeated the masses. that which i called the american spirit was the spirit of the few cultured, academic persons i knew, but the majority of the people was as alien to it as was our nebraska friend's lobster and mince pie to our delicious and dietetically correct dinner. "i don't give a hang for your 'dietetically correct dinner.' i want what i want, when i want it!" the nebraskan said, smiting the table with his fist, and evidently suppressing stronger language with an apologetic glance at the ladies of our party. "that is exactly it; you want what you want, when you want it," the herr director repeated, "whether or not it is on the bill of fare, or in the statute book, or among the laws of the universe. in that i suppose you americans all agree; that is your _american spirit_." he uttered the last phrase with special emphasis, and with no attempt to hide the sneer. i admitted that my friend's demand for the thing he wanted, regardless of the bill of fare and in defiance of a dietary law (of which he was not as yet conscious), was a manifestation of our individualism, a rather wide-spread characteristic. i was fain also to admit that our individualism is not always as harmless to others as in the case under discussion. it is an attitude of mind which has developed into a system to which we are committed for better or worse, and is in striking contrast to the german ideal of submission to an accepted order. "yes," from the herr director with evident pride. "that which makes germany great and strong is our willing submission to authority; but remember it must be intelligent authority, and at the same time it must be efficient. to be sure," he acknowledged, "we are often chagrined by the '_streng verboten_' to the right of us and the '_nicht erlaubt_' to the left of us. we are much governed but we are well governed, and you, too, will some day discover that the common weal has to be above the individual's caprice. your evident disrespect of laws and conventions results from the lack of intelligence back of them, and you have no respect for your lawmakers because they do not deserve it." at this point the nebraskan astonished us by saying that he had recently been in europe on business, selling grindstones, that he knew something about germany, and he never was gladder to get back to god's country than when he finally set foot upon his native soil. he had many adventures, and as an example of what he had to suffer from one of germany's well enforced laws, he told a story which proved his sense of humor, though the "laugh was on him." "when i was in berlin i made out a small bill for some goods i had sold, and the man told me that i must affix to it some revenue stamps. i didn't want to bother with it, and told him so. the thing was too trifling anyway. "i never thought of that bill again till i was forcibly reminded of it in hamburg as i was about to sail for home. i was haled before the court, and the judge fined me fifty _marks_. of course i knew i had to pay it, so i handed him the money and told him in good english to take it and go to the hot place with it. i didn't dream that he understood, but he replied in as good english as i gave him: 'officials of my rank travel first-class. i must therefore have fifty _marks_ more.' that little joke cost me a lot of money. i wouldn't want to live in a country where i couldn't tell anybody i pleased what i felt like telling him." the herr director doubted the accuracy of the story because "no german official would show so little dignity." i, too, doubted it; but on the ground that no german official would have so keen a sense of humor. there followed an animated argument between the nebraskan and the herr director as to which is of more importance, the individual or the state. the nebraskan insisted that the state being the creation of individuals, they are of supreme importance, while the herr director persisted in his theory that the state is supreme and that it is the business of the individual to make it dominant and powerful, to which end the state must make him effective. "an ineffective individual is a menace to the state, and a state which cannot impress its will upon the individual and make him submissive and effective will be vanquished in the great competitive struggle constantly going on." "i suppose you're effective enough, but you're as slow as molasses in january." "oh, yes, we are slow, but we are thorough; we take our time to do a thing well, while your hurry is as wearing as it is useless. when we came down here this evening we were in a hurry. we were rushed to your crowded subway to take a certain train, although the next one would have done as well. in about three minutes we were pushed out of that train into another, because it went faster, and we reached here breathless. we saved time, but for what purpose? to see you eat your lobster and mince pie?" and he looked contemptuously at the nebraskan. "what are we going to do now with the two or three minutes we saved?" this was a question i could not answer, for i did not know why i had hurried. perhaps because of the excess of ozone in the air, or possibly because every one else was hurrying. "you see," he continued, "we germans never make the mistake of confounding hurry with efficiency. we hurry, too, when we must, or when we have a rational purpose. we know that great things cannot be accomplished in a hurry. we lay our foundations not only patiently, but thoroughly and cheerfully. "you work like slaves who are eager to finish the job, as you call it. we cherish towards our job a sentiment of love and loyalty which we call '_pflichttreue_,' a word for which you have no equivalent, proving of course that you have not the thing itself." i translated the word as loyalty to duty. "yes, that may be correct, but it does not ring true. _pflichttreue_ has an ethical significance which your translation does not convey. "i have noticed that your conductors shed their uniforms the instant they leave their trains, as if they were ashamed of their job. with us, any uniform, whether a railroad conductor's or a general's, is gloried in, and honored because of the work it represents." the nebraskan thought us too democratic for uniforms, which is the reason we do not value them more than we do. "it is not the uniform, it is our work in which we glory. a shoemaker with us is as proud of his job as the emperor is of his. he is emperor by the grace of god, because he believes it is a god-given task to which he must be faithful, and we once had a shoemaker who called himself with equal pride, 'shoemaker by the grace of god.' "this pride spiritualizes the simplest and commonest work by making every man a conscious part of the state, and he works for its glory and power. it is a glory shared by his wife and family," and the herr director pulled from his pocket a german newspaper. "look at this funeral notice. the widow signs herself not only as the widow of a particular man, but as the widow of a man who did something of which she is still proud. while she remains a widow she will sign herself _amalia henrietta schmidt koenigliche hof opern obo spieler's wittwe_." "how can we be proud of our jobs," queried the nebraskan, after his hearty laugh at _amalia henrietta schmidt_, "when we never have a job which we expect to hold permanently? i started out with school teaching, then i got hold of a good thing in the way of carborundum and made grindstones. that's what took me to europe. when that business went bad, i bought out the livery stable in my town, and now i am in the moving picture business. if i could sell out at a good price i'd do it and take up any old thing as long as there is money in it." he was right. our work is not sacred to us, for too often it is only the means to an end, and frequently a very selfish end. because germany has had centuries of carpenters and tinkers and shoemakers who planed boards and mended pots and shoes "by the grace of god," and swung the hammer as if it were a sword, they are now wielding the sword as if it were a hammer. in some way we must get this spiritual appeal of the job, which means not only that we shall have to dedicate ourselves to our task in a manner worthy of its significance, but that the state must have this spiritual attitude towards the worker, and treat him as though worthy of his place in the economy of the nation. it is this wise provision for the workers' efficient education, the state's recognition that the well-being of the individual is its concern, which has given to germany the unfailing devotion of all her people. i was roused from these meditations by hearing the nebraskan's voice. "you see i never had a chance to learn just one thing. i can do many things tolerably well, for i had to do them. i can splice a rope, repair a machine, shingle a house and if necessary build a barn. i can play ragtime on the piano, throw a steer or ride a bucking broncho. i can even make soda biscuits. i am the child of the pioneers, and in order to survive, they had to be jacks of all trades. "i bought a tool in a department store the other day," and he drew it from his pocket. "it can do sixteen things tolerably well, but it isn't worth shucks for any one job, if you want to do it right. that's me." the herr director wanted to know what "shucks" meant, and after i laboriously explained it to him and he had handled the patent tool he said: "your travelling men have come over to germany and tried to sell us this kind of thing, but they found no market. when we want a gimlet, or a saw, or a coat-hanger we want that one thing and want it as good as it can be made. we marvel at your adaptability, but we are too thorough to be adaptable, and we do not need to be. you americans will never be able to compete with us until you learn to specialize and do one thing well." we sat long into the night comparing the german and the american spirit, but there was one phase of the former which the herr director clearly demonstrated. there was a religious fervor in his patriotism which the average american lacks. to him his country was not only above himself but beyond everything else on earth or in heaven. there often seems something sordid about our patriotism, something connected solely with the individual's well-being. i glory in our sense of liberty, in the opportunity to live unmolested, and in every man's chance to be himself; but i fear we have as yet not learned to value our duty to this country as much as we do our privilege. i am sure there will be no lack of fighters if the country is in danger; but shall we be able to fight the long, exhausting battle which presupposes discipline and subordination? the united states gives much to the individual, more, i think, than any other country; but she has not given intelligently, she has nearly pauperized us all by her beneficence, and has demanded nothing in return, nor even taught us common gratitude. our children are told that they must love their country, but what that means beyond fighting when it is in danger they know not. that it means to do their work thoroughly, that they must learn to do things well, and exalt the nation by becoming efficient workmen that they may help win their country's battles in the factory, or behind the counter, they do not yet know; and what we have not learned, we cannot teach. this questioning mood of mine is never gendered as i contemplate the mob, the many who are driven to revolt either by their unbridled passions or by the unbearable conditions under which they have to labor; my fear is strongest when i look into the schools and when i face our youth which comes out of them, inefficient, but above all, undisciplined. they do not lack physical courage, nor yet devotion to the country, in a sort of abstract way; they do lack the submission to intelligent authority. in this latter-day test of different ideals of the state, through the cruel, undecisive test of war, we may learn from germany to instill this "_pflichttreue_," this loyalty to the job. we may also learn the more difficult lesson for us individualists--submission to authority which we must make intelligent, as well as conscientious. necessity will soon teach us to be thorough, and thoroughness presupposes patience. add these qualities and this discipline to the enterprise, the love of fair play, the courage, the faith in god and man, which we possess, and we too may ultimately develop a patriotism which will stand the test of adversity, and emerge from it purified and strengthened. when we stepped out of the restaurant and its german atmosphere into the unmistakably american broadway, my german guests felt that my rampant americanism had been thoroughly subdued. however they had literally "reckoned without their host." my protracted silence had misled them, but i could contain myself no longer. "we are now walking in the streets of the second largest city in the world, its population thrown together and blown together from every quarter of the globe, and the most of these people, if not the worst of them, have come here in the last thirty-five years. they brought neither love of their new country nor knowledge of its language and institutions; they all came to make money, and to-morrow morning four millions of people will begin again the competitive battle from which they are resting to-night. "the laws which govern them are illy made, but they have made them, or at least had a chance to select those who did make them. they have not always chosen well; the officers who govern them are often not good men; frequently they are only the most cunning politicians and one has but scant respect for them. yet in spite of it all, this is a fairly well governed city and it is quite remarkable that these four million people live together in comparative peace and order. neither is there any ill from which this great city or any group of its individuals suffers for which there is not some help or healing or some attempt to heal. "if i were an absolute stranger without money, knowing neither the language of the people nor their ways, i would rather be on the streets of the city of new york than anywhere else." "how do you account for it?" the frau directorin ventured to ask, although the herr director had been violently expressing his dissent. "we have several things to count on here, even when conditions seem intolerable. let me name them. "we are all human beings; some of us have inherited the old testament righteousness and the passion for justice, and many of us have the new testament desire for service. these together make a very effective combination, and go a great way towards the glorious results we shall ultimately achieve." for once the herr director was silent, and as we had reached our hotel, i think i might have slept peacefully that night had not the nebraskan triumphantly remarked as we were being shot up to the topmost floor: "say, i did get that lobster à la milkburgh with pickles and mince pie, didn't i? i always get what i want when i want it." vi _the herr director and the "missoury" spirit_ the anteroom of the editor's office was crowded when the herr director and i arrived to meet the men of the staff at luncheon. the herr director is a publicist himself, and has edited one of the best known german newspapers. having called on him when he was trying to mould an already moulded public opinion i made some interesting comparisons which he did not approve. i could not forbear reminding him how, when i once called on him in his office, i had to wait in a similar anteroom over an hour, that i had to pass through a number of other rooms with a longer or shorter period of waiting in each, and was finally admitted to his august presence as if he were a king on his throne. as editor in chief, he was a more or less cloistered mystery, and not the man of affairs one is likely to be over here. whatever comparisons i made in spite of the herr director's protest, were not entirely fair; for editors are scarcely a species anywhere, and the particular one upon whom we were calling was an uncommon editor of an uncommon journal. neither he nor it has a counterpart in germany if anywhere in the world; they are both products of our spirit and have had no small share in shaping it and giving it expression. while i was explaining to the herr director the functions of this journal and how intelligently it interprets current events, and was extolling the virtues of its editors who, in spite of being persons of national reputation and great importance, have retained their simple, democratic ways, they emerged from the inner sanctum. after a vigorous hand-shake all around to which the herr director visibly braced himself, the first contact was made, and we were taken to a handsomely appointed dining-room in the same building, where luncheon was served. beneath all the outer simplicity and democratic demeanor of our host, beneath his smoothly shaven, well groomed, correctly tailored exterior, the herr director recognized a dignified reserve and consciousness of power, which made him whisper to me, "his majesty and suite," at the same time soothing with his left hand his aching right hand, just released from the vise-like grip of the editor. although i assured him that to me they were all just the editors of my favorite journal and after that plain, american citizens, i too am often impressed by that sense of dominance and power emanating from these men and others in similar positions. the feeling is not unrelated to that i have experienced the few times i have been in the presence of royalty. in our public men of exalted position there may be lacking the mystical element by which monarchs are surrounded; but the sovereign american has more physical energy and force. should the thrones of europe suddenly become vacant, i know dozens of our men who could occupy them, without their subjects becoming conscious of much change; and as far as queens are concerned we could easily furnish a surplus. the herr director and i had been chosen to sit in the places of honor, and we (or at least i) forgot to eat, and spent my time studying these superb types of americans. the herr director, being more sophisticated, absorbed both the food and the company, and in his lectures on "_die leitenden maenner in den vereinigten staaten_," which he has delivered since returning to germany, there are evidences that he remembered the minutest details of the _menu_, as well as every word which fell from the lips of the editor in chief. of course we spoke of many, if not all, the perplexing problems which vex this problem-ridden age, and each of us had a proprietary interest in one or more of them which we hoped to solve. the editor as a man of affairs knew our particular problems as well as we knew them, and had read all that any of us had written; so the conversation was animated enough, and certainly illuminating. my specialty being immigration, and having just returned from the pacific coast where i had studied the problem as it concerns the oriental, the conversation was finally dominated by that interesting and somewhat delicate theme. can we assimilate all these varied elements which come to us? can we make of them one people, and eliminate all those ethnic, national and religious inheritances which are frequently at variance with our own? the editor believed we can assimilate all or most of them with the exception of the oriental, "who, having separated from the ethnic root in the pleistocene period, represents too varied a physical and mental type to be assimilated by the occidental." i think i am quoting him correctly, although not word for word. as i did not quite agree with him, i expressed my views, and so did the herr director. i said i thought i noticed among the chinese and even among the japanese the influence of this new environment, and could tell of conversations with groups of graduates of our colleges, in which not only the influence of this country was noticeable, but the influence of the particular institution from which they graduated. anecdotes are not easily accepted as scientific proof; but this being an informal luncheon, i ventured a few of them which every one seemed to relish except the herr director, and he is not to blame for that, as anecdotes are rarely international. i do blame him, however, for telling me that he had never heard stupider jokes in his life. one of these ethnic anecdotes i told upon the authority of the bishop of the yangtsze district. perhaps like all anecdotes it may have grown in the telling. the bishop had picked out an unusually bright chinese lad to have educated in the united states and then become his curate. when he returned to china, after having attended both a college and a theological seminary, he was assisting the bishop. evidently he had not thoroughly mastered the ritual of the church; for this oriental, who had "separated himself from the ethnic root," moved close to the bishop, poked his elbow into the ecclesiastical ribs of his superior and asked: "say, bishop, where do i butt in?" our host wanted to know whether i was sure that he did not say: "bish"; i thought to reach the point of being able to express himself so briefly and directly the oriental would need at least another geologic period. one of the staff asked whether that anecdote was not my invention; to which i took the liberty of replying that if i could invent such good stories he might offer me an editorship. how imperfectly, after all, the oriental may absorb the spirit of our language, i told in the story which is supposed to have its origin at the university of michigan; although like all such stories it may be claimed by innumerable birthplaces. a hindoo student, who had not quite finished his academic career and had to return home on account of illness in his family, wrote back to his faculty adviser, notifying him of the death of his mother-in-law, in this characteristic, brief, occidental way: "alas! the hand which rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket." the herr director thought this anecdote funny enough, but it proved the opposite from that for which i was contending. "who but an oriental could invent such highly picturesque figures of speech?" the conversation drifted into soberer channels when our host took up the question as to what constitutes the american, who after all is hybrid and frequently so mixed that he does not know just how he is ethnically constituted. "for instance," he said, "i am part german, part revolutionary yankee stock" (it seemed to me that he put the emphasis upon the revolutionary), "part french, part scandinavian, part irish." i have forgotten just how many racial strains he said were running in his veins, but a variety large enough to be exceedingly useful to him in claiming kinship with all sorts of folk, and in making political speeches. that the ancestors of the average american belong to the great fighting stocks of humanity may explain if not excuse his love for physical combat. each guest around the table followed the editor's example and accounted for his ancestry, showing that all but two of the americans were mixtures, ranging from three to eight more or less greatly differentiated races, using that term in its broadest sense. one of these unmixed americans gave the outlines of his family tree, all of it growing out of the rugged new england soil; but every one of his daughters had married a man of foreign birth, or of foreign parentage. his sons-in-law are german, polish, french and jewish. he added: "my german and french sons-in-law are great chums." the other pure american was myself, although of course my ancestors did not come over in the _mayflower_, and i have never been in new england long enough for my family tree to take root in its historic soil. after all, though, the best thing a nation or race has to bequeath to its children is not always handed down upon the racial channel. i think it is the apostle paul who discovered this long ago, and his missionary propaganda among the gentiles is based upon his belief that they are not all israelites who are of the circumcision. his converts became israelites through adoption, through their appreciation of the jewish spirit which came to its full fruitage in jesus of nazareth. i once heard max nordeau say: "_es gibt zweierlei juden: auch juden und bauch juden;_" which freely translated means: "there are two kinds of jews: those of the spirit and those of the stomach." the taste for _kosher wurst_ and _gefülte brust_ is inheritable to the tenth generation; but one is not always born with the passion for righteousness, the love of justice and the thirst for god. to these one must rather be born again, and the same thing is true of the american. there are americans who have thrown overboard their spiritual inheritance, who have expatriated themselves because they could not live in the puritan atmosphere of new england; but to whom a sunday in the _riviera_ is not fully radiant, unless upon the rose-laden atmosphere there comes wafted the fragrance of codfish balls. the herr director reminded the company of the fact that i was the most "_unausstehlicher americaner_" he had ever met; to which the editor responded that he knew one who was if anything worse than myself--a newspaper man, jacob riis. "can a nation feel secure, having to put the keeping of its spirit into the hands of aliens?" some one asked; and what would happen in case of a conflict between the united states of america and the native country of even such thorough americans as jacob riis and myself? at that time the answer was not as difficult as it is now, since there has been the possibility of such a conflict, and slumbering love of native country has been awakened by the roar of cannon and the noisier and deadlier war carried on by the press. it has been a very trying time for those of us who have been called "hyphenated americans"; but i doubt that the german or austrian hyphen has been more in evidence than that which we are pleased to call anglo-saxon. i can say that in spite of the fact that my native country precipitated the conflict, i felt no thrill of patriotism when austrian troops invaded serbia, and frequently wonder whether i have not suffered some moral deterioration, because through all these stirring times i have remained fairly rational. i have never condoned austria's treatment of the slavs, nor germany's invasion of belgium; i have not gloried in their victories, but i have suffered alike for all my fellow mortals who are involved in this most disastrous conflict. i know myself always human first, and a loyal american next. in fact, never before have i loved my adopted country as much as now, never did i have for it so profound a respect, nor a deeper realization of the blessing of our democracy, imperfect as it is. the herr director insisted that we could not count on the loyalty of our immigrated citizens in case of war with their respective countries, especially as they are so frequently dealt with unjustly by our courts and exploited by our industries. the editor thought that the danger to the united states did not lie in the lack of loyalty in our new citizens, but rather in the general smugness of the average american, and in our unpreparedness for war. the conversation drifted into a discussion of militarism, a subject which has become painfully familiar since, and he said that although the american is a fighter he is not a militarist, nor in danger of becoming one; and that personally, he, in common with all sane americans, believed that the country ought to be prepared to protect itself and defend its national honor. "that's what we all say," the herr director remarked. when the whole company laughed, he felt hurt, and it took me a long time to explain to him that he had accidentally stumbled onto a bit of american slang, which he had used most innocently, but aptly. i wanted to know just what the editor meant by preparedness for war and just when a nation's honor was so damaged that nothing but war would restore it. there seemed to be no time left to have this question answered, and as there was some danger that we would separate with this important subject upon our minds and perhaps interfering with our digestion, i asked whether in conclusion i might tell another ethnological anecdote, which would illustrate my need of light upon that question of preparedness for war. to this they all assented if i could vouch for its being as good as the others. i thought it was better because i was sure it was true, and the joke was on me. every one settled down expectantly except the herr director who never relishes my stories, having a fine collection of his own which he tells remarkably well. i had to wait at a small station in the west for one of those periodically late trains, and was reading the only fiction available, the railroad time-table. a train which came from the opposite direction brought a gang of working men who had been shovelling the snow which had blocked the road. as they were all immigrants i had no further use for my time-table and went among them, guessing at their nationality, sorting them according to the shape of their heads, delighting my soul by talking to them as much as i could of their native country, and quizzing them about their experience in the united states. i had succeeded splendidly with all of them and there was but one man left. as soon as i saw him i said to myself, "he is a russian, not a common russian, but of the velko russ variety which is still rare or comparatively rare among our immigrant population." i walked up to him and saluted him with the pious greeting of his class. there wasn't the slightest indication that he understood me, so i concluded that i was mistaken; but knowing that he was a slav, i tried a greeting in polish, and again the great, shaggy slav seemed not to understand. when bohemian failed, i decided that my error was merely geographical and this was a southern, not a northern slav. i used all the serbic i knew without getting anything but a stare from my victim, and then decided that he might be an albanian. knowing only two words of that language i tried them with the same negative result. finally, disgusted with myself i resorted to english. feeling sure that he would not understand, i shouted at him, "are you a greek?" then a ray of intelligence passed over his stolid face. deliberately taking his pipe out of his mouth, he laconically replied: "no, i am from missoury." a shout of laughter followed my story; but the herr director's face grew darker and darker. when we were in our taxicab going back to the hotel, he said: "one of the most remarkable things i have learned to-day about the american people is that they are very young, almost childlike." "why, how did you learn that?" i asked. "oh," he answered, "who but a childlike, _naïve_ people would laugh over such a stupid joke as yours? anyway, how did you dare bring such a silly story into so serious a conversation?" "yes," i replied; "that is as you say a sign of our youth. the more complex and seasoned jokes belong to the older civilizations, and the love of a simple story and the ready response to it, even though it be a poor story, are a sign of our youthful health; but you know," i added, "that story i told was not so _mal apropos_ after all." and the rest of the day i struggled mightily to convince the herr director that being "from missoury" is one of the most hopeful things about the american spirit. vii _the herr director and the college spirit_ "take us out of new york," the herr director said after a wearing day of sightseeing, "or we will go home on the next steamer. my neck aches from looking at the sky-scrapers, my nerves are all on edge, and," glancing at the frau directorin who had hugely enjoyed every moment and showed no sign of weariness, "we must have rest." i was reluctant to leave new york, because, after all, it holds those great thrills with which we like to startle our foreign friends. i feared the change from those daily surprises which thus far i had been able to give them. lake mohonk, the only place outside of new york city which we had visited, is unique in many ways and its experiences were not likely to be duplicated; so it was somewhat heavy heartedly that i started them on a new adventure, praying to him who "holds the nations in the hollow of his hand" to aid me in my praiseworthy endeavors. i was not very sanguine that my prayer would be answered, for we were beginning a tour of the eastern educational institutions, than which there is nothing more difficult to interpret. this, not only because they have no counterpart anywhere in europe, and the line between our university and college is so indistinct, but because i hoped to reveal their spirit, which no mere outsider can comprehend, and which even the man on the inside finds it difficult to understand. i drew into the conspiracy dear friends, _alumni_ of the different institutions, who knew every blade of grass on each respective campus, over which they walked proudly and reverently. to find one university tucked away in a village, another defying the grime and noise of a growing city which crowded upon it; one still retaining its air of exclusive dignity in spite of its garish surroundings, while a fourth was nearly swamped by the culture-hungry children of immigrants, yet remained triumphantly american, was new enough and startling enough to keep my guests on the heights. the pleasant walks, shaded by tall, graceful elms, and the presence of distinguished americans, acted soothingly upon the herr director; while the gracious attention paid to the ladies convinced the frau directorin that she had reached the feminine paradise. she could not understand, however, why, when the ladies were permitted to go everywhere, and were even allowed to gaze at american students in athletic undress, they were barred from sharing with us the rare privilege of seeing a thousand or more of them being fed in one of those gothic dining halls. there, surely, one might expect nothing worse than medieval piety tempering the appetite. probably this tradition of no ladies in the galleries is the only thing beside the architecture which is left us from that hoary age. there are certain definite points which the enthusiastic _alumnus_ always tries to impress upon visitors, and one of them is the past, in which every college glories, and as youth seems to be unpardonable, history begins when as yet it "was not." in most of the places we visited, no such historic license was necessary, for many of them were respectably old, one of them being contemporaneous with the history of our country, and others belonging to that eminently respectable period, "before the revolution." some have important battles named after them, and several were "washington's headquarters," a distinction freely bestowed upon many places by that ubiquitous and much beloved "father of our country." at present the most important thing seems to be the buildings; dormitories, laboratories, libraries and usually most prominent of all, the gymnasium and the athletic field. the president of one of the lesser universities, having such a million dollar plaything, became our _cicerone_, and while he took us hastily through everything else, lingered fondly there, showing us in detail the expensive apparatus. with classic pride he stood upon the athletic field, looking as some cæsar must have looked when he showed visitors to rome his arena, the "largest," and at that time the "costliest in the world." it was interesting to find that the buildings which pleased the herr director most were neither new nor gothic, a fact easily explained by his dislike for everything which is english. he marvelled that we had chosen to imitate english college architecture, with its heaviness and gloom, its hideous gargoyles, its useless, and here meaningless, cloisters, rather than to continue our fine inheritance, with its severely classic lines, its wide windows inviting the light, and its generous, broad doors, so much in harmony with our educational ideals. of course no one had an answer ready; yet personally while i do not "_hasse_" england nor the things which are english, i vastly prefer, let us say nassau hall at princeton, to anything which that glorious campus holds, not even excepting the graduate college with its massive and impressive cleveland memorial tower. the herr director shook his head many a time at the external glory of our universities and even more at the comfort and luxuries of the dormitories and fraternity houses. we were the guests of one fraternity at dinner. about twenty young men were living under one roof, having chosen each other by some mysterious, selective process, and i was tempted to think that it was their negative rather than their positive qualities which drew them together. we were shown the house from cellar to garret, much to the dismay of the herr director who does not like climbing stairs, but to the joy of the frau directorin who, woman-like, not only loves to peep into closets, and see pretty rooms, but having discovered the american standard for feminine grace, wanted to lose some of her "meat" as she expressed it in her quaint english. each of these young men occupied a suite of three rooms. the hangings were heavy and not in the best taste, the chairs all invited to leisure, and the most conspicuous piece of furniture was a smoking set with a big brass tobacco bowl in the center; while innumerable pipes hung from a gaudily painted rack. in keeping with the furniture were the pictures which were decently vulgar, and of books there were no more than necessary. the herr director was asked regarding student life in germany, and he contrasted their surroundings with his own cold, inhospitable _gymnasium_, the relentless examinations, and the freer but responsible life in his university. he described the rooms of the present emperor of germany when he was a student at the university of bonn, remarking that they looked like barracks in comparison with these. "how can you study in such luxurious rooms?" he asked, and naïvely and frankly came the answer: "we don't." on the whole, the herr director liked the looks of the boys he saw, and the frau directorin quite fell in love with them. they were so frank, so clean looking, and what above all amazed them most, so altruistic in their outlook upon life; they looked so healthy and well groomed and were so altogether wholesome. but that boys could graduate from colleges and not have studied--that was beyond their comprehension. the german student's social standing and his future depend upon his "exams." there is only one prime thing, and that is study. when the herr director learned the multiplicity of our outside activities which divide the attention of the students, he knew why they do not study. he was aghast at the scant reverence paid members of the faculty. when walking with the president of one of these universities, we met groups of students who did not salute the head of their institution and barely made way for him to pass, he grew quite wrathy, and it took the combined efforts of the president and myself to keep him from telling the young men what boors they were. i think he discovered later that it was mere thoughtlessness, and that there is something really fine about the average american student; that he is usually a gentleman at heart, but that he has not yet learned to value the grace which comes from that sacrament of the common life--lifting his hat to his superiors. when i told him that one of my students came to me one morning in haste, with "say, prof, where is prexy?" he did not laugh as i expected; but when i remembered that i did not laugh either, when it happened, i forgave him his lack of perception. it is of course true, that the average college professor would rather be called jimmy or jack or some other pet name than to have his academic degrees pronounced every time a student speaks to him; but there still remains the fact that the ordinary american youth lacks this sense of respect for personality, and that an education, even a college education, does not remedy the defect. it is a very exciting moment in the life of the undergraduates of at least one university when they try to discover if the preacher can make himself heard above their coughs, which is their way of challenging his message; but it does not help him to believe that he is in the presence of men who know what reverence means. i do not deny that the undergraduate honors achievement, but even in that he lacks proper discrimination. how much education can do to instill this common and deplorable lack of reverence for personality i do not know; for it lies far back, too far back to be reached by mere academic training. during our tour, the herr director had a chance to see one university come out of its incoherence and inexplicable confusion into unity. he heard it roar like the "bulls of bashan," fling its flaring colors to the wind, hoot its defiance to the enemy, dance, dervish-like, around the battle flames; he saw ten thousands of young men suffering the war fever, and an equal number of young women shrieking in wild delirium; he saw embankments of automobiles struggling to reach the seat of the conflict, armies of men trying to storm the ramparts, and newspaper correspondents mad from haste; while in the center of it all, twenty-two disguised men struggled for a chalk-line. unfortunately, no friendly guide was near us to explain it all, and as i am still an un-americanized alien to a football game, its meaning was lost to my guests. when two men were carried from the field limp, and seemingly lifeless, the frau directorin promptly fainted. the herr director was beside himself, for there was no way to extricate ourselves from the maddened mass of humanity; but while he was wildly and vainly calling for water, she revived, and we stayed to the finish. i wished i had not brought them, for to appreciate a football game one must be born in america, and no explanation i offered could convince the herr director that we are not more cruel than the spaniards, whose opponents in their deadly games are bulls, not men. the frau directorin still sheds tears at the remembrance of how badly we use our "perfectly nice young men." the fierceness back of this conflict, the vast amount of money spent upon properly playing the game, the primary place it occupies in the imagination of the american youth, its deadening influence upon scholarship, and all the multitudinous pros and cons, are over-shadowed by the fact that, as far as the community at large is concerned, it expects this roman holiday, and a college or university is considered good or poor, to the degree that it caters to this desire. one thing i can say for it: it is thoroughly american, bringing into the lime-light some of our virtues and most of our faults. "in germany," again the herr director, "where things are not permitted to grow merely because they grow elsewhere, it was found that for military preparedness your sports are of little or no value, especially if engaged in vicariously; and that teaching men to dig trenches and serve cannon, to obey implicitly a command and carry it out effectively, is of more use, not only to the individual's well-being, but also for the great, collective purpose of national defense." it seems very strange to me that nearly all foreigners whom i have helped introduce to our academic life have been so gratified by its evident democracy, and that their satisfaction was greatest when their own aristocratic lineage was highest. that a man's career in our institutions of learning is not made impossible because he does manual labor to help him through, and that he may do such femininely menial tasks as waiting on table or washing dishes, while taxing their credulity, is always unstintingly praised. i have, however, good reason to believe that while our foreign visitors find the democracy of our colleges interesting and praiseworthy, we are losing the thing itself to a large degree, and my conscience has not always been at ease when i finished a panegyric on college democracy. in fact what i fear is its defeat just there, where it is most needed, where we are supposed to train the leaders who, whether they become leaders or not, are the men who will give tone to our national life and will control its expression. in travelling from one of the universities to the other, we came upon a group of college men in the train. the herr director recognized them at once, whether instinctively or because he had discovered the type, i do not know. i knew them because of the fit of their garments, or the lack of it, and by the fact that they smoked cigarettes incessantly. the herr director, as a distinguished foreigner, had no difficulty in opening a conversation with them, and i think he got much illuminating amusement out of them. they had just finished their semester "exams," and one of them said that the question upon which he flunked was a comparison between the two english authors, dickens and dequincy. though he did not know the difference between these two, he showed his classic training by differentiating between a rameses ii and an egyptian deity cigarette merely by the color of the smoke. i was not drawn into the conversation until the herr director needed me to interpret some campus english. one of the lads undertook to inform us regarding the social life of his university and more especially the fraternities, with particular emphasis upon his own, which excluded not only certain well-defined races, but also put a ban upon certain classes. "we don't admit anybody into our fraternity whose people are not somebody in their communities." i asked him his name and he gave it to me with a french pronunciation. i thought he was bohemian, and recognized the name as such, in spite of its french disguise. i told him so, and pronounced it for him in the hard, slavic way, all gutturals and consonants. i also told him its meaning: "a very common hoe such as the peasants use, and it means that your ancestors in bohemia earned their living honestly, which i am sorry to say cannot always be said about 'people who are somebody' in our communities." the herr director thought i was very hard upon the poor fellow, and later i had a good talk with him. i tried to show him that his bohemian, peasant origin ought to be a source of pride to him. that the very fact that he and his people had come out of the steerage, and by virtue of our democratic institutions could rise to the point where they could send him to college, should make him a guardian of the american spirit and not its foe. i do not know that he profited by what i said; for i often find myself talking to the wind and the tide, and they are both against me. i have only pity for the gilded youth who go to an american college with its vast opportunities of human contact, yet fail to see any one outside their own social boundaries. after all, the chief glory of our educational institutions is that their best things are still democratic. no man is kept from the holy of holies, from sound learning, from the contact with scholarly minds, from good books, and enough of rich fellowship to make going to college worth while. we heard one delightful story which is so typically american and so reveals the american spirit at its best, that the herr director embodied it in his book. the president of a quaker college told us that just as he found there was some danger that the men who had to work their way through, were losing caste, one of the upper classmen opened a boot and shoe mending and cleaning shop. as he was a man of means, whose standing in his group was unquestioned, his action took from common labor its ever renewing curse. in many of the colleges we met groups of men so full of this spirit, so concerned with fostering it, that all the snobberies of which we had heard seemed even smaller than they were in their own right. we met those who gave their leisure hours to that most difficult and worthy task of americanizing the immigrants who, in many instances, almost encroached upon the campus. the students visited them in the box-cars where they lived, or in the hovels where they reared children; they taught them english and the elements of good citizenship, and every one of them had some particular antonio to whom he was devoted, and whom he was trying to lift to his level. although the general testimony was that the students had gained more from the contact than the immigrants had, i know how immeasurably much it means to these strangers to have leaning up against their own lonely souls men of culture, and sweet, clean breath, and brotherly heart. it is this idealism in our college youth which is so precious an asset that to lose it would mean bankruptcy to our educational institutions. although the herr director did not tell me, i knew that this excursion into the universities of the east had been a success; for thus far he seemed to have enjoyed everything; at least he did not complain about anything. he seemed in an especially happy mood when we were talking it over in the home of one of the presidents, whose guests we had become. "yes, i like your colleges very much, and if i should want my boy to have four years of more or less organized happiness, i would send him to an american college. he would have a good time, i think his morals would be safe," and he added with a smile, "his intellect would be safe also." viii _the russian soul and the american spirit_ new york is geographically misplaced for such a purpose as mine. it ought to lie somewhere west of niagara falls, so that one might be able to take strangers to that wonderful cataract without their having previously exhausted all the emotions which they are capable of expressing. the day journey between new york and buffalo is never commonplace, especially when it furnishes such euphonious names as susquehanna, wilkes barre, mauch chunk, etc. from the hilltops we had glimpses of great valleys below, valleys which are mined and furrowed and channelled by a great industrial host whose crowded dwellings resemble the hives of bees and are as monotonously alike. i could make these glimpses interesting enough, for i could tell by the shape of the church steeples and by the style of cross which crowned them, what faiths were there contending with each other. with equal certainty, and by the same signs, i knew the nationality of the people who worked there, and had faith enough to build steeples in the shadow of mine shafts and coal breakers. it was an atmosphere tense from the labor of seven unbroken days, and heavy from noxious gases in which trees languish and die, fish perish in the murky rivers, birds fear to nest, and man alone, immigrant man, lives and works and worships. the herr director, like all germans, has a natural contempt for the slavs, and when i proposed that before we visited niagara falls we should see some of the slavic settlements, he demurred; but when the frau directorin added her plea to mine, he reluctantly yielded. i was able to promise them an interesting meeting with an idealistic, young russian priest, who had voluntarily taken a mission among these miners. he was earnestly striving to guard their souls, and also that which seems quite as precious to their church, their russian nationality. the greek orthodox church is the most nationalistic church in existence, and where-ever those bulbous towers with their slanting crosspieces dominate the sky, it is equivalent to the raising of the national flag. the slavic soul is thoroughly christian in its quality of patient endurance, in which it has had long and hard tutelage. at the same time it is tenacious and unyielding of its particular dogma, having been taught from its earliest consciousness that its salvation lies in strict adherence to the national faith. the city where we tarried is one of the best in which to study the slavic soul, and its relation to the american spirit, being large enough to express that spirit in its varied manifestations; yet not so large that the articles it manufactures hide or crush the articles of its faith. i knew my guests would like the place, for while it is a busy town in the very heart of pennsylvania's industrial region, it has retained a sort of homelike atmosphere. situated midway between the large cities and the small towns which we had thus far visited, it has all the usual bustle, and is full of vigorous rivalry with other like cities in the same valley. whatever one city does, whether building ambitious sky-scrapers or a commodious y. m. c. a., promoting a revival, or bringing in new industries, this little city endeavors to duplicate upon a still larger scale. my guide for the day was the town's chief "hustler," the secretary of the y. m. c. a., who is an embodiment of the american spirit, being both body and spirit. he made a splendid foil to the russian priest who is all soul, russian soul and as little at home in the united states as the czar's double eagle would be, floating from the city's court-house which stood in typical court-house fashion in the center of the town square. the y. m. c. a. secretary met us at the station, needless to say, in an automobile, as there is nothing the average american would rather do than "show off" his town. he gave his time unstintingly for that purpose, beginning the process by taking us through his institution which is american enough to have challenged the herr director's attention. in great good humor he, with the rest of us, followed the secretary from the bowling alley to the roof garden, looked into the dormitories and class rooms, and protested only when our zealous guide gave us long statistics as to how many people took baths, how many men were converted, and how much of the mortgage had been paid off during his incumbency. i had to explain to the herr director the meaning of mortgage and its relation to our religious institutions; for the two seemed related in some mysterious way. he was duly impressed; for this practical side of religion, this combination of saving souls and giving baths was new to him. newer and more interesting still was the clerical machinery with its card indices, its numerous secretaries, stenographers, and its clock-like regularity and efficiency. the secretary is undoubtedly a religious man; but he is a business man first, and his soul has had no small struggle in an atmosphere which demands that he attract new members, raise a generous budget, pay off a mortgage and at odd moments look after his own business; for besides being secretary of this great institution, he dabbles in western lands, has an interest in a canning factory, and helps "boom" the town. i could assure the herr director that, nevertheless, his soul survives; for the average american is remarkably adaptable, and while this secretary may permit his religion to suffer before his business, i know he does not "lose his own soul"; although in that respect as in everything else he does run frightful risks. when we left the palatial lobby of the y. m. c. a., having had bestowed upon us its annual report, souvenir postal cards, and incidentally a prospectus of the western land co., the secretary insisted upon accompanying us. as he put his automobile at our disposal, and the slavic settlements were out of reach by the ordinary means of locomotion, we reluctantly accepted his kind offer, the herr director having previously confided to me that he did not like the secretary's "hustle," and that his "efficiency" made him nervous. there were two things which the frau directorin found everywhere and in which her soul delighted: marked and courteous attention to the ladies--and automobiles. we took just one street car ride in new york city, having been fairly showered by offers of automobile rides, one form of hospitality of which we have grown quite prodigal. it was well that we had both the secretary and the automobile; for although i thought i knew where the russian parish was located i did not reckon with the fact that it was three years since i had last visited it. during that interval the town had so altered that the landscape was quite unrecognizable. it is the peculiarity of this and neighboring towns that they change their topography over night. what was a hill becomes a hollow, and the reverse process also takes place though more slowly, because of the huge culm piles which accumulate. the mining of coal being carried on under the town has been so thorough in later years that intervening coal props have been removed, and houses and churches which formerly were above the level are now below it. we finally found the russian church and its adjoining parsonage in as uninviting an environment as i have ever seen. the three years since i visited them had not only let them down from their eminence, but had developed a stagnant pool on one side, while refuse from the mines had encroached upon the other. all the glory of red and yellow paint had departed, leaving only a drab dinginess, the prevailing tone of the landscape. the priest received us in his study, which, besides the _icons_ and a _samovar_ had no ornaments. the musty air was full of cigarette smoke, and most diminutive stumps of these "_papirosy_" were lying about, adding to the general untidiness. a parish register lay upon the desk. it contained the names of more than a thousand souls with the chronicle of their coming into this world and their going out of it, and also that most important item, when they had attended holy communion, the one visible sign of their allegiance to the true faith. the holy father had a strange history. the son of a priest, he naturally was destined for the same calling. caught by the ever moving tide of revolt he had "sown his wild oats," which consisted of disseminating revolutionary literature. he was imprisoned, then like many good russians repented, and, as a penance, came to pennsylvania. in desolation and distance from home his parish was not unlike siberia. it was even worse, for it was an exile from like-minded men, and his suffering on that score was acute. i have watched the manifestation of national or racial characteristics in individuals, and i feel certain that the russian reflects those characteristics most intensely, whether he be peasant, priest or noble. not without reason does he call his country "mother russia." he has for her just that kind of affection, and it is as different from the violent love of the herr director for his fatherland as is the matter-of-fact sentiment of the american for his. the russian completely reflects his country, and as both her virtues and her faults are feminine, there is in him something gentle and yielding towards external authority, and yet something unconquerable and defiant. there is a capacity for suffering and sacrifice of which no other people seem to be capable. there is also a confidence in the goodness of humanity, no matter how bad it may seem, which reminds me of the confidence of the woman who is beaten by her drunken husband, yet knows that in his sober moments he is not a bad man. the predominance of the spiritual quality may or may not be feminine, but it certainly is russian, and one may indeed speak of the soul of a people in relation to the slavs in general, and the russians in particular. the priest possessed all these characteristics; he was the russian soul, and this soul quality became even more apparent in contrast with the complex spirit of the american secretary, in whom teuton and celt were blended, and with the herr director, whose soul had hardened under the discipline which germany had given him. he lost no time in beginning an argument with the priest as to the relations of their respective countries, and when it threatened to become acrimonious, the secretary, hoping to create a diversion, asked the priest why he did not encourage his parishioners to come to the y. m. c. a. at that point i threw myself into the breach, and with considerable difficulty directed the conversation into safer channels. i asked the priest to show us his mission, and he took us into the church, much poorer than any i have ever seen in russia, and then into the schoolroom, where the children of the miners received their religious instruction and as much of secular education as they craved. the teacher was a lean youth who looked as if he had suffered moral, spiritual and physical bankruptcy before coming to america. he and the whole equipment seemed hopelessly inadequate and out of place. the secretary did not know that hundreds of children were growing up in an american community, yet completely isolated from it, and the herr director remarked that in germany this would be regarded as treason to the state. the priest declared that it was his mission in america not only to keep his people and their children loyal to the national church, but to inject into our westernized materialism this true slavic faith and its leaven. he believed that in america we lack soul. we worship science and money and business. the russian alone lives in intimacy with god and regards that relation of the supremest importance. "the american," he continued, "believes in developing natural resources, the german develops the mind, the russian alone develops the soul." i have always had the greatest reverence for the russian soul. i have learned something the herr director could not see, on account of the natural, political antagonism between his own country and russia; something the secretary could not comprehend on account of his provincialism, and the priest would not admit because of his official position, namely: that neither the russian state nor the russian church represents the russian soul. its common people, although nearly crushed by the one and confused by the other, are still christian souls and as such have a mission to america; but i could not see how that mission would be fulfilled by locking up a few hundred children in a filthy schoolroom and teaching them their national catechism. the spiritual russia, as it is incorporated in its common people and as it is interpreted by tolstoy and dostoyewsky, has reached us and taught us the greatest lesson which we self-righteous americans needed to learn: the impossibility to judge our peers or to be judged by them. it was tolstoy and dostoyewsky who compelled some of us to see our own guilt, and they, not the russian church, united our voices with those of the russian people in the chief note of their mass, "lord have mercy! o lord have mercy!" the russian peasant always knew that men are stricken by crime as by a disease; and when he passed those consigned to prison, he cried out incessantly: "lord have mercy! o lord have mercy!" and for the man who escaped, he never hunted with the bloodhound's passion, as we do; he put a crust of bread upon the window, to help him on his way. it was news to the secretary that judge lindsay, the "kid's judge," as he is affectionately called, received his inspiration from tolstoy, and that the tendency to change our prisons into social clinics was originally suggested by dostoyewsky, a name quite unfamiliar to him. the herr director spoke of the inadequacy of these same russians when they try to put their theories into practice, and what prosaic, impossible preachers they make. to which i replied that their failures are due to their preponderance of soul and their lack of the practical spirit with which we are so super-abundantly endowed. the secretary could scarcely believe that his practical, matter-of-fact, card-indexed, efficient-from-top-to-bottom, result-bringing, tabulated, report-making, american y. m. c. a. might be benefited by an infusion of russian soul. he almost doubted that the delving miners whom we saw coming home from the mines, sooty and begrimed, possessed that soul. nor did the herr director realize that all his germanic searching and classifying, all his minute, painstaking investigation into the innermost of everything, left him where the russian had long ago preceded him: in the holy presence of the unknowable, unsearchable wisdom of god. the american has great reverence for results, and it is hard for him to be patient with failure. the german respects authority, and has scant respect for the individual. the russian respects man and knows what it means to love him in his weakness, and to be humble in the presence of another's failure. i had a long, intimate talk with my friend the priest, who has never spent a happy day since he has been in america which he hates, or rather, despises, and so hurts me more than he knows. throwing open the well-thumbed, poorly kept register, in such striking contrast to the y. m. c. a. secretary's card index, he said: "look how many i have buried this month," and he counted them, and there were eighteen, "all of them slain in that dreadful mine, and no one in the company or in the town cares how they were buried. these americans have no souls. they send an undertaker who wants to bury them like dogs, and the quicker the thing is done the better. they sent me notice shortly after i came here that the funerals lasted too long and kept the men from work. look how those men walk! my _mujiks_, who walked like princes, now bend their backs before your dirty coal, and walk like slaves." his complaint was not altogether unreasonable. in some things he was right, in many things he was wrong; but to argue with a russian is as hopeless as to try to argue with niagara falls. i did tell him that while the russian here must bend his back over his work, he does not have to bend it at every corner before the _icon_ or before every policeman he meets; that here, by virtue of the american spirit, his soul may be freed from superstition and his mind from darkness. when in parting the priest embraced and kissed me, he said: "no, even you don't understand the russian soul." the herr director suffered his embrace with good grace, but when the secretary's turn came he fled. to be kissed by a man is a sentimentality which the american cannot endure. "we don't understand the russian soul," i said to him, "neither you nor i, but one thing i do know. when the coal has been dug out of these hills and these cities shall have gone the way of sodom and gomorrah, and your churches and y. m. c. a. may have vanished because it did not pay to keep them going, this russian soul will endure; and the sooner we learn to understand it the better for us and for them and for our country." when we left the russian church and its faithful priest, the frau directorin told us that the children were incredibly filthy, and that she had spent the time we wasted in argument cleaning them up, good _hausfrau_ that she is. the secretary was thinking deeply, and when he deposited us at the hotel, he thanked me for revealing something which, although so near, he would never have discovered. the herr director kept me up until midnight talking about the slavic menace to germany, and the intellectual poison of its modern literature. we reached niagara falls the next afternoon, and, as i had feared, neither of my guests showed any surprise nor felt any thrill. i could understand the herr director's coolness towards our natural wonder, for he had seen it thirty years before; but his wife's attitude was inexplicable, until she told me what i had all along anticipated. her capacity for receiving impressions had been exhausted by the city of new york, and after seeing the "high-scraps" nothing astonished her. as we stood at the bottom of the american falls, watching the maid of the mist making her journeys into their very spray and returning, only to begin her journey again, i suggested that it was like the american spirit in its daring; but the herr director, with truer insight, said that it was "like the russian soul, mystical, elusive, on the verge of destruction always, but of little practical service." that same day we were in a power-house, which looked more like a temple than the utilitarian thing it is, and peered into the depths of a shaft which creates power enough to move the street railways of half a dozen cities, and change the night of a million people into day. as we listened to the engineer's account of almost miraculous achievement, i said triumphantly, "_this is the american spirit!_" and the herr director replied deliberately, and without sarcasm, "this is the one time when you are right." ix _chicago_ what the foreigner thinks of the american pullman, if he has to spend a night in it, may be found in any volume of the extremely voluminous and interesting literature upon the united states, written by visitors to this country; but more interesting still would be what they have not written about it, and that i have had frequent chances of hearing. the most picturesque and exhaustive comments i ever heard were those made by the herr director the evening we left buffalo, and as he finally determined not to retire at all, we spent the greater part of the night in the smoking-room, much to the dismay of the porter who had no prejudice against sleeping on a pullman, and whom we cheated out of his irregular but necessary naps. one of the chief diversions of travellers the world over is to complain against the particular transportation company over whose road they have the ill luck to be going; so it happened that the herr director had plenty of company during part of his vigil, and an opportunity to come in touch with one phase of the american spirit, where it was closely related to his own; for "one 'kicker' makes the whole world 'kick.'" the small room was so crowded that some of the men were sitting on the wash-stands, and the rest were so close to each other as to make conversation easy and general. this was an extra fare train supposed to be unusually comfortable and speedy; although thus far it had been losing time. it was natural under those conditions that the railroad should come in for its share of blessings, couched in language such as is often heard in smoking compartments of pullman cars. had all the pious wishes expressed that night been fulfilled, that railroad and our particular train would have travelled much more swiftly, but to a destination not indicated in the time-tables. the question under discussion was, which is the worst railroad in the united states, and as some of the men were stock-brokers they knew our roads from their most vulnerable side. the tales they told of the manipulation of stocks and the fleecing of the public, with their consequent effect upon the service, were as startling as they were humiliating; because, in the last analysis, the railroads reflect the general business ethics of the country. i kept out of the discussion, for not only have i but a hazy notion of economics; my mind was busy classifying the passengers' racial origin, a very diverting exercise and one which always brings me in touch with people on their really human side. it happened that two of the men were polish jews from cleveland, who had risen from poverty to where they could travel in pullman cars, and who confessed that they knew as little of railroad stocks as i, although they were engaged in as risky a business as stocks, that of manufacturing women's cloaks. they were not far removed from the ghetto either in speech or ideals, and so were of little interest to me. a third fellow traveller, who bore the hallmarks of the average american, both in dress and behavior, told me his business without much urging. "i am not selling stock, nor manufacturing women's cloaks, and i am not a gambler. i have a sure thing; i am a bookie." forced to confess myself ignorant as to what "a bookie" is, he explained to me the intricacies of his calling, the problems of evading the law, and if it cannot be evaded, how it may be bought; incidentally showing what an inveterate gambler and what an easy mark the average american is. the herr director was all attention, to my great consternation; for the conversation was as different from that which he had heard at lake mohonk, or in our rounds of the eastern colleges, as one could conceive. as one by one the passengers sought their berths, the herr director thanked me for arranging this uncomfortable night journey, saying that though he was sure he could not sleep, he was "so glad to have come in contact with the american spirit as it is," and not as i had tried to make it appear. with that kindly thrust he too retired, and i was at liberty to do likewise. it was not long before i had auricular evidence that the herr director was asleep, so i was very much astonished to hear him say the next morning that he had not slept a wink, and that the engineer must bear him a grudge; for he tried to jerk the berth from under him, and "_gott sei dank_" that the most uncomfortable night of his life was over. i certainly was as grateful as he. it was with no small satisfaction, though, that upon reaching chicago two hours late, i collected four dollars from that much abused railroad, and handed the same to the herr director, assuring him that even in a railroad office the american spirit of fairness is operative. in chicago as everywhere else the friend who owned an automobile was at my command, and on a glorious may day when wind and sun had cleared the air, and a night's rain had washed the streets, we were taken from south shore to north shore and away out where the american city is at her best, and chicago is striving to excel them all in her wonderful suburbs. the herr director had seen chicago over thirty-three years ago--a young, thriving, daring, ambitious city in the making; he found her still young, thriving, daring, and in the making. unchastened by her great disasters, undismayed by her vexing problems, defying the lake, she reaches out into it and into neighboring states, leading and controlling the whole middle west. babylon, capernaum, rome, her older sisters, her ideal, and perchance her destiny. she is _par excellence_ the merchant city, and the merchant princes rule her, although that rule is not unchallenged. while the herr director saw the city changed in many respects, larger, and in places beautiful, her dirt not so apparent, her wickedness subdued, and her rough corners rubbed off, she is still chicago, a synonym for boastful bigness and ostentatious wealth. if it had not been for the frau directorin, i would not have taken them where every man, woman and child is taken who visits chicago, into the largest department store in the world. she entered with the joyful anticipation of engaging in that most exciting occupation--shopping--aided and abetted by my wife. the herr director followed with the martyr's air common to husbands who go along to pay the bill. that type of store is no longer a novelty to city dwellers anywhere, but this one because of its size, the variety and quality of goods displayed, the courtesy to customers and, above all, the provisions for their comfort and convenience, were remarkable enough to call forth even the herr director's commendation. the frau directorin was in the seventeenth heaven, the biblical seventh not being an elevation high enough to be used as a simile when she was shopping in a chicago department store. obliging clerks showed her plates which cost three hundred dollars apiece, cut and etched glass at more fabulous prices; she walked through miles of costly gowns, coats and millinery, and having made a few purchases to her entire satisfaction--we were about to leave the store with flying colors, figuratively speaking, when pride had a fall. unluckily remembering that a certain small boy needed summer underwear, my wife led our party to the basement. when we left the elevator a polite floor man directed us to aisle , wabash building. as we were on the state street side the cavalcade moved past what seemed like miles of commonplace merchandise and commonplace buyers to aisle , wabash building. at last we had reached our "mecca." "i should like to see boys' union suits," my wife said. "certainly. how old?" "twelve years." "we have nothing here over eight years. you will find your size on the sixth floor, washington street side." i think it was the sixth floor; i know we walked (crestfallen) through endless aisles and were shot up floor after floor. landed finally, the right counter was reached after numerous conflicting directions. the herr director was puffing and panting, the frau directorin radiant and happy, for she enjoys exercise, and my wife, her faith in the efficiency of her favorite store not yet shaken, though wavering, asking for "union suits for a twelve-year-old boy." as the clerk reached for the desired article she asked: "short sleeves or long sleeves?" "short sleeves." "randolph street side, second floor, for short sleeved union suits." the herr director and i did not accompany the ladies on their further voyage of discovery; we went to the rest room to avoid nervous prostration. my wife and the frau directorin, with the determination and endurance which women alone possess, continued the chase to a victorious finish. fortunately an altogether satisfying luncheon followed this strenuous experience, after which, rested and refreshed, we repaired to the art institute. the chicago art institute, within a stone's throw of the most congested business section, at the edge of its noise and rush, is by its very being there a sort of triumph. the herr director approached it somewhat condescendingly, expecting to find it and its contents big, bizarre and "_nouveau richessque_." as soon as he entered the building he felt the dignity and good taste of its arrangement, and his manner changed. after he had looked critically at some of the pictures and approved them, i knew myself for once on the way to success; for his praise was as genuine as his criticism. knowing that money can buy both old and new masters, he expected to find them; but he had not expected to see such discrimination as was shown in choosing and hanging them. he was entirely unprepared for the excellent work of our native artists, outside of that small but exalted sphere occupied by whistler, sargent, innes, etc. my joy was complete when we were taken into the art school by the director, dr. french, whose death not long ago must always be deplored. the rooms of the art school were crowded by boys and girls of all ages and varied nationalities and races, learning to develop their god-given talents under the guidance of competent and sympathetic teachers. the picture they made delighted me more than those they drew or painted; for it seemed so thoroughly, generously, democratically and artistically american. i scored another victory for the american spirit when i introduced my guests to lorado taft, sculptor, and the guiding star in chicago's artistic firmament. in his rare personality, strength and purity, idealism and practical good sense blend, and his art reflects the man. he showed us some of his work and that of his pupils, and both elicited unstinted praise from my guests. the climax of our visit came when we returned to the entrance hall which we found crowded by public school children, all listening to an orchestra composed of certain of their number, and led by a young girl about fourteen years of age. it seemed to me a remarkable and beautiful combination. the marbles and pictures, the music, and, best of all, the children happily wandering about the place. when the program ended there was ice-cream for everybody, served by the teachers who accompanied the children. it was a real party, an american party, and we might have travelled long and far before i could have found anything which would have better reflected for my guests the american spirit at its best. if i were an artist and a sculptor i should like to portray the spirit of chicago as one feels it in this museum. i would model a group, with its central figure that same sculptor, the finely bred american, clean and wholesome, who longs to create, not only the city beautiful, but the city human. he should be surrounded by the children, happily looking at pictures and listening to music as we saw them in the art institute that day. but there must be another prominent figure in my group: the heartless, ruthless, twentieth century american, with clean-shaven face, jaws strong as a vise, and a chin like the base of an anvil. he is the man who "makes a good husband," and partly obeys the scriptural injunction: because he provides for his own. he too should be surrounded by children; not his, but the children who work in his factories and have to live in his rickety tenements. the two men would struggle mightily for supremacy in the city's life; and i would set up my sculptured group in the busiest place, where all who passed it by might see, and seeing, help him who was struggling for beauty and for happiness. dr. french, the herr director and i had a long discussion about my conception of the two natures contending within the city. the herr director argued that the merchant spirit, so prevalent here, when uncontrolled and uncurbed, is more dangerous to civilization and to our democracy than the military spirit of germany, and that it needs to be overcome by a force greater and stronger than itself. the corrupting element he said has always been this same merchant spirit, and where ancient civilizations decayed, it was due to the fact that it debased kings and enslaved them by luxuries. "business should not control, but be controlled, because business is based entirely upon selfishness." when the herr director stopped for breath, dr. french, who was an ardent christian and knew his bible, took from his pocket a new testament, and pointed out a remarkable chapter in the book of revelation (a chapter i was compelled to confess i had not read) that bore out the herr director's statement. "the kings of the earth committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth waxed rich by the power of her wantonness.... and the merchants of the earth weep and mourn over her, for no man buyeth their merchandise any more; merchandise of gold, and silver, and precious stones, and pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk, and scarlet; and all thyine wood, and every vessel of ivory, and every vessel made of most precious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble; and cinnamon, and spice, and incense, and ointment, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour, and wheat, and cattle, and sheep; and merchandise of horses and chariots and slaves; and souls of men." we urged dr. french to read the rest of the chapter, which he did. "and they cast dust upon their heads, and cried, weeping and mourning, saying: woe, woe, the great city, wherein were made rich all that had their ships in the sea by reason of her costliness! for in one hour is she made desolate," and then the voice of the angel crying into the thick of their lament, "rejoice over her, thou heaven and ye saints, and ye apostles, and ye prophets; for god hath judged your judgment on her." it seemed as though the prophet had written the epitaph of all cities in which the merchant was master and not servant. when he had finished i knew the inscription for my sculptured group: the twentieth verse of the eighteenth chapter of revelation. altogether it was a remarkable day to be experienced only in america, perhaps only in chicago. to shop in the largest store in the world, visit a picture gallery well worth while, and see art students at work; hear classical music played by a children's orchestra, and watch the same children enjoying the party which followed; to meet one of the leading sculptors of america who shared with us his plans and hopes, and to have as our guide the director of the art institute, was a colossal experience worthy of the city in which it happened. the next day was given to the juvenile court, public play grounds, the university, and, finally, hull house. the one great disappointment of the chicago visit for me and my guests was miss jane addams' absence in europe. but the house was there--big, neighborly, homelike, hospitable--and the residents were there, those who do the neighboring, the healing and the helping, who are friends of the friendless, and know no creed or race--except humanity. my faith in chicago springs largely from my contact with hull house, the commons and like places with their defiant spirit towards evil, their broad-mindedness and their brave attempt at remedying the wrongs of our commercialized civilization. after dinner i "toted" my guests all over the house, from the reading-room on the first floor to the boys' club on the third, and back again. i have done it frequently, and always with zest and pride, in spite of the fact that i have had no active share in the work. in bowen hall we came upon a dancing party. some one of the social clubs had been gracious enough to invite its parents to come. we were introduced to mrs. frankelstein from roumania, and mrs. flynn from ireland, mrs. ragovsky from russia, mr. and mrs. feketey from hungary, mr. and mrs. rocco from italy, and many others whose picturesque names i do not remember. we also met a young business man, the son of a millionaire, with sundry other young men and women of the type one likes to meet and introduce, whom one would be proud to know anywhere. they had charge of the affair. the herr director and the frau directorin caught the spirit of the occasion and entered into it with zest. when the orchestra began to play, he led the grand march with mrs. rocco and she followed with the young millionaire. at the close of the festivities, as we were leaving, they vowed they had had the best time since they left home. chicago, big, blundering, materialistic chicago had a new meaning to the herr director. he praised everything and everybody, and as we parted for the night, he said: "'almost thou persuadest me to' believe in the 'american spirit.'" x _where the spirit is young_ to the average european there are two things american which have not yet lost their romantic quality: the prairies and the west. anticipations of seeing both, filled the breast of the frau directorin with mingled feelings of fear and pleasure, as she discussed with her husband the fate of the children they had left behind them--in the event of our being captured by the indians. however, the probability of our safe return and her consequent opportunity to tell envious friends her experiences in the prairies and the west outweighed all fears. among her friends were those who had braved the perils of the ocean and gone as far as new york; some of them had even been in chicago--but beyond, still hidden in the romance woven about them by bret harte (her favorite american author), were those two things she was about to see, and of which they had only dreamed. the herr director, as he repeatedly reminded me, had crossed the plains when i had known them only through cooper's fascinating indian stories, and he was eager to throw off the leadership i had assumed, which, to a dominant nature like his, proved exceedingly irksome. he soon discovered that he was travelling through territory entirely new to him. the little towns he had known had grown into cities, and the further west we travelled, the greater and more impressive were the changes. omaha and kansas city he did not recognize at all. not only was there this new growth, "rank growth," he called it, of sky-scrapers, post-offices and railroad stations with doric pillars--the men and women he met had a new outlook upon life. while they still boasted of this and that thing in which their city was like chicago or was unlike some lesser city than their own, they were critical of themselves and eager to learn; they had grown more masterful and at the same time were more refined. the prairies were not at all what the frau directorin had imagined them to be. she was chagrined to find nothing but farm lands and great fields, not so well groomed as those we had seen in the east, but with no indians or buffaloes, no wild horses or wilder looking men. she saw no trace of the toil, the struggle and the brave resistance through which these farms had been rescued from the prairies. she could not know of the loneliness of women and the hardihood of men, of the season's drought and famine, of bitter disappointment, the pangs of bearing and rearing children in utter isolation, and the struggle for education. no trace of all this was apparent in the sort of settled, middle class prosperity which stretched out in the unvaried, thousand mile panorama through which we journeyed. in a town of about four thousand inhabitants we stopped; the name of the place is of no significance, for there are hundreds of just such towns in the west. we were met by the superintendent of schools, himself a product of the prairies. having grown up among the cattle, he is consequently shy of men. he drove his automobile as if it were a broncho, and we all uttered a prayer of thanksgiving when he deposited us, with no bones broken, at the hotel. in a short time we were ready to go with him to his school, which was the objective point of our visit. it goes without saying that the superintendent boasted of the youth of the town, even as under like circumstances in the east, he would have boasted of its age. ten years before it was nothing except a railroad station, miles of sage-brush, rattlesnakes and prairie dogs. now there are business blocks, embryonic sky-scrapers, a pillared post-office, a hundred-thousand-dollar hotel, a grand opera house, neither big enough nor good enough to boast of, numerous churches and this schoolhouse. it is not only a place in which boys and girls learn the "three r's," but has a finely equipped gymnasium, a chemical laboratory and a domestic science department. it is a center of education and recreation, not only for that town, but for the surrounding country. i had never seen the herr director as enthusiastic over anything as he was over this cowboy school superintendent, with his program of reaching every man, woman and child in the county through his educational and recreational program, his annual budget of some seventy-five thousand dollars, and a faculty of men and women college bred, and citizens of the town. they are not merely educated tramps, but are there to stay, and they take pride in the town in which they make their home. the herr director was no less amused than i was when we were told by one of the teachers that the superintendent, at one of the school board meetings had pulled off his coat and threatened to thrash one of the members who refused his vote on an important measure. as we looked at this six foot three, erstwhile cowboy, his broad shoulders and strong arms which seemed reluctantly confined in a coat, and as we saw his square, determined jaw,--we knew that the unruly member voted _aye_. both the herr director and i were asked to speak to the boys and girls. as soon as they entered the room the air became electric with their high school yell; they "rah rahed" us individually and collectively, and "what's the matter withed" everybody, and indulged in all those academic and classical performances which every high school now seems to consider an essential part of preparation for college. the herr director told them that among all the things he had seen thus far in america he liked their high school the best; which remark of course elicited thunderous applause. this was most gratifying to him, and all day he was in high spirits. he thought the most hopeful characteristic of the american is this faith in education, the practical, far-reaching methods employed, and the daring all sorts of educational experiments. at the same time he severely criticized our lack of unanimity, and the evident disadvantages of such communities as have no cowboy superintendent to lick a conservative or stingy school board member into conformity with his plans. we visited an agricultural college where we were told of farmers who came to study soil fertility, and farmers' wives who studied kitchen chemistry, farmers' children who tested seeds, and to whom these prairies, to which they were being bound by an intelligent knowledge of their environment, were beginning to speak a new language. we saw a teacher's college which one with the prophet's vision had planted in the desert. the sage-brush ridden prairie had been transformed into a glorious campus, and uncultured boys and girls into enthusiastic teachers. more than twelve hundred of them come back each year to get better equipment for their difficult task. the cities in which we stopped interested the herr director less than the towns, and we did not tarry long except in one of them, where we had to stay because of an engagement i had made to address a certain club. i did this because it gave me a fine chance to introduce that particular american institution, a combination of eating and speaking club, which meets once a month and whose program is as ambitious as are most things western. we were met at the station by a committee of men and women in automobiles of course, and found the finest rooms in the hotel reserved for us. big, high, generous rooms, in which the herr director and the frau directorin openly rejoiced. the committee awaited us in a private dining-room where luncheon was served. there were three other guests who were to speak during the evening. one of them, a most brilliant woman, a well-known social worker. the second a united states senator, and the third an explorer who had just returned from a voyage into some less known parts of south america. the luncheon was sufficiently elaborate and artistically served to satisfy both the herr director and the frau directorin, but he protested when after the meal, without even a chance at a nap, we were escorted to waiting motor cars, and a long cavalcade of us started on a sight-seeing expedition. the city was worth seeing, with its boulevards, parks and playgrounds; its schoolhouse, churches, and clubs. we heard much of its prospects, always so great an asset in the life of our western cities. amusing and remarkable to the strangers was the evident pride of this committee in the city, to which they had come from all parts of the country if not of the world; yet they spoke of it with a lover's affection. the one thing underneath all this civic pride, and finer than anything visible to us, was the fight for decency, law and order, and the health and happiness of children, which has been waged there and is not yet won. it is as exciting as, and more valorous than, many a battle in which men fight with powder and bullets. it was an exhilarating experience to shake the hand and look into the face of a woman who had defied the monied interests of her state, who had jeopardized her comforts and her position, even her life, to loosen the hold of graft from the schools of the state. it was inspiring to hear from a mild mannered, unaggressive looking man how he had helped wipe out brothels and evil dance halls, broken up the connivance of the police with the criminal element and put through a positive program of rational, clean amusements for the people. we visited a business plant, the architecture and equipment of which are as unique as are its owner's business methods. we were told the story (not by himself) of how a brave and good man, single handed, struggled against bosses, political cliques and large financial interests in league with them, and all but freed the city from its most dangerously decent foes. we were shown hills which the citizens had faith enough to remove and the hollows into which they had cast them; a raging river which they meant to control, and ugly, sickening slums which were doomed to go, and that none too soon; the old things which were to become new, and crooked things which were to be made straight. thirty-three years before the herr director had heard stories of vanishing buffaloes and the last struggles with the indians. he had met scouts, hunters and soldiers. this was a new type of fighters, much less picturesque, but fit successors to those valiant pioneers. i rescued my guests from a visit to the stock-yards (why any one should care to show off stock-yards i do not know), and the committee released its hold upon us so that we might make our toilettes for the reception which preceded the banquet. if there is anything more conducive to creating a barrier to real human contact than a reception, i have not seen it, unless it be a reception with orchestral accompaniment; this was such an one, and its chief function seemed to be to drown conversation. the ladies of our party were happy because this was one of the few occasions on our trip when they could wear evening gowns. the frau directorin was astonished beyond measure when she heard that some of the women on the reception committee of this club were mothers (to a limited degree, it is true), that they had, at the most, two servants, and that some of them had none; that they were interested in literary clubs and civic affairs, served on school boards and church committees, and were doing various other things to help the creator manage his universe. the german woman, who has adhered to the program marked out for her by the emperor, the "three k's," "_küche, kirche und kinder_" stands aghast at the strenuous lives many of our women lead. the frau directorin, who has servants for the kitchen and the children, upon whom the third k, the church, lays no burden in the way of missionary meetings, fairs and suppers, who does not have to reduce her flesh to be in the fashion, and whose social position is determined by her husband's station in life, may well wear an unruffled smile and keep an unfurrowed brow. at the banquet, the waiters and the orchestra vied with each other in noise making, and it was a relief when, with the bringing of the black coffee, they all disappeared, and the toast-master rose and began unbottling his stock of stories. nowhere in the world is there such a thirst for stories as in america, and a group of men after a banquet has an unlimited capacity for absorbing and enjoying them. there were four scheduled speakers and a few who expected to be called upon unexpectedly, among them the herr director; a glee club was to sing before, between and after the speeches; so the toast-master did not stop telling stories any too soon. the first speaker of the evening was a woman who well deserved the cheers which greeted her appearance. her address on workmen's compensation was so clear, so aptly put, so well reasoned through and so within the limit of time assigned her, that when she finished, the enthusiastic herr director shouted: "bravo! bravo!" loud enough to be heard above the less euphonious sound of hand clapping, in which form of applause the american audience indulges. the address was an eloquent but unemotional plea for fair play for the working man, an arraignment of present practices, cruelly sickening in detail, and frightful as a revelation of the attitude of large industrial interests towards labor. it showed the fair-mindedness of the men there, that they listened so approvingly, in spite of the fact that a large number of them was in similar relationship to labor, and that the proposed law for which she pleaded would be against their own interests. after the lady's address, the glee club sang and then the united states senator was introduced. i have forgotten his subject, but that does not matter, for it had no relation to what he said. it was the kind of address which could be delivered with equal propriety at a grangers' picnic or a political meeting. there were two things which the senator did not know: first, that his audience had outgrown that particular kind of address, and second, when to stop. when his final finally was finally spoken, the glee club sang again, after which the herr director was called upon to speak. he was listened to most attentively as he told how german cities are built, governed, provisioned and lighted. there were at least four speeches beside my own, and it was long past midnight when the glee club sang its last glee, and the club adjourned to meet again the next month, when it would receive other more or less distinguished guests, eat a six course dinner and listen to half a dozen speakers, each one of them eager to right the wrongs of this universe. when the herr director had said good-bye to the hundred or more people who told him how much they enjoyed his address, he retired in a most happy mood. i found him chuckling as he untied his cravat. "it was lovely, perfectly lovely," he said; "but what children they are." "yes," i replied, "they are children; and, like children, are eager to learn." xi _the american spirit among the mormons_ both the herr director and his wife had a strange desire to see the mormons. they explained it by saying that besides the indians whom they had as yet not seen, and the negroes whom they had seen everywhere, they always thought of the mormons as most american, that is most unlike other people. the rocky mountains, as i had expected, did not impress them. from the car window they seemed more like elevated plains, with here and there a restless chain of hills in the distance. "as restless as the american people," quoth the herr director. "your plains and your mountains seem to be fighting with each other." i hoped that the plains would win the fight and pointed out another, more visible struggle--that of man with the desert. i admitted that the rocky mountains which he had thus far seen were uninteresting from the scenic standpoint, especially as compared with the beauty of the alps, those snow-capped mountains with meadows to the timber line, their picturesque villages and herders' huts all as trim and neat and finished as the carving one buys in interlaken or luzerne. from the human standpoint, the rockies are infinitely more interesting, for there the elemental struggle is still going on. a giant race is taming tumultuous rivers, and forcing their waters through flumes and tunnels into mighty reservoirs on the mountainsides and in the valleys. no indolent, unaspiring, uninventive, docile people could survive in the rockies. in common with many americans, my guests believed that this matter of irrigation is as easy as turning water from a faucet into a basin; and that all a man has to do is to drop his seed into the ground and watch it grow. i showed them farms, desolate and forbidding, which men had to level or lift, ditch and plow and harrow; a back-breaking, often a heart-breaking task. in such an environment they built shacks which only accentuated the loneliness--where women lived and children were born, where hopes were cherished and god was worshipped. it was an old testament environment, the wilderness. compared with these pioneers the israelites had an easy task. they sent spies into the promised land where they found and from which they brought back grapes and pomegranates; but to stay in the wilderness, to drive back the drought inch by inch, to kill coyotes and rattlesnakes one by one, to contend with claim jumpers, real estate agents, water right privileges and unscrupulous lawyers, and then raise grapes and pomegranates, families, churches, schools and colleges--that seems to me the greater and more heroic task. and it was done by men with the courage of soldiers and the vision of prophets, who turned that land of drought, alkali and sage-brush into one "flowing with milk and honey." because in a certain portion of that desert those who were the pioneers and performed those tasks were mormons, takes nothing from the glory of the achievement. as we neared salt lake city the frau directorin looked into every house, eager to detect the numerous wives whom she expected to see surrounding one man; while the herr director marvelled at the beauty of the vast salt lake valley which, with its poplars and mountains and its intensively cultivated farms, reminded him of lombardy, that beautiful stretch of country along the railway from milan to boulogna. salt lake city is sufficiently different from other cities we had seen to arouse interest; but as in rome the vatican overshadows everything else, so here the temple and the tabernacle hold one's attention, and work upon one's imagination. we had scarcely put ourselves to rights in our rooms at the hotel utah, as pretentious and comfortable as any in the country, before we were out on the streets, looking for mormons. there is a fairly defined type and i thought i knew it, for i have lectured before mormon audiences; but out upon the busy city streets it was quite impossible for me to gratify the curiosity of the frau directorin by pointing them out to her. i did tell her that a third of the population was non-mormon and she looked curiously at two out of every three persons we met without, however, being able to say definitely that she had seen a real, live specimen. not wishing to join the crowd of tourists who were taken in relays through the tabernacle and other buildings open to the curious among the gentiles, we walked through the park, and stopping before the monument to joseph smith i took the opportunity to enlighten my guests upon the history of that singular personality, and the church of which he was the founder. evidently my remarks were overheard, and before i realized it i was in a discussion of mormon doctrines with a woman, a zealous defender of her faith, whose religious zeal shone out of her face, which was homely enough to need this adornment to save it from repulsive ugliness. of course she believed implicitly in the book of mormon, the plates of which were found, and translated from a language which the best informed philologists have never known to exist; in a god who has body, parts and passions, in spirits which fill heaven, and clamor to be born onto the earth, in the baptism for the dead, and in that strange doctrine, that no woman can be saved without being sealed to a man, upon which the practice of polygamy rested. the herr director did not quite understand, and i had to explain each of these dogmas as well as i could, and then the frau directorin, not understanding anything, begged to be told about the one thing in which she was primarily interested, their belief in regard to marriage. i asked the lady to explain this doctrine of the mormons, to which she replied that they are not mormons, but latter day saints. she was indeed a saint, for she was not offended by our curiosity, nor the lack of seriousness with which we were discussing the subject. she addressed the frau directorin: "you are married to your husband." the frau directorin understood and nodded comprehendingly; "but," the saint continued, "you are married to him only for time." "no, no, not for a time, not for a time!" the frau directorin cried, clinging to her husband, who had jokingly threatened that when they reached utah he would improve the occasion and double his blessings. "you could not be married to him any other way unless you are sealed according to our rites; we alone marry for eternity." "oh!" said the facetious herr director, "you believe in eternal punishment." when i translated that to the frau directorin she slapped him playfully. he asked our guide how many wives he could marry if he became a latter day saint and she said there would be no limit to the wives he could have sealed to him; but according to the latest ruling of the church and in conformity with the laws of the united states, only one to live with here upon the earth; so he decided to "bear the ills he had," and not "fly to others that he knew not of." the saint could not have expected her teaching to take root in soil so shallow, but she determined to sow a few more seeds, and showed us the interior of the tabernacle with its "largest organ in the world and its perfect acoustics." the frau directorin tried her charming voice and sang, much to the delight of the saint, who confessed to three consuming passions. she loved to sing better than to eat, next in order came dancing, which seems to be a specialty among mormons, and evidently does not interfere with their piety, and third, that of saving feminine souls from destruction, on account of their unmarried state. to satisfy this last passion she has had ten thousand of her female ancestors married to well-known mormons. to accomplish this, she had her genealogical tree traced back to prehistoric times, and had spent her fortune upon that pious extravagance. she told us that she was a plural wife, and living with her husband merely in the celestial relationship: but she believed polygamy to be in harmony with the will of god, and that the women as a whole favor it. as we returned to our hotel, the frau directorin amused herself by asking each child she met: "how much brothers and sisters you are?" i was profoundly thankful she did not stop the men to ask them about the number of their wives. having promised her that i would introduce her to a real, live mormon who as yet had only one wife, she could hardly wait until dinner, to which i had invited my mormon acquaintance. he proved to be a very normal sort of man whose face betrayed his european peasant ancestry, his father and mother having emigrated from switzerland, lured across by the promise of land, and an all but perfect zion. they had passed through every hardship of the early persecutions, and the march across the plains and mountains. he himself had grown up in the martyrs' faith, which remained unshaken until he was sent to college. although his teachers were mormons they could not explain away all the inconsistencies of mormon history and belief; doubts assailed him, and when in due course he became a missionary and it fell to his lot to go to europe, instead of making converts, he became one. the six years abroad were spent in the study of history, and, applying the methods to his own church and its book of mormon, he began to doubt, and is a doubter still. yet so strong were the ties that bound him that he did not formally sever his connection with the church, and unless he is ejected from that communion he will doubtless remain within its fold. he belongs to an increasingly large group of young mormons who, while they themselves have lost faith in the church and its doctrines, believe that they must remain loyal to those whose belief is still unshaken, help them to discard the crudest elements of their doctrine and so gradually democratize the whole institution. the growth of the church has been checked and the accession of foreign converts has almost ceased, due to the prohibition of polygamy which was a lure to the evil minded, and due also to the fact that immigration is not being encouraged. mormonism would have continued to grow in alarming proportions if the missionaries were still offering a husband, or a part of one, to every woman, and to every man as many wives as he cared to take unto himself. within the church two forces are working towards its liberalization. the influence of a strong, gentile population, and the school; while neither of them will destroy mormonism, our informant believed that ultimately it will prove no more formidable or dangerous to the nation than any other religious denomination, whose government is strongly centralized. after dinner he took us to his own home, and either from a recently acquired habit, or from renewed curiosity, the frau directorin asked the little son of the house, "how much brothers and sisters you are?" and i am not sure she was convinced that his wife whom he introduced to us was the only wife he had. he was good enough to insist upon taking us into the country in his machine to call on his father, his mother having died some years before; which, however, according to mormon usage of bygone days did not leave the old man a widower. his gnarled, wrinkled face shone when we greeted him in his native tongue, and it was as pleasant as it was instructive to hear him tell of the emigration of his people from switzerland to missouri, of the stormy days there, the struggles against infuriated mobs, the long, dangerous journey across the desert, and the pioneer days in utah where he had acquired lands, sheep and oxen, wives and children, in true old testament fashion. the frau directorin asked: "how much wives you are?" when he told her that he had gone beyond the apostolic twelve, although he lived with only a few of the number, she exclaimed: "_um gottes himmels willen!_" the herr director wanted to know how he managed so many of them when he had difficulty in managing one. "_ach!_ in those days," he said, "the wives were subject to their husband, knowing that without him they could not live comfortably here, nor safely hereafter. they were docile enough, and it did not cost so much to keep them as it does now." with a shrewd smile playing around his almost toothless mouth he added: "you know if polygamy had not been prohibited it would have died out gradually, because these are different times. we couldn't afford it now." the old man said he had known joseph smith and, of course, brigham young. he spoke of them with reverence and awe, as men of god who received revelations and could work wonders. there seemed to be little or nothing of the mystic in his makeup; his religion was of a hard, materialistic, matter-of-fact kind to which he clung most tenaciously. there was an unmistakable coarseness about him which revealed itself in his conversation. it may have been due to his peasant origin, but during all the years, a really ethical religion would have refined him. in a sense he still did not belong to the united states--he was a mormon first and last, and the government in washington was to him as pharaoh's rule was to the jews. his religion evidently had taught him submission. he paid his tithes ungrudgingly, and had gone on a mission uncomplainingly. he was a cog in a great wheel whose resistless force he did not question. from his farm we were taken to others, and to neighboring towns. the whole system in all its minute details was explained to us, and the herr director was quite fascinated by its efficiency, although i am sure he would not care to be governed by it. everywhere we found prosperous conditions and outward contentment, but underneath, especially among the young people, a brooding discontent and smouldering rebellion; yet at the same time much stolid ignorance and fanaticism. our final visit was to the university, built solidly against the rocks, its great u in purest white marked upon the mountainside, its very existence seeming a menace to the system which supports it. there was a fine group of students, both mormons and gentiles. the library in which i spent some time astonished me. i wondered, as i looked at some of the books, if the church authorities knew what was between the covers. dynamite under the temple walls could not be as dangerous as those volumes. possibly the students are as ignorant of their contents as the leaders are. there are books on philosophy and psychology which do not seem to me so menacing as those on economics and sociology; for it is upon these subjects that the questioning will come first, and also the discontent. after long and confidential conferences with some of the professors who told me their views, and how they are struggling to maintain their academic freedom, and after long talks with bright, energetic boys and girls who expressed themselves freely, i could assure the herr director that some problems, which have so long vexed the united states and have threatened certain ideals of the american spirit, are in process of solution. they are being solved by virtue of the broad tolerance of that spirit, than which nothing is so feared by the reactionary forces in the mormon church. one thing which that institution desires more than anything else is renewed persecution; not too much of it, but enough to rally the children of the martyrs to face new martyrdom and so perpetuate the waning power of the church. one must remember that mormonism is not only a sect, but a strongly knitted society, and that men who have long ago ceased to believe in its doctrines still hold to it with a loyalty born of past suffering, which will be fostered by any future injustice or persecution. when we left salt lake city and were safe in the pullman on our way to the pacific coast, the frau directorin put her stock question to the colored porter when he came to make up the berths. "how much wives you are?" when i interpreted the question for him he smiled his broadest smile, but looked puzzled. i told him that the lady thought him a mormon. "_no, ma'am._ i's a baptist. but i sho'd like to be one. i likes de ladies poheful." he was not a mormon, certainly not a saint, but he rendered us loyal service on that long, dusty journey to the coast. perhaps because he "likes de ladies poheful," or it may have been because i gave him half of a generous tip in advance. xii _the california confession of faith_ since landing in new york the herr director and the frau directorin had endured many a formal reception; she with angelic patience, and he with the usual masculine aversion to formal social amenities. when i announced that a reception was to be tendered us in san francisco, he cried with uplifted hands, "_um gottes willen!_" he did not object to really meeting people; but to stand in line an hour or two shaking hundreds of outstretched hands, not knowing nor caring much to whom they belonged, seemed to him a profitless exercise; while our wafers and tea, or our punch--without those ingredients which give the "punch" to punch--were gastronomic delusions to one accustomed to the abundant meat and drink attendant upon social occasions in germany. this particular reception was to be given us by the chinese, and a committee of stately, solemn looking gentlemen called for us in carriages; despite the herr director's reluctance, i am sure he was delighted to have this chance of giving his jaded social appetite a new sensation. chinatown, with its gay coloring, its tempting shops, its stolid-looking men, its quaint women and cunning babies, was made doubly fascinating to us, entering it officially conducted and riding in state. i do not know to this day to just what facts or virtues or position in life we owe the attentions we received; but it was all recorded upon posters and handbills liberally distributed through chinatown, announcing our advent. recorded upon them in those picturesque characters with which the chinese language puzzles its readers, were the names and eulogies of certain members of our party. the character which stood for the herr director looked like a top, a tree and a barrel, while his nativity and manifold virtues were made known in other artistic symbols. i suspect that the man to blame for it all was a certain young american whose mixed ancestry has created a rare and most effective personality. he has inherited all the grace of his french ancestors, the tenacity (a virtue in which he excels) of his dutch or double dutch progenitors, and i am sure he can claim kinship with the first man who "kissed the blarney stone." he could pull the latch-string to any foreign colony in that great conglomerate of peoples, and always be greeted as one of them. the young men's christian association, in whose name he served, could not have had a more worthy exponent of its social creed, and america could not have projected against these foreigners a better representative than charles w. blanpied. the reception was held in the chinese presbyterian church, and upon our arrival we found it crowded by a solemn-looking company of chinese. we were conducted to the platform and introduced to his excellency the consul-general, ministers of various denominations, and dignitaries of chinatown. this was the first reception we attended where introductions were not followed by vigorous hand-shaking. i am inclined to believe that the softness of the oriental palm is due to the fact that it is not vigorously pressed every time two men meet each other. the herr director was in ecstasy over the beautiful chinese girls in the choir. doubtless he would have preferred sitting among them, rather than where he was, between the consul-general and the chairman of the evening. the reception opened with prayer, as if it were a church service; then the choir sang an anthem, followed by four speeches of welcome. the first by his excellency the consul-general lasted an hour and seemed much longer, because it was in chinese and unintelligible to us. i was asked to respond, and, under the circumstances, my remarks were brief. the clever interpreter made a good deal of them, judging by the length of time it took him, and the tumultuous applause with which every sentence was greeted. the herr director told me it was the poorest speech he ever heard; but i am inclined to believe that he was a little jealous because he was not asked to speak; or perhaps he was merely trying to keep me humble, a course which he had consistently pursued from the day i met him in new york. the reception closed with the benediction, and the dignitaries and guests proceeded to a chinese restaurant which was genuinely oriental; not one of those nondescript chop suey places which serve such varied and often objectionable purposes. the entire establishment was reserved for us. it was gayly decorated with the banners of the youngest republic, an orchestra played vigorously and so unmelodiously that the herr director was reminded of the ultra modern german compositions. the menu was the most mysterious thing of the evening, ranging from tea to broiled seaweed, and eggs which looked their age and were not ashamed of it. there was fowl which was made unrecognizable to both the eye and the palate, something which tasted like glue flavored with onion, and something else which to my perverted occidental palate seemed like stewed turkish towels. there were sweetmeats before and after and between courses. beside the mystery, the variety and novelty of the banquet, it had one other virtue; it was not followed by after dinner speeches, that common american practice which is an assault upon one's digestion, and, not infrequently, upon good taste. while there were no after dinner speeches, we had a chance to discuss the problem of the chinese in california, and their brave attempts to become americanized in thought and feeling, in spite of the unyielding race prejudice they have had to meet; thus renewing our faith in our common origin and destiny, regardless of our apparent differences. never before had i realized how gentle these chinese are nor how altogether likeable, and it was no surprise to find that some of the californians have made the same discovery, and are treating them accordingly. we visited the immigrant station at san francisco and i wished we had not; for our treatment of the incoming orientals lacks all those elements of which i had boasted. we are neither humane, nor fair, neither wise, nor decent. we found young chinese women who had been detained for more than a year, and were left without occupation or suitable companionship or even a hope of early release. there were chinese boys who were herded with hardened, vicious-looking men, and the station, although ideally situated, was little better than a prison. what was done or was allowed to be done to make the lot of these people more bearable was accomplished by outsiders. conditions may have changed since that time, and if they have, it is a cause for profound gratitude. we also had an unusual opportunity to come in touch with the japanese all along the coast. in one city we met a young japanese, a graduate of my own college. he is now serving his countrymen there as a buddhist priest. he has brought to his sacred calling much of the practical religion which he absorbed through his contact with the college y. m. c. a., and it is his ambition to make buddhism efficient and serviceable. he has put into the work all his patrimony and is eager to build up an institution patterned after the young men's christian association. we had many a confidential talk, and if the soul of the oriental is not altogether inscrutable i have had a glimpse of it; although i cannot say that i have fathomed his soul any more than he has mine. he seemed to me to typify his race in a remarkable degree. his is a strong, unyielding, definite kind of ethnos, and while we liked each other and tried to understand one another, there seemed to be a place just before we reached our holy of holies where we stood before a barred gate. when he told me that the american soul is absolutely unemotional in comparison with the japanese, i knew he did not understand us; even as i did not understand the japanese when i told him that his people are cold and unemotional in comparison with us. he took us to his temple in the basement of a shabby looking american tenement. he showed us his sunday-school room, picture cards with golden texts, club and class rooms, and many devices borrowed from us, applied and perhaps improved upon by his japanese genius. the day we left the city he brought us an invitation to luncheon at the home of the most prominent japanese merchant in the place. our hostess was a delightful woman educated in a methodist school in her native country, and of course spoke english. her husband, a conservative buddhist, although he had been in this country for twenty years, was still japanese to the core and spoke little or no english. there were several notables present, whose english was more or less japanned. they were keen, well educated, and had absorbed enough of american culture to be baseball "fans." during luncheon, which in our honor was served à la nippon, we discussed the anti-japanese legislation which at that time was menacing the peaceful relationship of the two countries. all the japanese agreed that they had no right to demand unrestricted immigration; but they were urgent that no crass distinction should be made between them and other races, and that they too should have the right to obtain citizenship when they had proved themselves fitted for it. during this discussion the frau directorin and our host were carrying on a picturesque conversation; that is she did the talking and he smilingly said "yes" to everything she said. she felt highly flattered that he understood her english, which was still about seventy-five per cent. german, while his was ninety-nine per cent. japanese. that night as we were leaving the city a delegation met us at the station to complete their oriental hospitality by presenting us with beautiful and valuable souvenirs. after such brief and friendly relationships with these people it is easy to come to very one-sided conclusions about the problem they present to the people of california. the situation is serious, but not so serious that, in order to try to meet it, we must cease to be gentlemanly in our relation to them. it is the peculiarity of all people who face race problems, to face them irrationally and to think that in order to maintain racial dignity one must insult, demean, and humble other races; and the people of the united states in general, and those of the pacific coast in particular, have not yet learned a better and more rational way. strong race prejudice is not necessarily a sign of race superiority, and the people who constantly proclaim their superiority by humiliating and persecuting others have a hard time proving it. if what i was frequently told is true, that california "wants no immigrants unless they are something between a mule and a man," then i can understand their animosity towards the japanese; for they are altogether human and want to be so treated. beside the many racial varieties with which we came in contact on the pacific coast, we found there all the types produced in the united states, and while neither the herr director nor myself was able to differentiate them by external variation, we discovered them by different and contending ideals. from that standpoint they were even more interesting than the orientals. every shade of political and religious opinion, every kind of economic doctrine, every variety of social standards we found, besides currents and cross currents not easily discerned or classified. in spite of the difference in race, class, religion and politics, we found three well defined ideas expressed, upon which there is such an agreement that they might be called the california confession of faith. first and foremost is the belief in the climate and the resources of the state. there is no religious doctrine in existence unless it be the monotheism of the jews, which is so dogmatically held as this faith, that california is unsurpassed in climate, productiveness, in all those opportunities for a leisurely existence (provided you have worked hard elsewhere to get the necessary money) as are offered by its mountains and sea, its luxuriant homes and all other factors which contribute to the health and happiness of mankind. the only possible rival to california is heaven itself, and just because in these unbelieving and unregenerate days so many people are not sure that there is such a place, or if there is, are in doubt that they will have a mansion reserved for them, they are leaving the farms and towns of the more mundane middle west and prosperous east to get a taste of heaven in california before they go to that "bourne from which no" wanderer has returned. the people of california forgive any heresy or unbelief except a doubt, however faint, about its climate and resources. from the shadow of mount shasta to the deepest depth of the imperial valley, whether we were so cold in summer as to need furs, or were hot enough to melt, or were choking from dust when we travelled through miles of unredeemed desert, we found this faith in the climate and resources of california unshaken. the herr director asked why there were so many cemeteries in the midst of the most crowded streets, and only a nearer look convinced him that they were "for sale" signs of rival real estate agents, who flourish equally with the sage-brush and cactus. the second idea upon which there is a common agreement is, that while california in particular is perfect as to climate and resources, the world in general is a dire place, and its wrongs need to be righted. in spite of the fact that the climate invites to leisure, it has not as yet tamed the fighting spirit of this fine, manly race, which is never so happy as when it has something to do and dare. this state has admitted women to the duties of citizenship, that all may have an equal share in the fight. the issues at stake are worth battling for, and nowhere else is the struggle more intense and dramatic. organized labor and capital have crippled each other in the desperate conflict, fierce always, and often brutal. protestantism, unorganized and frequently inefficient, faces the roman catholic hierarchy, defending, as it believes, the public schools and democratic government itself: awakening, purified democracy is in deadly conflict with the demagogue entrenched by special privilege while the prohibitionists are engaged in most desperate conflict with the vinous industry of the state. the third doctrine of the california confession of faith is, that here on the pacific coast the white race has been providentially placed to defend this country against the encroachment of the "yellow peril." it was illuminating though painful to find that race prejudice is as intense here as in the south, and as unreasoning, and that one is as helpless against it as against a flood or fire. all one seems to be able to do is to accept it as a fact, and treat it like a contagious disease. if there is any danger to the white race at the pacific coast, it is not the presence of the japanese or chinese in limited numbers; it is the attitude of mind which has been created among americans there, and that may bring its own vengeance. it was a great joy to introduce my guests to california, its orange groves and vineyards, its marvellous cities and palatial homes. it is a state to glory in; but strange to say i was somewhat depressed when i left it. the herr director said he missed my "brag and bluster." everything was beautiful and bountiful, even as the real estate agents have advertised; yet there were some things i found and some things i missed which took the "brag and bluster" out of me. its pioneer spirit is weakened by the accession of a large, leisure class, and how or where the next generation will find a grappling place for vigor of body, mind and spirit, is still a great question. to eat one's bread by the sweat of some ancestor's brow, to be challenged daily by the luxury of a limousine rather than by the hardships of the prairie schooner, to have as the end and aim of one's day the winning of a polo match, or the making of a golf score, must ultimately bring about a decadence of spirit, even though one retains for a while litheness of body and activity of mind. the boasted democracy of california is threatened, not only by the presence of a large leisure class and the necessary serving if not servant class, but also by a lack of faith in humanity, without which no democracy is safe and enduring. to california has been transferred all that unfaith gendered by the advent of the negro, and if there were ever a chance to revive the institution of slavery, that state might offer some hope for its revival. the californians who fear for the white race because of the presence of the oriental, whom that fear has made vain, boastful, ungenerous and reckless of the feelings of others, need to know that a greater danger threatens the race--the decay of the democratic spirit, which languishes and perishes unless it permits to all men free access to the best it holds, regardless of "race, color, or previous condition of servitude." because i had lost my "brag and bluster" and wished to recover them, i took my guests, who were now homeward bound, to the one place which might fitly crown their experiences--the grand canyon, where one is apt to forget humanity and its fretting problems. i must confess that by this time i was quite worn out; for introducing your country to a stranger is wearing business, especially when you are dealing with _blasé_ globe-trotters, who have done all the big things, from the alps to the dead sea, and have had to crowd into a brief month the best which lies between new york and california. to do this with a lover's adulation, endeavoring more or less skillfully to hide defects and make the bright spots brighter still, may well tax one's nerves. i acted as a sort of shock absorber, for i determined that the journey should be a joltless one for my guests; but in that i partially failed; for not only did i receive the shocks myself, i could not keep them from receiving some. one of the worst of these jolts i suffered at the grand canyon of the colorado. i was very sure of the canyon itself; i knew it would put a thrill into the herr director, and force an expression of it out of him. i never worried about the frau directorin. we reached the canyon in that happy mood gendered by a combination of harvey meals and pullman berths, and the sight of the friendly inn at the brink of the big surprise, and the cheer of the big log fire in the raftered room drew an involuntary exclamation of pleasure from the herr director. he registered, then asked the clerk for a room fronting the canyon. "yes siree!" said the obliging young man as he attached a number to the herr director's long and illegible signature; "i'll give you a room so near that you can spit right into it." naturally i received the first shock; a minute later it communicated itself to the herr director. it did not reach the frau directorin, for her english fortunately was still limited; she kept on looking at the bright navajo rugs, while the clerk smiled at his own smartness. the herr director commanded to have his bags taken to his room, and turning from the desk said: "young man, i am a german, and i want you to understand that we do not spit in god's face." the next morning the great canyon was full of mist, and only faint outlines of its titanic architecture were visible. as we stood at the edge of the wondrous chasm, watching the last cloud being driven from the depths as the moisture was absorbed by the dry, desert air, the frau directorin was shaken by emotion as she gasped at intervals: "_um gottes himmels willen!_" the herr director, his feelings better controlled, said nothing; but after a long silence, muttered under his breath: "i should like to throw that clerk down this abyss as a penalty for his desecrating thought." every few minutes i heard him saying, as he shook his head: "just think of it! just think of it!" i did not disturb him or ask him what he thought of it for i knew he could not tell, nor can any one. i think he felt as i felt, that all the cities he had seen were as nothing compared with this wonder of nature; that all the pillared post-offices and libraries which our cunning hands have scattered over this broad land are trifling toys compared with this templed miracle; that all our dreams of what we might paint or fashion or carve, or build, are child's play compared with this, and that we ourselves are mere nothings in the presence of what god hath wrought here in stone and clay, in color and form. never before had i so wished that i could rearrange the geography of the united states as when we turned eastward from the grand canyon. if i had the power of him who shaped this earth i would have put it within a mile of the atlantic ocean and within a stone's throw of the hoboken dock, and having shown my guests the canyon, i would have put them on board their home-bound steamer, and as they sailed away i would have cried out with ancient simeon: "now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace!" xiii _the grinnell spirit_ between the grand canyon and the ship there might be "many a slip," especially as i was to conclude my guardianship of the travellers in my own town, prosaically placed in the great mississippi valley, which consists of two plains--one at the top and the other at the bottom, filled with corn and hogs, and most prosperous and contented people. the place towards which we journeyed holds two things which are the biggest, most beautiful, and best things in the world--my home and my work, both of which my guests wished to see. i was anxious that they should; for there, if anywhere, they could come close to that i gloried in most, the american spirit. after the barren plains, the monotonous miles of sage-brush, and the long, straight stretches of railroad tracks, it was good to look upon green meadows and commodious farmhouses sheltered by groves of maple and elm, and surrounded by great fields of young corn just peeping above the black, rich clods. during the last few hours of the trip the herr director thought every station at which the train stopped was our destination, and began gathering his various belongings. when finally we reached it he jumped out almost before the train stopped, so eager was he to see the place where he was to spend at least a fortnight, and really see the american home from the inside. again fortune favored me. it was early june. the air was soft from recent rains, the grassy lawns were wonderfully green; peonies were opening their buds, adding touches of color, snowballs hung thick upon the bushes, and blooming roses filled the air with sweet odors. it seemed as if our neighbors had conspired to make the town ready for my distinguished visitors, and i could see that they enjoyed the peace of it, the friendliness of the park-like streets, the sight of well-kept homes set in gardens, and the cordial greetings of the people we met. their appreciation of all they saw before reaching the house, and their evident delight in the rooms prepared for them, not to mention their astonishment at finding their trunks awaiting them there, afforded me not only pleasure, but a great sense of relief; i felt that the race was won. i had faith to believe that they would be happy in our town of six thousand inhabitants, which is not unlike other places of the same size. it has its public park, two or three shopping streets, churches, schoolhouses, a few factories large and small, clubs, lodges, and all the things of which like towns may legitimately boast; yet it has a background peculiarly its own. it was founded by an intrepid pioneer who brought a colony of new englanders from the hills of massachusetts to this treeless prairie, and with the imperious will of his race said: "let there be a town!" and lumber was carted over miles of deep mud, cabins were built and there was a town. and again he said: "let there be a railroad!" and he diverted the course of a great railroad system miles out of its way, and there was a railroad. and he said: "there must be no saloon in this place!" so more than half a century before strong drink was acknowledged to be a social and physical foe, he had seen its true nature and put prohibition into every deed of real estate, thus making it impossible for liquor to gain a foothold. years passed and he said: "let there be a college!" and he brought one across the state, and there was a college; a young, infant thing just started by christian missionaries who had come from the east, each of them to plant a church, all of them to plant a college. this infant educational institution was put into its rude cradle in the midst of an unshaded campus, and when it had grown to generous size, with buildings to house it and trees to shade it, a cyclone swept the campus bare, and instead of a joyous commencement, which was but a few days distant, there were funerals and desolation, wreck and ruin. on a pile of débris sat the same pioneer with a determined smile playing upon his face, and at once, while the tears upon the mourners' cheeks were still wet, he and others like him began rebuilding the town and the college. those men now "rest from their labor" in that bit of rolling prairie saved from the plowmen and the harvester, and consecrated to hold our dead until the great day. the morning after our arrival in grinnell, the herr director and the frau directorin, who, during our travels, had little opportunity to indulge their fondness for exercise, walked out to the cemetery. it is a beautiful, well-kept spot, but half spoiled by crowding headstones. from it can be seen church steeples peeping through the elm trees which shelter the town; the ugly stand-pipe and the tall chimney of our one big factory. at our feet lay the little artificial lake where much fishing is done, and sometimes fish are caught. as far as we could see were prosperous farms with their comfortable homes, generous barns, turreted silos, and wide meadows where calves and colts grazed. one of our virtues, the herr director thought, was that we do not boast about our dead. whatever boasting we do, and we do not boast too much, it ceases when the earth covers us. he saw no fulsome eulogies carved upon the headstones; often nothing but a name and the two dates of birth and death. in the face of that great and last achievement we are very humble and honest; although in our little cemetery lie buried men and women of whom i should like to boast. they were the great, real americans who worked diligently, honestly and humbly, who left no huge fortunes to curse the next generation; but built their modest homes, and before the roof tree was lifted, had built a church and a schoolhouse. they put their tithes into the lord's treasury before they put money into a bank, and while they were still wading through mud, anchored the college upon a rock, making its growth and permanence their great extravagance. they believed in an austere christ, but believed in him implicitly, followed him consistently and left a legacy of simplicity, temperance and frugality. yes, i boasted of our dead to my guests. i boasted of that grim, fighting man whose name the town bears, who was the personification of the determined, american pioneer, the conqueror of mere circumstances. i boasted of that firm, unyielding, controversial calvinist, george f. magoun, who ruled the college in his own stern way. he was the last, but not the least of his kind, who built deep and strong and straight upon the foundations of morality and religion; so that others could build loftily and boldly. i led them to the grave where rests the body of his successor, the two differing from one another in opinions and method at every point; for the younger man was the forerunner of a new dispensation, its prophet, disciple and martyr. yet both men were made of the same stern, unyielding stuff, and both rested their lives and the hope of life's better things to come, upon the same foundation. when the names of those americans who prophesied the day of the kingdom, who worked for it and suffered for it, shall be placed upon the honor roll, the name of george a. gates, now carved upon a modest monument, will be found imperishably written there. near by, under the shade of slender white birches, we saw the simple shaft which marks the resting place of one of the iowa band, james j. hill, who holds his place in the annals of the college, not only because he gave the first dollar to help found it, but because of the continued loyalty of his sons. i wished my guests could have come to us before we buried the man whose life spanned the old and the new--the white-haired, ever youthful, eloquent teacher, leonard f. parker, who smiled benignly upon us all until his eyes closed forever, and with their closing, a benediction was gone. he was the type of missionary teacher who began his career in a log cabin, who, whether he taught in a country school or in a great state university, taught with a passion for men. the impress of his personality remained with his pupils long after they had forgotten his erudite lore. as great as these great americans were their wives, and no one can ever think of them as less than the equals of their husbands. if the american woman occupies a unique place in the world, it is not only because the american man has been more generous than his european brother, but because she has proved her equality. she has attained the measure of rights and privileges still denied to most of her sisters elsewhere because she earned and deserved them. we, the living, sons and daughters of these great teachers by birth and by adoption, cannot hold in too high esteem the legacy they left us. we do not know with as firm an assurance as we ought to know, how much we owe to them, and that, if we waste our inheritance, we waste spiritual forces which we cannot generate. they were all, in the true sense, provincial, narrow men. they thought of america and of the world and of the world to come, in the terms of their creed, their town and their college; while we who have circled the globe and think in world terms first, and boast of wider vision and larger faith, may be in danger of overlooking the fact that in our small place and places like it may be decided the fate of america, and through america, the fate of the world. the herr director was astonished and the frau directorin pained to find that we lived in a servantless house and in practically a servantless town; that we were our own cooks and housemaids, butlers and gardeners. when the herr director saw me mowing my lawn in broad daylight he wondered that i did not lose caste among my fellows. the frau directorin was remarkably adaptable. she delighted in wielding the dustless mop (to reduce "the meat"), she dusted the bric-à-brac, and out of the kindness of her heart and in spite of our protests, became "first aid" to my wife. one morning, just as i was waking, i heard the rattle of a lawn-mower under my window; not the quick, sharp, sustained noise which usually arouses the neighborhood, but a slow, measured sound, by fits and starts. in between i could hear puffing and panting, like that of a small steam engine. when i looked out of the window i saw something which my eyes could not believe. the herr director had begun mowing the lawn, and i let him finish it. it pretty nearly finished him; but after his bath and a generous american breakfast, he glowed from health and happiness. "i never knew," he said, "the elevating power of physical labor. i think i will take a lawn-mower home with me." the frau directorin put a damper upon his enthusiasm by reminding him that he would have to take a lawn home with him too, and more than that, the town itself; for in their environment he would not dare use the lawn-mower even if he had one. i am quite sure now that the herr director would have liked to take my little town home with him, with the lawn-mower and the lawn. if he could have done so, he might have changed the course of empires. i urged him, if he really wished to annex us, to do it soon; for there is no little danger that we, too, shall lose faith in the redemptive power of labor, the sufficiency of little things, the grandeur of plain living and high thinking, the exaltation of the humble, the inheritance for the meek and the reward of the righteous. when we lose those, we have lost that which, in our proud, provincial way, we call "the grinnell spirit"--an integral part of the american--the world-spirit. xiv _the commencement and the end_ there are some aspects of our american life which i tried to hide from my guests. i kept as many of our national family skeletons as possible in their closets, and made sure that the doors were securely locked. i was glad that the herr director and the frau directorin were to leave this country before our insane fourth of july, which we are endeavoring to make sane. i did not care to have them here on thanksgiving day from which, through the superabundance of turkey and cranberry sauce, the element of thanksgiving has been almost eliminated. i was profoundly grateful that during their visit there was no election day with its sordid partisanship, its ballot box, not yet sacred enough to make beautiful or place nobly in some civic temple; but we did urge them to remain over commencement day, that most happy, sweetly solemn occasion, unspoiled as yet by rich display. it is the great festival of our democracy, shared by town and gown, when we open the gates to rich and poor, to common opportunity and duty. we made no mistake in thus planning. the town wore its holiday air. from farm and village, from many states, on every train, parents were arriving, walking proudly beside their sons and daughters, in academic garb. "old grads" were being welcomed back by _alma mater_, grateful to her for having helped make life rich, and sweet, and worth living. they hoped to place under her care their children and their children's children, whom they had brought there to give them a foretaste of joys to come. it was a wonderful experience for the herr director and the frau directorin to meet them. they were fêted and feasted; they wore class and college colors, and entered into the spirit of it all as if they, too, had been the children of grinnell college. among the graduates they met editors, lawyers and doctors who had come back from the great cities; professors who had won academic renown, and are serving the great universities; teachers who had carried into the public schools the spirit of their college; preachers who have gained prominence, and those who minister in humble places, faithful in their obscurity and proud of their chance to serve. there were missionaries who came back from the ends of the earth where they had started centers of education, places of healing and temples of hope. they listened to stirring messages from pulpit and platform, to the young dreams of minor poets who sang the lay of their class; to historians who reviewed the four college years as a great epoch closed; to prophets who predicted failure and success, and a golden day of jubilee to the whole weary world, when this particular class got back of it. on commencement day they watched the dignified president conferring the degrees of bachelor, master and doctor. at noon they attended the college banquet and suffered through the after dinner speeches. that night on the crowded campus they enjoyed the glee club's joyful songs, and then, worn to the last shred of their highly emotional natures, walked home with us while the last strains of the alumni song faded away into the night. the herr director talked until after midnight, telling of the many things which pleased him. the religious dignity, the fine simplicity, the natural, sweet, pure relationship between men and women; but above all else, the democratic spirit from which these other things emanate. he had an apt way of singing snatches of german song of which he seemed to command an unlimited supply; and as he mounted the stairs to his room he sang: "_ach, wenn es nur immer so bliebe._" (oh, if it would only remain so always.) then followed the sad note which is the major one of the german lyric: "_es war zu schön gewesen, es hatt nich sollen sein._" (it was too beautiful and therefore could not be.) i knew it might not remain so beautiful always; but if life is worth while at all, it is worth while struggling to keep it so. i do not know what share one person may have in influencing the current upon which a nation is drifting; but i believe in the power of the individual, and i shall "fight the good fight"--and a hard one it is--and "keep the faith"--although it is not easy to keep it--faith in god and men and in the american spirit. four weeks after the herr director and the frau directorin left us i received the following letter. i have had some difficulty in translating the involved and rather lengthy epistle into straightforward english, but have done so that i may share it with my readers. my dear friend: we arrived home in safety after a rather stormy and uneventful voyage. on board the ship we met a number of lake mohonk acquaintances, and therefore the atmosphere which you tried to create for me surrounded me even in mid ocean, and consequently you ought to be happy and contented. when we reached washington half-cooked, for even your excellent provisions for our comfort were unavailing against your terrific summer heat, your friend and his automobile were at the station; just such a friend and such an automobile as met us dozens of times before. if anything, this friend was a little more persistent than the other species, for we were taken up and down and in and out, to everything within fifty miles of washington. we shook hands with half your congressmen some of them seem to be professional hand-shakers, and my hand aches at the thought of it. state secretary bryan received me most affably and talked about his peace treaties. he didn't give me much chance to do any talking myself. he seems so genuinely american; by that i mean simple and childlike in many things, and complex and difficult to understand in others. he is neither a humbug as some of your papers say, nor a prophet as he thinks himself. his faith in humanity and in himself is pathetically colossal. it is amusing to find that you americans, and you are the most american of them all--you americans who have invented cash registers and time clocks, those symbols of unfaith in humanity, are so full of faith in your relation to big, national and international problems. your optimism may, after all, be due to your ignorance, coupled with the fact that you are living in a land vast and isolated, which has not quite exhausted its resources and opportunities. the most materialistic people on earth in your relationship to each other, you leap into remarkable idealism in the sphere of politics and diplomacy. if it is true that "god takes care of children and fools," then god is taking wonderfully good care of you americans, who seem to me to be both. in our country we would put a man of mr. bryan's type in charge of an orphan asylum, and feel that the children would be safe with him at least till their twelfth year; and yet i know that he has done vigorous fighting, and i shall give him a chapter in my book about america, which as you know i intend to write and have already begun. it was quite a change of atmosphere when i went from the department of state to the white house. the president's secretary seems to me a man of large calibre, kind, yet firm. a man to like and yet to fear; just the kind of person a great man needs as a buffer against his friends, and as a guard against his enemies. the atmosphere of the white house is dignified, yet not cold; democratic, yet reserved; you feel that it is a place of power. above everything else you have done for me i want to thank you for making it possible for me to meet president wilson. he is not at all the type of man i expected to find. there is nothing pedantic about him and i do not know a man in any of our universities like him. he is not as easy to analyze as mr. bryan, he is by far the greater, more complex and stronger nature. he has the firmness which rulers should possess, and may be too unyielding when once he has made up his mind to anything. he knows more than mr. bryan but is not as dogmatic, not nearly as friendly, and yet i came nearer to that which i sought in him, and i think i understood him better. he let me do all the talking, but asked all manner of questions; yet he told me more that way than mr. bryan, who did all the talking. if president wilson is a politician, he is a new kind which i have never met before. i think he has made many mistakes, which of course is natural. there is only one of your presidents who never made mistakes, and that was president roosevelt. he made blunders, which he had the pugnacity and the sheer physical courage to turn into political capital, and then blundered again. president wilson was in the midst of the mexican muddle when i saw him, yet he seemed to me very well poised, and bearing his many burdens, not like a martyr or a saint, but as a really strong man ought to bear them. of course you do not believe that i took your eulogies of america "_fur baare muenze_" (at their face value). there are two americas and you are living in but one of them. your america lies in the high altitudes of lake mohonk, hull house, and grinnell college. the other america which you tried to hide from me i saw, just because you tried to hide it. it is sordid, base, selfish, and above all strong; but that you do not seem to know. you have _modified_ my view of america, but you have not _changed_ it. you are still a big experiment as a nation, and i am not sure that it will be a successful one. you have nothing to teach us in government, business or education. just one thing i envy you--your faith in your unfinished country and in yourself as a force in its making. as you know, i do not share your faith; especially do i not believe that one individual or many individuals can change the course of empires. you think yourself citizen, king and priest; but you are merely an atom, a conscious atom of course, and in that and that alone, in that you are conscious, and know yourself a part of the whole and believe yourself an effective part of it, lies happiness. i enjoyed hearing you talk about the american spirit; you talked about the soul of a country as if you had seen it and felt it and loved it. my dear friend, you do not know your own soul, nor the stuff out of which it is made, and yet in your american conceit you talk about the soul of a country. it was an interesting psychological study to watch you, and it gave me much amusement as well as something to think about. i enjoyed you most of all in your own little town, your college and your hospitable, beautiful home. i feared you would burst from pride and complacency as you interpreted the "american spirit" from that little place; a speck, and not even a well-defined speck, on the map of your country. you, a world traveller, have at last become a really narrow provincial, i should say a very happy one, as provincials always are. you wanted me to see your country through the june atmosphere of your commencement; a democratic, peaceful, rose-laden america. i saw it through the smoke and grime of chicago, the crowded tenements of new york, the injustice of your courts and the corruption of your politics. yet i am glad i saw _your_ america, and i want to thank you for your ardent endeavor to show it to me as you want it to be, and not as it is. my wife sends her thanks and greetings. she received more benefit out of her visit than i. i have had to promise to remodel the house, and put in another bathroom which is to be between our bedrooms. the new bathtub must be porcelain and we are to have an instantaneous heater. she still talks a good deal of the "_gute_ cornflecks" and "grep frut" which we both enjoyed so much. above all she remembers the courtesy of the men, and if the servant did not place her chair for her at table, i fear i should now have to do it. america certainly is a paradise for women, but it is "_die hoelle_" for men. remember that when you and any of your family come to berlin you are to be our guests. i trust you will come soon, for conditions over here look dubious, and the war, "_der grosse krieg_," may come before we know it. _herzliche gruesse von haus zu haus._ _auf wiedersehen._ xv _the challenge of the american spirit_ i am sure the herr director will not object if i have the last word; for while he was with me that privilege was seldom mine and obtained only by dint of strategy. since his departure, the great war which he prophesied has moved over europe and hides every bit of fair and peaceful sky like a storm-cloud; its thunder and destructive lightning fill the air, leaving scarcely a place safe and undisturbed. not a soul is unafraid, not a heart is without pain and sorrow, and the herr director himself, although past middle age, has volunteered to serve in the trenches, slippery from oozing blood and foul from the spattered brains of men. the "fiddling, twiddling diplomats, the haggling, calculating merchants of babylon, the sleek lords with their plumes and spurs" have had their way, and the poor, blind, ignorant millions, made mad by hate, do their brutal bidding. we, on this safer side, who as yet have not loosed the dogs of war, have calculated the loss to europe in the fratricidal slaughter of its most virile men, in the loss of its arts and trades, in the wreck and ruin to houses and homes and in the age-long poverty which awaits. much counting has been done as to what we shall make out of this sure bankruptcy that is to come to the nations which are our competitors for the world's trade, and what glory shall be ours when new york, and not london shall be the new babylon, with power to make the "epha small and the shekel great." with the incalculable loss to the european nations there has come to some of them a gain in national unity upon which under no circumstances we may count. it has been with no small sense of pride that i have demonstrated to the herr director and to others the fact that, in spite of our youth as a nation, and the varied national, linguistic and religious rootage of our population even in the colonial period, we have grown to be one people. even the constant inflow of new and more varied human material has not weakened us but indeed the sense of national unity has grown stronger. i have watched with joy the processes by which this alien element was becoming one with us, the fading away of animosities and inherited prejudices, and the making of a new people out of the world's conglomerate. the war has brought about a retardation of this process, and we shall have great cause for gratitude if no permanent damage is done to our nation's spirit, a loss for which no possible gain in any direction could compensate. the term "hyphenated american," which has now come into use, if it indicates anything more than the place of a man's national or racial origin, and the very natural sympathies arising therefrom, is an insult to the man to whom it is applied, and a confession of divided allegiance, if voluntarily assumed. it may be interesting to note that it was his majesty, the emperor of germany, who repudiated the hyphen when a german-american delegation called on him on the occasion of some royal anniversary. when the delegation was introduced in this hyphenated manner, he said: "germans i know, americans i know, but german-americans i do not know." although the hyphen has always existed, it has assumed new meaning in these troubled days and is applied as a term of opprobrium, largely to americans of german birth; people who have always been loyal to the country of their adoption, and, i think, are no less loyal now. if there has been wavering in their devotion, if the process of yielding themselves to the ideals and interests of this country has been arrested, they are not altogether to blame, and we ourselves are not altogether blameless. it was thoroughly in harmony with the american spirit that our sympathies should go out to brave little belgium, and turn from the ruthless conqueror who was much nearer to us culturally and in greater harmony with us spiritually. it was also natural for the german people in this country to challenge the evident bias of the press, and the resultant prejudices arising in the minds of their friends and neighbors. being german they knew what a german soldier is capable of doing, and of what atrocities he is guiltless; although in the attempt to defend their people they in turn became as unfair as we, condoning every act of the germans and besmirching their enemies. how far this bias can carry one is illustrated by the german pastor in a neighboring town, one of the gentlest souls i know, who, when told of the destruction of the _lusitania_, said: "thanks be to god, let the good work go on." he will not have to live very long to repent of this. to match him i may quote a most lovable quaker lady nearly ninety years of age, who, with a violence in striking contrast to the quaker character, expressed as her dearest wish that she might be permitted to kill the emperor of germany, and i am almost sure she was not alone in that pious desire, even among the members of her family. the german press and the german pulpit have fanned this reawakened germanic spirit, not always from lofty motives, and many an editor and pastor have found this antagonism a source of revenue and a hope of perpetuating their influence. if the american press both in its news and editorial columns has been painful reading to any one who loves fair play, it did not help him to turn to the german press, whose utterances were made more distressing by the fact that not infrequently they contained expressions bordering on treason. had their editors lived in germany and spoken of the emperor in the same words which they applied to their president, their terms of imprisonment, if combined, would reach into eternity. even after the war the attempt will be made to keep alive this antagonism, and if possible to widen the breach. it will be a serious challenge to our national spirit, for i doubt that we can maintain a vital unity unless it represents one country, one people, and one language. i know of no way in which to meet this danger effectively; but i do know that it is not through reprisals or punishments. perhaps it is best to hope that at the close of the war we shall all recover our sanity. certain it is that the american people have in the germans in this country too valuable and powerful an element to alienate, and the german people who have made this country their home have too great a sense of the value of it and its institutions, to them and their children, to be willing to jeopardize the american spirit, because of that which must be but a passing phase in the history of our poor, misguided, human race. besides the threatened break in unity, the american spirit is being challenged by a call to arms, not merely to avert any momentary, threatened danger, but to be permanently safeguarded, prepared against its predatory neighbors all around the globe. whether those who join in this call know it or not, or wish it or not, it means militarism. when just such arguments were used for germany's preparedness, when that gospel was being preached with all possible fervor, one of the wisest germans said: "_wehrkraft wird immer mehrkraft_" ("defensive power always becomes offensive power"), and i am sure that the average american will say that, in the case of germany, this has proved true. if i were arguing for military preparedness, i would not be so insistent upon the building of new fortresses, or the accumulation of ammunition. i would insist upon training our children in obedience and reverence. i would give them schoolmasters who know what they teach and who would demand strict application to the curriculum. i would oppose the growing pedagogic idea that the schoolroom is a playground, and that knowledge may be acquired without hard work. i would restore the rod and banish the coddler. i would call in our high school boys from the side lines, from their vicarious athletics and their slavish imitation of college customs, and teach them how to dig trenches and serve cannon, which seem to be the chief need in modern military operations. it is folly to believe that the _fiasco_ of the russian armies was due to the lack of ammunition or of sufficient fortresses; it was due to the lack of good schools and to the lack of discipline among its educated classes. with the decay of our pioneer spirit, which is inevitable, with the growth of a leisure class, with groups of men and women who know no other way to justify their existence than to play bridge or go to tango teas; with a large class of people less unfortunately situated, who have to work for their living, but from whom the state asks nothing in the way of service except the payment of taxes which are easily evaded, it is a great question how to keep our virility and how to foster a patriotism which may be counted upon in the time of national danger. i am fairly sure that some other way than the militaristic way ought to be found. i am not sure that we shall find it; because only those who seek shall find. there are some things we may profitably learn from germany, and one is the maintenance of a state which by its very nature will compel devotion. a state deeply concerned with the well-being of every individual; a state which sees to it that impartial judgment shall be meted out, and that the scales do not tip to those who weight them with gold. a state which eliminates graft and is able to train an efficient army of public servants is more likely to gain and keep the loyalty of its citizens than one which, although technically free, is shackled by corruption and graft, and which, while giving each man the power to become a king, places the major emphasis upon property rather than upon person. yes, we have a great deal to do to be properly prepared, besides authorizing congress to spend millions for "reeking tube and iron shard." what i most fear for the american spirit is the loss of that which makes it really american and truly spirit, the loss of its democracy. i am confident that the form of our government is not endangered, and whatever military success may come to monarchic governments we shall not envy them their kings nor put ourselves in bondage to them. if this republic is still an experiment then we shall see the experiment through to the end as a republic. i am also sure that we shall work out the problem which confronts us in the relationship between capital and labor, and that we shall create here an industrial democracy. the dissatisfaction with the present system is growing daily, even among the so-called privileged classes, and many a man, well favored by circumstances, is crying out with walt whitman, "by god! i will not have anything which others cannot have on the same terms." what i most dread is, that we shall be increasingly unable to be democratic in our spirit, in our relation to those who are in any marked way differentiated from us racially. our caste system is daily growing in strength, the social taboos are increasing in number, the spirit is barred from moving freely among all classes and races, and thus is bound to perish. the social boycott practiced against the jews, and which is even more thorough here than it is in russia, may be followed by an economic boycott, and what has but recently happened in georgia makes such occurrences on a larger scale not impossible. the attitude of the american people both south and north towards the negro is not growing better, and it will take more than all the brave optimism of booker t. washington to convince me that this is not true. it is anything but the american spirit which greets the japanese and chinese at the pacific coast, and the decadence of that spirit is daily creating for itself new victims for its prejudices and hates. it seems to be a growing conviction that in order to foster our racial integrity and self-respect we need to have contempt for other people and make of them a sort of mental cuspidore. i know the difficulty involved in this problem. i believe it is the most serious challenge which the american spirit has to meet, and here and here alone i confess my doubt as to its ability to meet it. this is no time, though, to turn doubt into despair, nor is it the time for the calling of conventions and the organization of societies. it is a time, however, for the strengthening of our faith in one another, for renewed allegiance to humanity no matter how it is encased, for a patriotism based upon something bigger than identity of race. it is a time for mutual forbearance, for the divine gift to see ourselves as others see us; for a supreme loyalty to our country, and a determination stronger than death to make this country capable of winning the loyalty of all its citizens. it is a time to glory in being an american and to become desperately sure we have something in which to glory. now as never before should there be serious self-examination to see whether we have not sinned against the spirit. this is the time to accept the challenge of the american spirit and prove that we are loyal enough to follow its guidance. printed in the united states of america * * * * * typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: he does now know=> he does not know {pg } the progam marked out for her by the emperor=> the program marked out for her by the emperor {pg } had little opportuntiy=> had little opportunity {pg } it is sorbid=> it is sordid {pg } unausstelicher=> unausstehlicher {pg } unaustehlicher=> unausstehlicher {pg } scanned images of public domain material from the internet archive. people of destiny * * * * * _americans as i saw them at home and abroad_ [illustration: philip gibbs] people of destiny _americans as i saw them at home and abroad_ _by_ philip gibbs _author of_ "now it can be told" [illustration] harper & brothers publishers new york and london copyright, , by harper & brothers contents chap. page i. the adventure of life in new york ii. some people i met in america iii. things i like in the united states iv. america's new place in the world v. what england thinks of america vi. americans in europe illustrations philip gibbs _frontispiece_ a relief from boredom after office hours _facing p._ the social atmosphere of an american post-office i liked the greeting of the train conductor people of destiny i the adventure of life in new york i had the luck to go to new york for the first time when the ordinary life of that city of adventure--always so vital and dynamic in activity--was intensified by the emotion of historic days. the war was over, and the warriors were coming home with the triumph of victory as the reward of courage; but peace was still delayed and there had not yet crept over the spirits of the people the staleness and disillusionment that always follow the ending of war, when men say: "what was the use of it, after all? where are gratitude and justice? who pays me for the loss of my leg?"... the emotion of new york life was visible in its streets. the city itself, monstrous, yet dreamlike and mystical as one sees it first rising to fantastic shapes through the haze of dawn above the waters of the hudson, seemed to be excited by its own historical significance. there was a vibration about it as sunlight splashed its gold upon the topmost stories of the skyscrapers and sparkled in the thousand windows of the woolworth tower and flung black bars of shadow across the lower blocks. banners were flying everywhere in the streets that go straight and long between those perpendicular cliffs of masonry, and the wind that comes blowing up the two rivers ruffled them. they were banners of rejoicing, but reminders also of the service and sacrifice of each house from which they were hanging, with golden stars of death above the heads of the living crowds surging there below them. in those decorations of new york i saw the imagination of a people conscious of their own power, and with a dramatic instinct able to impress the multitudes with the glory and splendor of their achievement. it was the same sense of drama that is revealed commercially in the genius of advertisement which startled me when i first walked down broadway, dazzled by moving pictures of light, by flashing signs that shouted to me from high heaven to buy chewing-gum and to go on chewing; and squirming, wriggling, revolving snakes of changing color that burned letters of fire into my brain, so that even now in remembrance my eyes are scorched with the imprint of a monstrous kitten unrolling an endless reel of cotton. the "welcome home" of american troops was an advertisement of american manhood, idealized by emotion; and it was designed, surely, by an artist whose imagination had been touched by the audacity of the master-builders of new york who climb to the sky with their houses. i think it was inspired also by the vision of the moving-picture kings who resurrect the gorgeous life of babylon, and re-establish the court of cleopatra, for theda bara, the "movie queen." when the men of the twenty-seventh division of new york came marching home down fifth avenue they passed through triumphal arches of white plaster that seemed solid enough to last for centuries, though they had grown high, like jack's beanstalk, in a single night; and the troops glanced sideways at a vast display of indian trophies with tattered colors like those of sunburnt wigwams where the spears of the "braves" were piled above the shields of fallen warriors. "like an undergraduate's cozy corner," said an unkind wit, and new york laughed, but liked the symbolism of those shields and went on with astonished eyes to gaze at the masterpiece of chalfin, the designer of it all, which was a necklace like a net of precious jewels, suspended, between two white pillars surmounted by stars, across the avenue. at night strong searchlights played upon this necklace, and at the end of those bars of white radiance, shot through the darkness, the hanging jewels swayed and glittered with a thousand delicate colors like diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. night after night, as i drove down fifth avenue, i turned in the car to look back at the astonishing picture of that triumphal archway, and saw how the long tide of cars behind was caught by the searchlights so that all their metal was like burnished gold and silver; and how the faces of dense crowds staring up at the suspended necklace were all white--dead-white as pierrot's; and how the sky above new york and the tall clifflike masses of masonry on each side of fifth avenue were fingered by the outer radiance of the brightness that was blinding in the heart of the city. to me, a stranger in new york, unused to the height of its buildings and to the rush of traffic in its streets, these illuminations of victory were the crowning touch of fantasy, and i seemed to be in a dream of some city of the future, among people of a new civilization, strange and wonderful. the soldiers of the twenty-seventh division were not overcome by emotion at this display in their honor. "that's all right," they said, grinning at the cheering crowds, "and when do we eat?" those words reminded me of tommy atkins, who would go through the hanging-gardens of babylon itself--if the time-machine were switched back--with the same shrewd humor. the adventure of life in new york, always startling and exciting, i am certain, to a man or woman who enters its swirl as a stranger, was more stirring at the time of my first visit because of this eddying influence of war's back-wash. the city was overcrowded with visitors from all parts of the united states who had come in to meet their home-coming soldiers, and having met them stayed awhile to give these boys a good time after their exile. this floating population of new york flowed into all the hotels and restaurants and theaters. two new hotels--the commodore and the pennsylvania--were opened just before i came, and, with two thousand bedrooms each, had no room to spare, and did not reduce the population of the plaza, vanderbilt, manhattan, biltmore, or ritz-carlton. i watched the social life in those palaces and found it more entertaining than the most sensational "movie" with a continuous performance. the architects of those american hotels have vied with one another in creating an atmosphere of richness and luxury. they have been prodigal in the use of marble pillars and balustrades, more magnificent than roman. they have gone to the extreme limit of taste in gilding the paneled walls and ceilings from which they have suspended enormous candelabra like those in the palace of versailles. i lost myself in the vastness of tea-rooms and lounges, and when invited to a banquet found it necessary to bring my ticket, because often there are a dozen banquets in progress in one hotel, and there is a banqueting-room on every floor. when i passed up in the elevator of one hotel i saw the different crowds in the corridors surging toward those great lighted rooms where the tables were spread with flowers, and from which came gusts of "jazz" music or the opening bars of "the star-spangled banner." in all the dining-rooms there rises the gusty noise of many conversations above the music of an orchestra determined to be heard, and between the bars of a leslie stuart waltz, or on the last beat of the "humoreske," a colored waiter says, "chicken okra, sah?" or "clam chowder?" and one hears the laughing words of a girl who asks, "do you mind if i powder my nose?" and does so with a glance at a little gold mirror and a dab from a little gold box. the vastness, and the overwhelming luxury, of the new york hotels was my first and strongest impression in this city, after i had recovered from the sensation of the high fantastic buildings; but it occurred to me very quickly that this luxury of architecture and decoration has no close reference to the life of the people. they are only visitors in _la vie de luxe_--and do not belong to it, and do not let it enter into their souls or bodies. in a wealthier, more expansive way, they are like the city clerks and their girls in london who pay eighteenpence for a meal in marble halls at lyon's popular café and sit around a gilded menu-card, saying, "isn't it wonderful ... and shall we go home by tram?" there are many rich people in new york--more, i suppose, than in any other city of the world--but, apart from cosmopolitan men and women who have luxury beneath their skins, there is no innate sense of it in the social life of these people. in the hotel palaces, as well as in the private mansions along fifth avenue and riverside drive, all their outward splendor does not alter the simplicity and honesty of their character. they remain essentially "middle-class" and have none of the easy licentiousness of that european aristocracy which, before the war, flaunted its wealth and its vice in paris, vienna, monte carlo, and other haunts where the cocottes of the world assembled to barter their beauty, and where idle men went from boredom to boredom in search of subtle forms of pleasure. american women of wealth spend vast sums of money on dress, and there is the glitter of diamonds at many dinner-tables, but most of them have too much shrewdness of humor to play the "vamp," and the social code to which they belong is swept clean by common sense. "my dear," said an american hostess who belongs to one of the old rich families of new york, "forgive me for wearing my diamonds to-night. it must shock you, coming from scenes of ruin and desolation." this dowager duchess of new york, as i like to think of her, wore her diamonds as the mayor of a provincial town in england wears his chain of office, but as she sat at the head of her table in one of the big mansions of new york i saw that wealth had not cumbered the soul of this masterful lady, whose views on life are as direct and simple as those of abraham lincoln. she was the middle-class housewife in spite of the footmen who stood in fear of her. essentially middle-class in the best sense of the word were the crowds i met in the hotels. the men were making money--lots of it--by hard work. they had taken a few days off, or left business early, to meet their soldier-sons in these gilded halls where they had a sense of satisfaction in spending large numbers of dollars in a short time. "this is my boy from 'over there'! just come back." i heard that introduction many times, and saw the look of pride behind the glasses that were worn by a gray-eyed man, who had his hand on the arm of an upstanding fellow in field uniform, tall and lean and hard. "it's good to be back," said one of these young officers, and as he sat at table he looked round the huge _salon_ with its cut-glass candelabra, where scores of little dinner-parties were in progress to the strident music of a stringed band, and then, with a queer little smile about his lips, as though thinking of the contrast between this scene and "over there," said, "darned good!" in their evening frocks the women were elegant--they know how to dress at night--and now and then the fresh, frank beauty of one of these american girls startled my eyes by its witchery of youth and health. some of them are _décolleté_ to the ultimate limit of a milliner's audacity, and foolishly i suffered from a sense of confusion sometimes because of the physical revelations of elderly ladies whose virtue, i am sure, is as that of cæsar's wife. the frail queens of beauty in the lotus-garden of life's enchanted places would envy some of the frocks that come out of fifth avenue, and scream with horror at their prices. but although the american woman with a wealthy husband likes to put on the flimsy robes of circe, it is only as she would go to a fancy-dress ball in a frock that would make her brother say: "gee!... and where did you get that bit of fluff?" she is circe, with the suffrage, and high ideals of life, and strong views on the league of nations. she makes up her face like a french _comédienne_, but she has, nine times out of ten, the kind heart of a parson's wife in rural england and a frank, good-natured wit which faces the realities of life with the candor of a clean mind. i found "gay life" in new york immensely and soberly respectable. one could take one's maiden aunt into the heart of it and not get hot by her blushes. in fact, it is the american maiden aunt who sets the pace of the fox-trot and the one-step in dancing-rooms where there are music and afternoon tea. several times i supped "english breakfast tea"--i suspect sir thomas lipton had something to do with it--at five o'clock on bright afternoons, watching the scene at sherry's and delmonico's. it seemed to me that this dancing habit was a most curious and over-rated form of social pleasure. it was as though american society had said, "let us be devilishly gay!" but started too early in the day, with desperate sobriety. many couples left the tea-table for the polished boards and joined the throng which surged and eddied in circles of narrow circumference, jostled by other dancers. youth did not have it all its own way. on the contrary, i noticed that bald-headed gentlemen with some width of waistbands were in the majority, dancing with pridigious gravity and the maiden aunts. they were mostly visitors, i am told, from other cities--bostonians escaping from the restrictions of their early victorian atmosphere, senators who voted for prohibition in their own states, business men who had booked reservations on midnight trains from grand central terminal. here and there young officers of the army and navy led out pretty girls, and with linked arms, and faces very close together, danced in a kind of coma, which they seemed to enjoy, though without any sparkle in their eyes. there were also officers of other nations--a young frenchman appealing to the great heart of the american people on behalf of devastated france, and dancing for the sake of people scorched by the horrors of war, to say nothing of the little american girl whose yellow fringe was on his croix de guerre; and young english officers belonging to the british mission, and engaged in propaganda--oh, frightful word!--of which a _thé dansant_ at delmonico's was, no doubt, a serious part of duty. one figure that caught my eye gave the keynote to the moral and spiritual character of the scene. it was the figure of a stout old lady wearing a hat with a huge feather which waggled over her nose as she danced the one-step with earnest vivacity, and an old gentleman with side-whiskers. she panted as she came back to the tea-table, and said, "say, that makes me feel young!" it occurred to me that she might be mrs. wiggs of the cabbage patch on a visit to new york, and anyhow her presence assured me that afternoon dancing at delmonico's need not form the theme of any moralist in search of vice in high places. it is not only respectable, it is domestic. savonarola himself would not have denounced such innocent amusement. nor did i find anything to shock the sensibilities of high-souled ethics in such midnight haunts as the ziegfeld follies or the winter garden, except the inanity of all such shows where large numbers of pretty girls and others disport themselves in flowing draperies and colored lights before groups of tired people who can hardly hide their boredom, but yawn laughingly over their cocktails and say, "isn't she wonderful?" when mollie king sings a song about a variety of smiles, and discuss the personality of president wilson between comic turns of the dooley brothers. that at least is what happened in my little group on the roof of the century theater, where a manufacturer of barbed wire--i wonder if they were his barbs on which i tore myself in flanders fields--initiated me into the mystery of a bacardi cocktail followed by a stinger, from which i was rescued, in the nick of time, by a kind lady on my right who took pity on my innocence. a famous playwright opposite, as sober as a judge, as courteous as beau brummell, passed the time of day, which was a wee small hour of morning, with little ladies who came into the limelight, until suddenly he said, with a sigh of infinite impatience, "haven't we enjoyed ourselves enough? i want my bed"; so interrupting a serious discussion between a war correspondent and a cartoonist on the exact truth about german atrocities, to the monstrous melody of a jazz band. human nature is the same in new york as in other cities of the world. passion, weakness, folly, are not eliminated from the relations between american men and women. but to find vice and decadence in american society one has to go in search of it; and i did not go. i found new york society tolerant in its views, frank in its expression of opinion, fond of laughter, and wonderfully sincere. wealth does not spoil its fresh and healthy outlook on life, and its people are idealists at heart, with a reverence for the old-fashioned virtues and an admiration for those who "make good" in whatever job to which they put their hands. after all, hotel life, and restaurant life, and the glamorous world of the great white way, do not reveal the real soul of new york. they are no more a revelation of normal existence than boulevard life in paris represents the daily round of the average parisian. they are the happy hunting-grounds of the transient, and the real new-yorker only visits them in hours of leisure and boredom. another side of the adventure of life in new york is "downtown," where the subways and the overhead railways pour out tides of humanity who do not earn their dollars without hard work and long hours of it. i should never have found my way to bowling green and wall street without a guide, because the underground world of the subways, where electric trains go rushing like shuttles through the warp and woof of a monstrous network, is utterly confusing to a stranger. but with the guide, who led me by the hand and laughed at my childlike bewilderment, i came into the heart of new york business life and saw its types in their natural environment. it is an alarming world to the wanderer who comes there suddenly. i confess that when i first walked through those deep gorges, between the mighty walls of houses as high as mountains in a surge of humanity in a hurry, i felt dazed and cowardly. i had a conviction that my nerve-power would never survive the stress and strain of such a life in such a place. i nearly dislocated my neck by gazing up at the heights of the skyscrapers, rising story on story to fifty or sixty floors. in a house of a thousand windows i took the elevator to the top story and wished i hadn't when the girl in charge of the lift asked, "what floor?" and was answered by a quiet gentleman who said, "thirty-one." that was our first stop, and in the few seconds we took to reach this altitude i had a vision of this vast human ant-heap, with scores of offices on each floor, and typewriters clicking in all of them, and girl-clerks taking down letters from hard-faced young men juggling with figures which, by the rise or drop of a decimal point, mean the difference between millions of dollars in the markets of the world. each man and woman there in this house of a thousand windows had a human soul, with its own little drama of life, its loves and hopes and illusions, but in the vastness of one skyscraper, in the whirlpool of commerce, in the machinery of money-making, the humanities of life seemed to be destroyed and these people to be no more than slaves of modern civilization, ruthless of their individual happiness. what could they know of art, beauty, leisure, the quiet pools of thought?... out in wall street there was pandemonium. the outside brokers--the curb men--were bidding against one another for stocks not quoted on the new york exchange--the standard oil company among them--and their hoarse cries mingled in a raucous chorus. i stood outside a madhouse staring at lunatics. surely it was a madhouse, surrounded by other homes for incurably insane! this particular house was a narrow, not very tall, building of reddish brown brick, like a georgian house in london, and out of each window, which was barred, poked two rows of faces, one above the other, as though the room inside were divided by a false floor. in the small window-frames sat single figures, in crouched positions, with telephone receivers on their ears and their faces staring at the crowd in the street below. each one of those human faces, belonging to young men of healthy appearance, was making most hideous grimaces, and each grimace was accompanied by strange, incomprehensible gestures of the man's fingers. with a thumb and two fingers, or a thumb and three fingers, they poked through the windows with violent efforts to attract the notice of individuals in the street. i saw, indeed, that all this fingering had some hidden meaning and that the maniacs as i had first taken them to be were signaling messages to the curb brokers, who wore caps of different colors in order to be distinguished from their fellows. up and down the street, and from the topmost as well as from the lower stories of many buildings, i saw the grimaces and the gestures of the window-men, and the noise and tumult in the street became more furious. it was a lively day in wall street, and i thanked god that my fate had not led me into such a life. it seemed worse than war.... not really so, after all. it was only the outward appearance of things that distressed one's soul. looking closer, i saw that all these young men on the curb seemed very cheery fellows, and were enjoying themselves as much as boys in a rugby "scrum." there was nothing wrong with their nerves. there was nothing wrong with a crowd of young business men and women with whom i sat down to luncheon in a restaurant called robin's, not far from the stock exchange. these were the working-bees of the great hive which is new york. they were in the front-line trenches of the struggle for existence, and they seemed as cheerful as our fighting-men who were always less gloomy than the fellows at the rear in the safe back-waters of war. business men and lady-clerks, typists, and secretaries, were all mingled at the little tables where the backs of chairs touched, and there was a loud, incessant chatter like the noise of a parrot-house. i overheard some fragments of conversation at the tables close to me. "they don't seem to be getting on with the peace conference," said a young man with large spectacles. "all the little nations are trying to grab a bit of their neighbors' ground." "i saw the cutest little hat--" said a girl whose third finger was stained with red ink. "have you seen that play by maeterlinck?" asked an elderly man so like president wilson's portraits that he seemed to be the twin brother of that much-discussed man. these people were human all through, not at all dehumanized, after all, because they lived maybe on the thirty-first story of a new york skyscraper. i dare say also that their work is not so strenuous as it looks from the outside, and that they earn more dollars a week than business men and women of their own class in england, so that they have more margin for the pleasures of life, for the purchase of a "cute little hat," even for a play by maeterlinck. after business hours many of these people hurry away from new york to suburbs, where they get quickly beyond the turmoil of the city in places with bustling little high streets of their own and good shops and, on the outskirts, neat little houses of wooden framework, in gardens where flowers grow between great rocks which crop out of the soil along the connecticut shore. they are the "commuters," or, as we should say in england, the season-ticket-holders, and, as i did some "commuting" myself during a ten weeks' visit to america, i used to see them make a dash for their trains between five and six in the afternoon or late at night after theater-going in new york. i never tired of the sight of those crowds in the great hall of the grand central terminal or in the pennsylvania station, and saw the very spirit of the united states in those vast buildings which typify modern progress. in england a railway station is, as a rule, the ugliest, most squalid place in any great city; but in america it is, even in provincial towns, a great adventure in architecture, where the mind is uplifted by nobility of design and imagination is inspired by spaciousness, light, color, and silence. it is strangely, uncannily quiet in the central hall of the pennsylvania station, as one comes down a long broad flight of steps to the vast floor space below a high dome--painted blue like a summer sky, with golden stars atwinkling--uplifted on enormous arches. it is like entering a great cathedral, and, though hundreds of people are scurrying about, there is a hush through the hall because of its immense height, in which all sound is lost, and there is no noise of footsteps and only a low murmur of voices. so it is also in the grand central terminal, where i found myself many times before the last train left. there is no sign of railway lines or engines, or the squalor of sidings and sheds. all that is hidden away until one is admitted to the tracks before the trains start. instead, there are fruit-stalls and flower-stalls bright with color, and book-stalls piled high with current literature from which every mind can take its choice, and candy-stalls where the aching jaw may find its chewing-gum, and link up meditation with mastication, on the way to new rochelle--"forty-five minutes from broadway"--or to the ruralities of rye, mamaroneck, and port chester, this side of high life in greenwich, connecticut. some of the male commuters have a habit of playing cards between new york and new rochelle, showing an activity of mind not dulled by their day's work in town. but others indulge in conversational quartets, and on these journeys i heard more than i wanted to know about the private life of president wilson, and things i wanted to learn about the experiences of american soldiers in france, the state of feeling between america and england, and the philosophy of success by men who had succeeded. it was a philosophy of simple virtue enforced by will-power and a fighting spirit. "don't hit often," said one of these philosophers, who began life as an errand-boy and now designs the neckwear of society, "but, when you do, hit hard and clean. no man is worth his salt unless he loses his temper at the right time." in the last train to greenwich were american soldiers and mariners just back from france, who slept in corners of the smoking-coach and wakened with a start at new rochelle, with a dazed look in their eyes, as though wondering whether they had merely dreamed of being home again and were still in the glades of the argonne forest.... the powder was patchy on the nose of a tired lady whose head drooped on the shoulder of a man in evening clothes chewing an unlighted cigar and thinking, with a little smile about his lips, of something that had happened in the evening. two typist-girls with their mothers had been to a lecture by captain carpenter, v.c., one of the heroes of zeebrugge. they were "crazy" about him. they loved his description of the "blunt end" and the "pointed end" of the ship. they had absorbed a lot of knowledge about naval tactics; and they were going to buy his photograph to put over their desks.... part of the adventure of life in new york is the acquisition of unexpected knowledge by means of lectures; and carnegie hall is the mecca of lecturers. having been one of the lecturers, i can speak from personal experience when i say that a man who stands for the first time on the naked desert of that platform, looking toward rows of white faces and white shirt-fronts to the farthest limit of the topmost galleries, feels humility creep into his soul until he shrinks to the size of hop-o'-my-thumb and is the smallest, loneliest thing in the whole wide world. a microbe is a monster to him, and he quakes with terror when he hears the first squeak of his tiny voice in the vast spaciousness under that high, vaulted roof. on that first night of mine i would have sold myself, with white shirt, cuff-links, and quaking body, for a two-cent piece, if any one had been fool enough to buy me and let me off that awful ordeal. and yet, looking back on it now, i know that it was the finest hour of my life, and a wonderful reward for small service, when all those people rose to greet me, and there came up to me out of that audience a spiritual friendship so warm and generous that i felt it like the touch of kindly hands about me, and recovered from my fright. afterward, as always happens in america, there was a procession of people who came onto the platform to shake hands and say words of thanks, so that one gets into actual touch with all kinds of people and their friendship becomes personal. in that way i made thousands of friends in america and feel toward them all a lasting gratitude because of the generous, warm-hearted, splendid things they said as they passed with a quick hand-clasp. the lecture habit in america is deep-rooted and widespread. every small town has its lecture-hall, and is in competition with every other town near by for lecturers who have some special fame or knowledge. in new york there is an endless series of lectures, not only in places like carnegie hall and Æolian hall, but in clubs and churches. great audiences, made up of rich society people as well as the "intellectuals" and the professional classes, gather in force to hear any man whose personality makes him interesting or who has something to say which they want to hear. in many cases personality is sufficient. people of new york will cheerfully pay five dollars to see a famous man, and not think their money wasted if his words are lost in empty space, or if they know already as much as he can tell them about the subject of his speech. marshal joffre had no need to prepare orations. when he said, "_messieurs et mesdames_" they cheered him for ten minutes, and when, after that, he said, "_je suis enchanté_" they cheered him for ten minutes more. they like to see the men who have done things, the men who count for something, and to study the personality of a man about whom they have read. if he has something to tell them, so much the better, and if he is not renowned he must tell them something pretty good if he wants their money and their patience. i have no doubt that the habit of lecture-going is one of the greatest influences at work in the education of the american people. the knowledge they acquire in this way does not bite very deep, and it leaves, i fancy, only a superficial impression, but it awakens their intelligence and imagination, directs their thoughts to some of the big problems of life, and is a better way of spending an evening than idle gossip or a variety entertainment. the league for political education which i had the honor of addressing in carnegie hall has a series of lectures--three times a week, i think--which are attended by people engaged in every kind of educative and social work in new york, and at a luncheon afterward i listened to a number of speeches by public men and women more inspiring in their sincerity of idealism than anything i have heard in similar assemblies. all these people were engaged in practical work for the welfare of their fellow-creatures, as pioneers of progress in the adventure of life in new york, and the women especially, like jane addams, impressed me by the real beauty of their personality. another phase of life which interested me was the club world of the city, and in these clubs i met most of the men and many of the women who count in the intellectual activity of new york. i came in touch there with every stratum of thought and tradition which makes up the structure of american politics and ideas. i met the conservatives of the union club who live in an atmosphere of dignified austerity (reminding me of the athenæum club in london, where the very waiters have the air of bishops and the political philosophy of the late lord salisbury), and who confided to me with quiet gravity their personal and unprintable opinions of mr. wilson; i became an honorary member of the union league club, hardly less conservative in its traditional outlook and having a membership which includes many leading business and professional men of new york city. it was here that i saw a touching ceremony which is one of my best memories of the united states, when the negro troops of a fighting regiment marched up fifth avenue in a snow-storm, and gave back their colors for safe-keeping to the union league club, which had presented them when they went to war. ex-governor hughes, speaking from the balcony, praised them for their valor in the great conflict for the world's liberty, when they fought for the country which had given them their own freedom by no light sacrifice of blood. by their service in france they had gained a glory for their citizenship in the united states and stood equal with their white comrades in the gratitude of the american people. there were tears in the eyes of colored officers when, after a luncheon in the union league club, they heard other words like those, giving honor to the spirit of their race.... up the wide stairway of the club, in the softly glowing light which comes through a stained-glass window, the colors of the darky regiment hang as a memorial of courage and sacrifice.... i was the guest of the arts club amid a crowd of painters, poets, musicians, and writing-men, who sat at long tables in paneled rooms decorated with pictures and caricatures which were the work of their own members. clouds of tobacco smoke made wreaths above the board. a soldier-poet rose between the courses and sang his own songs to the chorus of his comrades. it was a jolly night among jolly good fellows, who had wit, and the gift of laughter, and large hearts which beat in sympathy for those who suffered in the war.... in the city club i had a room when i wanted it, and the hall porter and the bell-boys, and the elevator-man, and the clerks in the office, shook hands with me when i went in and out, so that i felt at home there, after a splendid night when crowds of ladies joined the men to listen to my story of the war, and when a famous glee-party sang songs to me across rose garlands on the banquet table. the city club has a number of habitués who play dominoes on quiet nights, and in deep leather chairs discuss the destiny of nations as men who pull the wires which make the puppets dance. it is the home of the foreign correspondents in new york, who know the inside of international politics, and whose president is (or was, at the time of my visit) a kindly, human, english soul with a genius for fellowship which has made a little league of nations in this new york house. i met him first, as a comrade of the pen, in the street of adventure, where london journalists rub shoulders on their way to history; and in new york his friendship was a generous and helpful gift, and by his good words i made many other friends. it seemed to me that new york is a city where friendship is quickly made, and i found that the best part of my adventure in the city. day after day, when dusk was creeping into the streets and lights began to gleam in all the windows of the houses that reach up to the stars, i drove down the long highway of fifth avenue with a certainty that before the evening was out i should meet a number of friendly souls who would make me welcome at their tables and reveal their convictions and ideals with a candor which does not come to english people until their ice of reserve is broken or thawed. and that was always so. at a small dinner-party or a big reception, in one of the great mansions of new york, or in a suite of rooms high above the traffic of the street, conversation was free-and-easy, with or without the aid of a cocktail, and laughter came in gusts, and american men and women spoke of the realities of life frankly and without camouflage, with a directness and sincerity that touched the essential truth of things. in one room melba sang with eternal girlhood in her voice, while painters and diplomats, novelists, and wits, famous actresses and princesses of new york, were hushed into silence for a while, until, when the spell was broken, there rose again a merry tumult of tongues. in another room a group of "intellectuals," tired of talking about war and peace, played charades like children in the nursery, and sat down to drawing games with shouts of mirth at a woman's head with the body of a fish and the legs of a bird. in another house the king's jester of new york, who goes from party to party like a french wit--the little abbé morellet--in the _salons_ of france before the revolution, destroyed the dignity of decorous people by a caricature of german opera and an imitation of a german husband eating in a public restaurant. i knew the weakness that comes from a surfeit of laughter.... i did not tire of these social adventures in new york, and i came to see something of the spirit of the people as it was revealed in the cosmopolitan city. i found that spirit touched, in spite of social merriment, by the tragedy of war, and anxious about the outcome of peace. i found these people conscious of new responsibilities thrust upon them by fate, and groping in their minds for some guidance, for some clear light upon their duty and destiny in the reshaping of the world by the history that has happened. europe, three thousand miles away, is still a mystery to them, full of unknown forces and peoples and passions which they cannot understand, though they read all their sunday papers, with all their bulky supplements. when i went among them they were divided by the conflict of political differences with passionate emotion, and torn between conflicting ideals of patriotism and humanity. but most of them put on one side, with a fine disdain, all meanness of thought and action and the dirty squalor of financial interests. sure of their power among nations, the people i met--and i met many of the best--were anxious to rise to their high chance in history and to do the big thing in a big way, when they saw the straight road ahead. when i left new york they were raising their _fifth great victory loan_, and the streets were draped in banners bearing the great v for victory and for the number of the loan. their sense of drama was at work again to make this enterprise successful, and their genius of advertisement was in action to put a spell upon the people. the face of a farmer was on the posters in many streets, and that sturdy old fellow upon whose industry the wealth of america depends so much, because it is founded in the soil, put his hand in his pocket and said, "sure, we'll see it through!" from my brief visit one conviction came to me. it is that whatever line of action the american people take in the new world that is now being born out of the tumult of war, they will see it through, by any sacrifice and at any cost. ii some people i met in america as a professional onlooker of life (and it is a poor profession, as i must admit) it has always been my habit to study national and social types in any country where i happen to be. i find an untiring interest in this, and prefer to sit in a french café, for example, watching the people who come in and out, and hearing scraps of conversation that pass across the table, to the most thrilling theatrical entertainment. and i find more interest in "common" people than in the uncommonly distinguished, by fame and power. to me the types in a london omnibus or a suburban train are more absorbing as a study than a group of generals or a party of statesmen, and i like to discover the lives of the world's nobodies, their way of thought and their outlook on the world, by the character in their faces and their little social habits. in that way one gets a sense of the social drama of a country and of the national ideals and purpose. so when i went to the united states after four and a half years in the war zone, where i had been watching another kind of drama, hideous and horrible in spite of all its heroism, i fell into my old habit of searching for types and studying characters. i had unusual opportunity. new york and many other cities opened their hearts and their houses to me in a most generous way, and i met great numbers of people of every class and kind. the first people i met, before i had stepped off my ship of adventure, were young newspaper men who searched the ship like a sieve for any passenger who had something in his life or brain worth telling to the world. i was scared of them, having heard that they could extract the very secrets of one's soul by examination of the third degree; but i found them human and friendly fellows who greeted me cheerily and did not take up much time when they set me up like a lay-figure on the boat deck, turned on the "movie"-machine, snap-shotted me from various angles, and offered me american cigarettes as a sign of comradeship. i met many other newspaper men and women in the united states; those who control the power of the press--the masters of the machine which shapes the mind of peoples--and those who feed its wheels with words. because i had some history to tell, the word-writers lay in wait for me, found my telephone number in any hotel of any town before i knew it myself, tapped at my bedroom door when i was in the transition stage between day and evening clothes, and asked questions about many things of which i knew nothing at all, so that i had to camouflage my abysmal depths of ignorance. they know their job, those american reporters, and i was impressed especially by the young women. there was one girl who sat squarely in front of me, fixed me with candid gray eyes, and for an hour put me through an examination about my sad past until i had revealed everything. there is nothing that girl doesn't know about me, and i should blush to meet her again. she did not take a single note--by that i knew her as a good journalist--and wrote two columns of revelation with most deadly accuracy and a beautiful style. another girl followed me round a picture-gallery listening to casual remarks among a group of friends, and wrote an article on art-criticism which left me breathless with admiration at her wit and knowledge, of which i took the credit. one young man, once a rhodes scholar at oxford, boarded the train at new york, bought me a drawing-room for private conversation, and by the time we reached philadelphia made it entirely futile for me to give a lecture, because he had it all in his memory, and wrote the entire history of everything i had seen and thought through years of war, in next day's paper. i liked a young harvard man who came to see me in boston. he had a modesty and a winning manner which made me rack my brains to tell him something good, and i admired his type, so clean and boyish and quick in intelligence. he belonged to the stuff of young america, as i saw it in the fields of france, eager for service whatever the risk. i met the editorial staffs of many newspapers, and was given a luncheon by the proprietor and editors of one great newspaper in new york which is perhaps the biggest power in the united states to-day. all the men round me were literary types, and i saw in their faces the imprint of hard thought, and of hard work more strenuous, i imagine, than in the newspaper life of any other country of the world. they all had an absorbing interest in the international situation after the armistice, and knew a good deal about the secret workings of european policy. a young correspondent just back from russia made a speech summing up his experiences and conclusions, which were of a startling kind, told with the utmost simplicity and bluntness. the proprietor took me into his private room, and outlined his general policy on world affairs, of which the first item on his program was friendship with england.... i found among newspaper men a sense of responsibility with which they are not generally credited, and wonderfully alert and open minds; also, apart from their own party politics and prejudices, a desire for fair play and truth. the yellow press still has its power, and it is a malign influence in the united states, but the newspapers of good repute are conducted by men of principle and conviction, and their editorial and literary staffs have a high level of talent, representing much, i think, of the best intelligence of america. [illustration: a relief from boredom after office hours] the women of america seem to me to have a fair share of that intelligence, and i met many types of them who were interesting as social studies. several states are still resisting woman suffrage, but as far as equality goes in all affairs of daily life outside political power the women of america have long claimed and gained it. during the war they showed in every class, like the women of england, that they could take on men's jobs and do them as well as men in most cases, and better than men in some cases. they drove motor-lorries and machines; they were dairy farmers and agriculturists; they became munition-workers, carpenters, clerks, and elevator-girls, and the womanhood of america rallied up with a wonderful and devoted spirit in a great campaign of work for the red cross and all manner of comforts for the troops, who, by a lamentable breakdown in transport organization, never received many of the gifts sent to them by women old and young whose eyes and fingers ached with so much stitching during the long evenings of war. apart altogether from war-work, american women have made themselves the better halves of men, and the men know it and are deferential to the opinions and desires of their women-folk. it is natural that women should have a wider knowledge of literature and ideas in a scheme of life where men have their noses down to the grindstone of work for long hours every day. that is what most american husbands have to do in a struggle for existence which strives up to the possession of a ford car, generally known as a "tin lizzie" or a "flivver," on the way to a cadillac or a packard, a country cottage on long island or the connecticut shore, an occasional visit to tiffany's in fifth avenue for a diamond brooch, or some other trinket symbolizing success, a holiday at palm beach, week-ends at atlantic city, and a relief from boredom after office hours at the forty-fourth street theater or the winter garden. that represents the social ambition of the average business man on the road to fortune, and it costs a goodly pile of dollars to be heaped up by hard work, at a high strain of nervous tension. meanwhile the women are keeping themselves as beautiful as god made them, with slight improvements according to their own ideas, which are generally wrong; decorating their homes; increasing their housekeeping expenses, and reading prodigiously. they read a vast number of books and magazines, so making it possible for men like myself--slaves of the pen--to exist in an otherwise cruel world. before the american lady of leisure gets up to breakfast (generally she doesn't) and uses her lip-salve and powder-puff for the first time in the day, she has her counterpane spread with the morning's newspapers, which are folded into the size of small blankets. there is the new york _times_ for respectability, the _tribune_ for political "pep," and the _world_ for social reform. the little lady glances first of all at the picture supplements while she sips her orange juice, reads the head-lines while she gets on with the rolled oats, and with the second cup of coffee settles down to the solid reading-matter of international sensations (skipping, as a rule, the ends of columns "continued on page "), until it is time to interview the cook, who again gives notice to leave because of the conduct of the chauffeur or the catlike qualities of the parlor-maid, and handles the telephone to give her orders of the day. for some little time after that the telephone is kept busy at both ends, and, with a cigarette threatening to burn a buhl cabinet, the lady of leisure talks to several friends in new york, answers a call from the western union, and receives a night-letter sent over the wire. "no, i am absolutely engaged on monday, dear. tuesday? so sorry i am fixed up that day, too. yes, and thursday is quite out of the question. friday? oh, hell, make it monday, then!" that is a well-worn new york joke, and i found it funny and true to life, because it is as difficult to avoid invitations in new york as collisions in fifth avenue. there is a little red book on the buhl cabinet in which the american lady puts down her engagements and the excuses she gave for breaking others (it is useful to remember those), and she calculates that as far as the present day's work is planned she will have time to finish the new novel by john galsworthy, to get through a pamphlet on bolshevism which was mentioned at dinner by an extremely interesting young man just back from russia, to buy a set of summer furs in the neighborhood of forty-second street (herbert, poor dear! says they are utterly unnecessary), to lunch at the ritz-carlton with a party of friends, including the man who made such a sensation with his lecture on france at the carnegie hall (she will get a lot of first-hand knowledge about the french situation), and to look in at the _thé bavardage_ with dear beatrice de h., where some of the company of the french theater will meet french-speaking americans and pretend to understand them. then there is a nice free evening, for once (oh, that little white lie in the red book!), when she will wallow in the latest masterpiece of h. g. wells and learn all about god and humanity as revealed by that extraordinary genius with a sense of humor. so the american lady of leisure keeps up-to-date with the world's lighter thought and skims the surface of the deeper knowledge, using her own common sense as an acid test of truth when the imagination of a novelist runs away with him, and widening her outlook on the problems of life with deliberate desire to understand. it makes her conversation at the dinner-table sparkling, and the men-folk are conscious that she knows more than they do about current literature and international history. she has her dates right, within a century or two, in any talk about medieval england, and she knows who killed henri iv of france, who were the lovers of marie de medici, why lloyd george quarreled with lord northcliffe, and what the ambassador said to the leaders of russian bolshevism when he met them secretly in holland. it is useful to know those things in any social gathering of intellectuals, and i met several ladies of american society in new york who had a wide range of knowledge of that kind. many american ladies, with well-to-do husbands, and with money of their own, which is very useful to them in time of need, do not regard life merely as a game out of which they are trying to get the most fun, but with more serious views; and i think some of those find it hard to satisfy their aspirations, and go about with a touch, or more, of heartache beneath their furs. i met some women who spoke with a certain irony which reflected the spent light of old illusions, and others who had a kind of wistfulness in their eyes, as though searching for the unattainable happiness. the tired business man as a husband has his limitations, like most men. often his long hours of absence at the office and his dullness at home make his wife rather companionless, and her novel-reading habits tend to emphasize the loss, and force upon her mind the desire for more satisfying comradeship. generally some man who enters her circle seems to offer the chance of this. he has high ideals, or the pose of them. his silences seem suggestive of deep unutterable thoughts--though he may be thinking of nothing more important than a smudge on his white waistcoat--he has a tenderness in his gray (or black, or brown) eyes which is rather thrilling to a woman chilled by the lack-luster look of the man who is used to her presence and takes her for granted.... the tired business man ought to be careful, lest he should become too tired to enter into the interests of his wife and to give her the minimum of comradeship which all women demand. the american woman of society, outside the catholic church, which still insists upon the old law, seems to me quicker than most others to cut her losses in the marriage gamble, if she finds, or thinks she finds, that she is losing too heavily for her peace of heart. less than women in european countries will she tolerate deceit or spiritual cruelty, and the law offers her a way of escape, expensive but certain, from a partnership which has been broken. society, in new york at least, is tolerant to women who have dissolved their married partnership, and there is no stoning-sisterhood to fling mud and missiles at those who have already paid for error by many tears. yet i doubt whether, in many cases, the liberty they find makes for happiness. there is always the fear of a second mistake worse than the first, and, anyhow, some unattached women i met, women who could afford to live alone, not without a certain luxury of independence, seemed disillusioned as to the romance of life, and the honesty of men, and their own chance of happiness. their furs and their diamonds were no medicine for the bitterness of their souls, nor for the hunger in their hearts. but i found a great class of women in america too busy, too interested, and too inspired by common sense to be worried by that kind of emotional distress--the middle-class women who flung themselves into war-work, as before, and now, in time of peace, the activities of charity and education and domestic life have called to them for service. there was a woman doctor i met who seemed to me as fine a type of american womanhood as one could have the luck to meet, and yet, in spite of uncommon ability, a common type in her cheery and practical character. when the war broke out her husband, who was a doctor also, was called to serve in the american army, and his wife, who had passed her medical examinations in the same college with him, but had never practised, carried on his work, in spite of four children. they came first and her devotion to them was not altered, but that did not prevent her from attending to a growing list of patients at a time when influenza was raging in her district. she went about in a car which she drove herself, with the courage and cheerfulness of a gallant soldier. in her little battlefield there were many tragedies, because death took away the youngest-born or the eldest-born from many american homes, and her heart was often heavy; but she resisted all gloomy meditations and kept her nerve and her spirit by--singing. as she drove her car from the house of one patient to another she sang loudly to herself, over the wheel, any little old song that came into her head--"hey-diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle," or "old king cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he,"--to the profound astonishment of passers-by, who shook their heads and said, "it's a good thing there's going to be prohibition." but she saved the lives of many women and children in time of plague--for the influenza reached the height of plague--and did not lose her sense of humor or her fine, hearty laugh, or her graciousness of womanhood. when "the army," as she called her husband, came back, she could say, "i kept your flag flying, old man, and you'll not find any difference at home." i saw the husband and wife in their home together. while friends were singing round the piano, these two held hands like young lovers, away back in a shady corner of the room. i met another husband and wife who interested me as types of american life, though not in their home. it was at a banquet attended by about two hundred people. the husband was the chairman of the party, and he had a wonderful way of making little speeches in which he called upon distinguished people to talk to the company, revealing in each case the special reason why that man or woman should have a hearing. he did this with wit and knowledge, and in each case indeed it was a privilege to hear the speaker who followed, because all the men and women here were engaged in some social work of importance in the life of great american cities, and were idealists who had put their theories into practice by personal service and self-sacrifice. the little man who was the chairman paid a compliment to his own wife, and i found she was sitting by my side. she had gray hair, but very young, bright, humorous eyes, and an almost terrible truthfulness of speech. i was startled by some things she said about the war, and the psychology of men and women under the spell of war. they were true, but dangerous to speak aloud as this woman spoke them. later, she talked of the heritage of hatred that had been bequeathed by war to the people of the world. "let us kill hatred," she said. "it is the survival of the cave instinct in man which comes out of its hiding-places under the name of patriotism and justice." i do not know what link there was between this and some other thought which prompted her to show me photographs of two big, sturdy boys who, she told me, were her adopted children. it was a queer, touching story, about these children. "i adopted them not for their sake, but for mine," she said. she was a lonely woman, well married, with leisure and money, and the temptation of selfishness. it was to prevent selfishness creeping into her heart that she sent round to an orphanage for two boy-babies. they were provided, and she brought them up as her own, and found--so she assured me--that they grew up with a marked likeness in feature to herself and her sisters. she had a theory about that--the idea that by some kind of predestination souls reach through space to one another, and find the home where love is waiting for them. i was skeptical of that, having known the london slums, but i was interested in the practical experience of the bright little american woman, who "selfishly," as she said, to cure selfishness, had given two abandoned babies of the world the gift of love, and a great chance in the adventure of life. she was a tremendous protagonist of environment against the influence of heredity. "environment puts it over heredity all the time," she said. this special charity on her part is not typical of american women, who do not, any more than women of other countries, go about adopting other people's babies, but i think that her frankness of speech to a stranger like myself, and her curious mixture of idealism and practicality, combined with a certain shrewdness of humor, are qualities that come to people in america. she herself, indeed, is a case of "environment," because she is foreign in blood, and american only by marriage. in new york i had the advantage of meeting one lady who seemed to me typical of the old-fashioned "leaders" of american society such as henry james described in his novels. she lives in one of the great mansions along fifth avenue, and the very appearance of her butler is a guaranty of riches and respectability. she made no disguise of her wealth, and was proud of it in a simple way, as an english aristocrat is proud of his ancestry and family treasures. but she acknowledges its responsibilities and takes them seriously with a sense of duty. she had received lessons in public speaking, in order to hold her own at committee meetings, and she doles out large sums in charity to public institutions and deserving cases, with a grim determination to unmask the professional beggar and the fraudulent society. she seemed to have a broad-hearted tolerance for the younger generation and a special affection for boys of all ages, whom she likes to feed up, and to keep amused by treating them to the circus or the "movies"; but i fancy that she is a stern disciplinarian with her family as well as her servants, and that her own relatives stand in awe of this masterful old lady who has a high sense of honor, and demands obedience, honesty, and service from those who look for her favors and her money. i detected a shrewd humor in her and an abiding common sense, and at her own dinner-table she had a way of cross-examining her guests, who were men of political importance and women of social influence, like a judge who desires to get at the evidence without listening to unnecessary verbiage. she is the widow of a successful business man, but i perceived in her the sense of personal power and family traditions which belonged to the old type of dowager-duchess in england. among butterfly women of european cities she would appear an austere and terrible figure in her virtue and her diamonds, but to small american boys, eating candies at her side in the circus, she is the kind and thoughtful aunt. it was in boston that i met some other types of american women, not long enough to know them well, but enough to see superficial differences of character between them and their friends of new york. needless to say, i had read a good deal about boston before going there. in england the bostonian tradition is familiar to us by the glory of such masters as oliver wendell holmes, emerson, thoreau, and nathaniel hawthorne, so that i had a friendly feeling when i went about the city and saw its streets and prim houses, reminiscent of cheltenham and other english towns of ancient respectability and modern culture. after a lecture there many bostonians came onto the platform, and i heard at once a difference in accent from the intonation of new york. it was a little more precise, with a careful avoidance of slang phrases. the people who spoke to me were earnest souls, with an idealism which seemed to lift them above the personal prejudices of party politics. i should imagine that some of them are republican rather than democratic in instinct, but those at least who were in my audience supported the idea of the league of nations, and for that reason did not wish to see president wilson boiled in oil or roasted at a slow fire. from my brief glimpses of boston society i should imagine that the puritan spirit still lingers there among the "best families" and that in little matters of etiquette and social custom they adhere to the rules of the early victorian era of english life. i was convinced of this by one trivial incident i observed in a hotel at boston. a lady, obviously in transit from new york, by the public way in which she used her powder-puff, and by a certain cosmopolitan easiness of manner, produced a gold cigarette-case from her muff, and began to smoke without thinking twice about it. she had taken just three whiffs when a colored waiter approached in the most deferential manner and begged her to put out her cigarette, because smoking was not allowed in the public rooms. the lady from new york looked amazed for a moment. then she laughed, dropped her cigarette into her coffee-cup, and said: "oh yes--i guess i forgot i was in boston!" in that word boston she expressed a world of propriety, conventional morality, and social austerity, a long, long way from the liberty of new york. i had been told that a boston audience would be very cold and unenthusiastic, not because they would be out of sympathy with the lecturer, but because they were "very english" in their dislike of emotional expression. my experience was not like that, as i was relieved to find, and, on the contrary, those bostonians at the symphony hall applauded with most generous warmth and even rose and cheered when i had finished my story of the heroic deeds of english soldiers. it was a boston girl who made the _apologia_ of her people. "i am sure," she said, "that all those men and women who rose to applaud went down on their knees that night and asked god to forgive them for having broken their rule of life." no doubt boston society, as far as it includes the old families rooted in it for generations, is conservative in its point of view, and looks askance at noisy innovations like modern american dances, jazz bands, and the jolly vulgarities of youth. but, judging from my passing glimpses of college girls in the town, i should say that youth puts up a healthy opposition to the "old fogy" philosophy, and breaks the conventions now and then with a crash. one girl i met suggests to me that boston produces character by intensive culture, and is apt to be startled by the result. her father was a well-known lawyer, and she inherited his gift of learning and logic, so that when he died she had the idea of carrying on his work. the war was on, and somewhere over on the western front was a young english soldier whom she had met on board ship and might, according to the chances of war, never meet again. anyhow, she was restless, and desired work. she decided to study for the law examinations and to be called to the bar; and to keep her company, her mother, who was her best comrade, went into college with her, and shared her rooms. i like that idea of the mother and daughter reading and working together. it seems to me a good picture. in due time she was called to the bar, and entered the chambers where her father had worked, and did so well that a great lawyer who gave her his cases to prepare spoke rare words of praise about her. then the war ended, one day, quite suddenly, the young english soldier arrived in boston, and, after a few preliminary inquiries as to his chance of luck, said, "when shall we get married?" he was in a hurry to settle down, and the mother of the girl was scared by his grim determination to carry her comrade away. yet he was considerate. "i should hate to cause your mother any worry by hurrying things on so fast as monday," he said. "let us make it tuesday." but the wedding took place on the saturday before the tuesday, and the young lady barrister of boston was whisked away four days after the english officer came to america with a dream in his heart of which he desired the fulfilment. boston was startled. this romance was altogether too rapid for its peace of mind. why, there was no time to buy the girl a wedding-present!... the street boys of boston were most startled by the english officer's best man--his brother--whose tall hat, tail-coat, and white spats were more wonderful than anything they had seen before. i was not long enough in many towns of america to detect their various characteristics. philadelphia, i was told in new york, was so slow that it was safe for people to fall out of windows--they just wafted down like gossamer--but i found it a pleasant, bustling place, with a delightful old world atmosphere, like a bit of queen anne-england, round independence hall.... pittsburgh by night, looking down on its blast-furnaces from a hill outside, appeared to me like a town behind the battle-lines under heavy gun-fire, and i am convinced that the workers in those factories are in the front-line trenches of life and deserve gold medals for their heroism. i had not been in the town ten minutes before a young lady with the poetical name of penelope rang me up on the telephone and implored me to take a walk out by night to see this strange and wonderful picture, and i was glad of her advice, though she did not offer to go as my guide. another girl made herself acquainted, and i found she has a hero-worship for a fellow war correspondent, once of pittsburgh, whose career she had followed through many battlefields. i saw washington in glamorous sunlight under a blue sky, and found my spirit lifted up by the white beauty of its buildings and the spaciousness of its public gardens. i had luncheon with the british ambassador, curious to find myself in an english household, with people discussing america from the english point of view in the political heart of the united states; and i visited the war college and met american generals and officers in the very brain-center of that great army which i had seen on the roads of france and on the battlefields. this was the university of war as far as the american people are concerned, and there were diagrams on the blackboards in the lecture-hall describing the strategy of the western front, while in the library officers and clerks were tabulating the history of the great massacre in europe for future guidance, which by the grace of god and the league of nations will be unnecessary for generations to come. i talked with these officers and found them just such earnest, serious scientific men as i had met in american headquarters in france, where they were conducting war, not in our casual, breezy way, but as school-masters arranging a college demonstration, and overweighted by responsibility. it was in a room in the capitol that i met one little lady with a complete geographical knowledge of the great halls and corridors of that splendid building, and an irish way with her in her dealings with american congressmen and senators. before the war i used to meet her in a little drawing-room not far away from kensington palace, london, and i imagined in my innocence that she was exclusively interested in literature and drama. but in one of the luncheon-rooms of the capitol--where i lined up at the counter for a deep-dish pie from a colored waitress--i found that she was dealing with more inflammable articles than those appearing in newspaper columns, being an organizing secretary of the sinn fein movement in the united states. she was happy in her work, and spoke of irish rebellion in that bright and placid way which belongs, as i have often noticed, to revolutionary spirits who help to set nations on fire and drench the world in blood. anybody looking at her eating that deep-dish pie in the luncheon-room of the american houses of parliament would have put her down as a harmless little lady, engaged, perhaps, in statistical work on behalf of prohibition. but i knew the flame in her soul, kindled by irish history, was of the same fire which i saw burning in the eyes of great mobs whom i saw passing one day in procession down fifth avenue, with anti-english banners above their heads. i should have liked to see more of chicago. there seemed to me in that great city an intense intellectual activity, of conscious and deliberate energy. removed by a thousand miles from new york with its more cosmopolitan crowds and constant influx of european visitors, it is self-centered and independent, and out of its immense population there are many minds emerging to make it a center of musical, artistic, and educational life, apart altogether from its business dynamics. i became swallowed up in the crowds along michigan avenue, and was caught in the breeze that blew stiffly down the highway of this "windy city," and studied the shops and theaters and picture-palaces with a growing consciousness that here was a world almost as great as new york and, i imagine, more essentially american in character and views. that first morning of my visit i was the guest of a club called the cliff-dwellers, where the chairman rapped for order on the table with a club that might have protected the home of prehistoric man, and addressed a gathering of good fellows who, as journalists, authors, painters, and musicians, are farthest removed from that simple child of nature who went out hunting for his dinner, and bashed his wife when she gnawed the meatiest bone. it was in the time of armistice, and these men were deeply anxious about the new problems which faced america and about the reshaping of the world's philosophy. they were generous and honest in their praise of england's mighty effort in the war, and they were enthusiastic to a man in the belief that an anglo-american alliance was the best guaranty of the league of nations, and the best hope for the safety of civilization. i came away with the belief that out of chicago would come help for the idealists of our future civilization, out of chicago, whatever men may say of its pit, and its slaughter-yards, and its jungle of industry and life. for on the walls of the cliff-dwellers were paintings of men who have beauty in their hearts, and in the eyes of the men i met was a look of gravity and thoughtfulness in face of the world's agonies and conflict. but i was aware, also, that among the seething crowds of that city were mobs of foreign-born people who have the spirit of revolution in their hearts, and others who demand more of the joy of life and less of its struggle, and men of baseness and brutality, coarsened by the struggle through which they have to push and thrust in order to get a living. i listened to germans and foreign jews in some of the streets of chicago, and saw in imagination the flames and smoke of passion that stir above the melting-pot. i have memories in chicago of a little theatrical manager who took my arm and pressed it tight with new-born affection, and said: "my dearie, i'm doing colossal business--over two thousand dollars a night! it's broken all the records. i go about singing with happiness." success had made a poet of him. in a private suite of rooms in the most luxurious hotel of chicago i met one of the theatrical stars of america, and studied her type as one might gaze at a rare bird. she was a queer little bird, i found, with a childish and simple way of speech which disguised a little her immense and penetrating knowledge of human nature as it is found in "one-night stands," in the jungle of life behind the scenes, and in her own grim and gallant fight for fame. fame had come to her suddenly and overwhelmingly, in chicago, and new york was waiting for her. the pride of her achievement thrilled her to the finger-tips, and she was as happy as a little girl who has received her first doll as a birthday-present. she talked to me about her technic, about the way in which she had lived in her part before acting it, so that she felt herself to be the heroine in body and soul. but what i liked best--and tried to believe--was her whispered revelation of her ultimate ambition--and that was a quiet marriage with a boy who was "over there," if he did not keep her waiting too long. marriage, and not fame, was what she wanted most (so she said), but she was going to be very, very careful to make the right one. she had none of the luxurious splendor of those american stars who appear in fiction and photographs. she was a bright little canary, with pluck, and a touch of genius, and a shrewd common sense. from her type i passed to others, a world away in mode of life--congressmen, leaders of the women's suffrage societies, ex-governors, business magnates, american officers back from the front, foreign officers begging for american money, british propagandists--a most unlikely crowd--dramatic critics, shipbuilders, and the society of new york suburbs between mamaroneck and greenwich, connecticut. at dinner-parties and evening receptions i met these different actors in the great drama of american life, and found them, in that time of armistice, desperately earnest about the problems of peace, intrigued to the point of passion about the policy of president wilson, divided hopelessly in ideals and convictions, so that husbands and wives had to declare a no man's land between their conflicting views, and looking forward to the future with profound uneasiness because of the threat to the "splendid isolation" of the monroe doctrine--they saw it crumbling away from them--and because (more alarming still) they heard from afar the first rumblings of a terrific storm between capital and labor. they spoke of these things frankly, with an evident sincerity and with a fine gravity--women as well as men, young girls as fearlessly and intelligently as bald-headed business men. many of them deplored the late entry of the united states into the war, because they believed their people would have gained by longer sacrifice. with all their pride in the valor of their men, not one of them in my hearing used a braggart word, or claimed too great a share in the honor of victory. there was fear among them that their president was abandoning principles of vital import to their country, but no single man or woman i met spoke selfishly of america's commercial or political interest, and among all the people with whom i came in touch there was a deep sense of responsibility and a desire to help the world forward by wise action on the part of the united states. their trouble was that they lacked clear guidance, and were groping blindly about for the right thing to do, in a practical, common-sense way. i had serious conversations in those assemblies, until my head ached, but they were not without a lighter side, and i was often startled by the eager way in which american middle-class society abandons the set etiquette of an evening party for charades, a fox-trot (with the carpets thrown back), a game of "twenty questions," or a riot of laughter between a cocktail and a highball. at those hours the youth of america was revealed. its society is not so old as our tired, saddened people of europe, who look back with melancholy upon the four years in which their young men perished, and forward without great hope. the vitality of america has hardly been touched by her sacrifice, and the heart of america is high. iii things i like in the united states some englishmen, i am told, go to the united states with a spirit of criticism, and search round for things that seem to them objectionable, taking no pains to conceal their hostile point of view. they are so hopelessly insular that they resent any little differences in social custom between american and english life, and sum up their annoyance by saying, "we don't do that sort of thing in england!" well, that seems to me a foolish way of approach to any country, and the reason why some types of englishmen are so unpopular in france, italy, and other countries, where they go about regarding "the natives," as they call them, with arrogance in their eyes, and talk, as an english officer, not of that type, expressed it to me, "as though they had bad smells at the end of their noses." i am bound to say that during my visit to the united states i found much more to admire than to criticize, and perhaps because i was on the lookout for things to like rather than to dislike i had one of the best times of my life--in some ways the very best--and came away with respect, admiration, and gratitude for the american people. there are so many things i like in their character and way of life that i should be guilty of gushing if i put them all down, but although i have no doubt they have many faults, like most people in this world, i prefer to remember the pleasant, rather than the unpleasant, qualities they possess, especially as they left the most dominant impression on my mind. i think every englishman, however critical, would agree that he is struck at once, on his first visit to america, by the clean, bright, progressive spirit of life in the smaller towns beyond the turmoil of new york. i have already described the sensational effect produced upon one's imagination by that great city, and have given some glimpses of various aspects of the social life which i had the good fortune to see with untiring interest; but i confess that the idea of living in new york would affright me because of its wear and tear upon the nerves, and i think that the "commuters" who dwell in the suburbs have good sense and better luck. the realities of america--the average idea, the middle-class home, the domestic qualities upon which a nation is built--are to be found more deeply rooted in the suburbs and smaller towns than in the whirligig of manhattan island, to which a million and a half people, i am told, come every day, and from which, after business or pleasure, they go away. to me there was something very attractive in the construction of such places as rye, port chester, greenwich, and stamford, an hour away from new york, and many other townships of similar size in other parts of the united states. i liked the style of their houses, those neat buildings of wood with overlapping shingles, and wide porches and verandas where people may sit out on summer days, with shelter from the sun; and i liked especially the old colonial type of house, as i think it is called, with a tall white pillar on each side of its portico, and well-proportioned windows, so that the rooms have plenty of light, and as much air as the central-heating system permits--and that is not much. to english eyes accustomed to dingy brick houses in the suburbs of big cities, to the dreary squalor of some new little town which straggles around a filthy railway station, with refuse-heaps in undeveloped fields, and a half-finished "high street," where a sweetstuff-shop, a stationer, and an estate agent establish themselves in the gloomy hope of business, these american villages look wonderfully clean, bright, and pleasant! i noticed that in each one of them there were five institutions in which the spirit of the community was revealed--the bank, the post-office, the school, the church, and the picture-palace. the bank is generally the handsomest building in the place, with a definite attempt to give it some dignity of architecture and richness of decoration. inside it has marble pillars and panels, brass railings at the receipt of custom, a brightly burnished mechanism for locking up the safe, a tiled floor of spotless cleanliness. the local tradesman feels secure in putting his money in such a place of dignity, the local lady likes to come here in the morning (unless she has overdrawn her account) for a chat with the bank manager or one of his gentlemanly assistants. it is a social rendezvous dedicated to the spirit of success, and the bank manager, who knows the private business and the social adventures of his clients, is in a position of confidence and esteem. he is pleased to shake the finger-tips of a lady through the brass railings; while she is pleased to ask him, "how do you like my new hat?" and laughs when, with grave eyes, he expresses sympathy with her husband. "twenty years ago he was serving behind the counter in a dry-goods store. now he has a million dollars to his credit." everybody brightens at this story of success. the fact that a man starts as a butcher-boy or a bell-boy is all in his favor in social prestige. there is no snobbishness, contemptuous of humble origin, and i found a spirit of good-natured democracy among the people i watched in the local bank. [illustration: the social atmosphere of an american post-office] competing with the bank in architectural dignity is the village post-office, generally of white stone, or wood, with the local roll of honor on the green outside, and, inside, a number of picture-posters calling to the patriotism of the american people to support the liberty loan--the fifth when i was there. small boys at the counter are buying thrift stamps. chauffeurs who have driven down from country houses are collecting the letters of the family from lockers, with private keys. college girls are exchanging confidences at the counters. i liked the social atmosphere of an american post-office. i seemed to see a visible friendliness here between the state and the people. then there is the school, and i must say that i was overwhelmed with admiration for the american system of education and for the buildings in which it is given. england lags a long way behind here, with its old-fashioned hotch-potch of elementary schools, church schools, "academies for young gentlemen"--the breeding-grounds of snobs--grammar-schools, and private, second-rate colleges; all of which complications are swept away by the clean simplicity of the american state school, to which boys of every class may go without being handicapped by the caste system which is the curse of england. if the school to which i went at montclair, or another at elizabeth, new jersey, or another at toledo, is at all typical of american schools generally (and i think that is so), i take my hat off to the educational authorities of america and to the spirit of the people which inspires them. the school at montclair was, i remember, a handsome building like one of the english colleges for women at oxford or cambridge, with admirably designed rooms, light, airy, and beautiful with their polished paneling. the lecture-hall was a spacious place holding, i suppose, nearly a thousand people, and i was astonished at its proportions when i had my first glimpse of it before lecturing, under the guidance of the head-mistress and some of the ladies on her committee. those women impressed me as being wise and broad-minded souls, not shut up in narrow educational theories, but with a knowledge of life and human nature, and a keen enthusiasm for their work. at toledo i saw the best type of provincial school, and certainly as an architectural model it was beyond all words of praise, built in what we call the tudor style, in red brick, ivy covered, with long oriel windows, so that it lifts up the tone of the whole town because of its dignity and beauty. here, too, was a fine lecture-hall, easily convertible into a theater, with suitable scenery for any school play. it was a committee of boys who organized the lectures, and one of them acted as my guide over the school-building and showed me, among other educational arrangements, a charming little flat, or apartment-house, completely furnished in every detail in bedroom, sitting-room, and kitchen, for the training of girls in domestic service, cookery, and the decoration of the home. here, as in many other things, the american mind had reached out to an ideal and linked it up with practical method. equally good were the workshops where the boys are trained in carpentry and mechanics.... well, all that kind of thing makes for greatness in a nation. the american people are not, i think, better educated than english people in the actual storing-up of knowledge, but they are educated in better physical conditions, with a brighter atmosphere around them in their class-rooms and in their playgrounds, and with a keener appreciation in the social influences surrounding the schoolhouse of the inherent right of every american boy and girl to have equal opportunities along the road to knowledge and success. it is this sense of opportunity, and the entire absence of snob privileges, which i liked best in these glimpses i gained of young america.... i mentioned another institution which occupies a prominent place in every american township. that is the picture-palace. it is impossible to overrate the influence upon the minds and characters of the people which is exercised by that house of assembly. it has become part of the life of the american people more essentially than we know it in england, though it has spread with a mushroom growth in english towns and villages. but in the united states the picture-palace and "the silent drama," as they call it, are more elaborately organized, and the motion pictures are produced with an amount of energy, imagination, and wealth which are far in excess of the similar efforts in england. a visit to the "movies" is the afternoon or evening recreation of every class and age of american citizenship. it is a democratic habit from which few escape. outside the picture-palace in a little town like stamford one sees a number of expensive motor-cars drawn up while the lady of leisure gets her daily dose of "romance" and while her chauffeur, in the gallery, watches scenes of high life with the cynical knowledge of a looker-on. nursemaids alleviate the boredom of domestic service by taking their children to see the pictures for an hour or two, and small boys and girls, with candy or chewing-gum to keep them quiet, puzzle out the meaning of marvelous melodrama, wonder why lovers do such strange things in their adventures on the way to marriage; and they watch with curiosity and surprise the ghastly grimaces of "close-up" heroines in contortions of amorous despair, and the heaving breasts, the rolling eyes, and the sickly smiles of padded heroes, who are suffering, temporarily, from thwarted affection. the history of the world is ransacked for thrilling dramas, and an american audience watches all the riotous splendor and licentiousness of babylon or ancient rome, while theda bara, the movie queen, writhes in amorous ecstasy, or poisons innumerable lovers, or stings herself to death with serpents. royalists and roundheads, pilgrim fathers and new england witches, the french revolution and the american civil war, are phases of history which provide endless pictures of "soul-stirring interest"; but more popular are domestic dramas of modern life, in which the luxury of our present civilization, as it is imagined and exaggerated by the movie managers, reveal to simple folk the wickedness of wealthy villains, the dangers of innocent girlhood, and the appalling adventures of psychology into which human nature is led when "love" takes possession of the heart. it is impossible to say what effect all that has upon the mentality of america. the utter falsity of it all, the treacly sentiment of the "love" episodes, and the flaming vice of the vicious, would have a perverting influence on public imagination if it were taken seriously. but i suppose that the common sense of american people reacts against the absurdity of these melodramas after yielding to the sensation of them. yet i met one lady who told me she goes every free afternoon to one of these entertainments, with a deliberate choice of film-plays depicting passion and caveman stuff "in order to get a thrill before dinner to relieve the boredom of domesticity." that seems to me as bad as the drug habit, and must in the long run sap the moral and spiritual foundations of a woman's soul. fortunately, there is a tendency now among the "movie merchants" to employ good authors who will provide them with simple and natural plots, and in any case there is always charlie chaplin for laughter, and pictures of scenery and animal life, and the news of the week depicting scenes of current history in all parts of the world. it would be absurd as well as impossible to abolish the film-picture as an influence in american life, and i dare say that, balancing good with bad, the former tips the swing, because of an immense source of relaxation and entertainment provided by the picture-palace in small communities. what appealed to me more in my brief study of american social life outside new york was another popular institution known as the roadside inn. in some way it is a conscious endeavor to get back to the simplicity and good cheer of old-fashioned times, when the grandfathers and grandmothers of the present generation used to get down from their coaches when the horses were changed, or the snowdrifts were deep, and go gladly to the warmth of a log fire, in a wayside hostelry, while orders were given for a dinner of roast duck, and a bowl of punch was brewed by the ruddy-faced innkeeper. it is a tradition which is kept fresh in the imagination of modern americans by the genius of charles dickens, washington irving, and a host of writers and painters who reproduce the atmosphere of english life in the days of coaching, highwaymen, romance, and roast beef. the spirit of charles dickens is carefully suggested to all wayfarers in one roadside inn i visited, about an hour away from new york, and called "the pickwick inn." it is built in the style of tudor england, with wooden beams showing through its brickwork and windows divided into little leaded panes, and paneled rooms furnished with wooden settles and gate-leg tables. colored prints depicting scenes in the immortal history of mr. pickwick brighten the walls within. outside there swings a sign-board such as one sees still outside country inns standing on the edge of village greens in england. i found it a pleasant place, where one could talk better with a friend than in a gilded restaurant of new york, with a jazz band smiting one's eardrums; and the company there was interesting. in spite of the departure of coaching days, which gave life and bustle to the old inns of the past, the motor-car brings travelers and a touch of romance to these modern substitutes. there were several cars outside the "pickwick," and i guessed by the look of the party within that they had come from new york for a country outing, a simple meal, and private conversation. "better a dinner of herbs where love is--" under the portrait of mr. pickwick in a quiet corner of one of the old-fashioned rooms a young man and woman sat with their elbows on the table and their chins propped in the palms of their hands, and their faces not so far away that they had any need to shout to each other the confidences which made both pairs of eyes remarkably bright. the young man was one of those square-shouldered, clean-shaven, gray-eyed fellows whom i came to know as a type on the roads to amiens and albert. the girl had put her dust-cloak over the back of her chair, but still wore a veil tied round her hat and under her chin--a little pointed chin dug firmly into her palm, and modeled with the same delicacy of line as the lips about which a little smile wavered, and as the nose which kept its distance, with perfect discretion, from that of the young man opposite, so that the waiter might have slipped a menu-card between them. she had a string of pearls round her neck which would certainly have been the first prize of any highwayman holding up her great-grandmamma's coach, and judging from other little signs of luxury as it is revealed in fifth avenue, i felt certain that the young lady did not live far from the heart of new york and had command of its treasure-houses.... two other groups in the room, sitting at separate tables, belonged obviously to one party. they were young people, for the most part, with one elderly lady whose white hair and shrewd, smiling eyes made all things right with youthful adventure, and with one old fogy, bland of countenance and expansive in the waistcoat line, who seemed to regard it as a privilege to pay for the large appetites of the younger company. anyhow he paid for at least eight portions of chicken okra, followed by eight plates of roast turkey and baked potatoes, and, not counting sundries, nine serves of deep-dish pie. the ninth, unequal, share went, in spite of warnings, protests, and ridicule from free-spoken companions, to a plump girl with a pigtail, obviously home from college for a spell, who said: "i guess i sha'n't die from overeating, though it's the way i'd choose if i had to quit. an appetite is like love. its dangers are exaggerated, and seldom fatal." this speech, delivered in all solemnity, aroused a tumult of mirth from several young women of grown-up appearance--at least they had advanced beyond the pigtail stage--and under cover of this one of them deliberately "made up" her face till it bloomed like a rose in june. in another corner of the pickwick inn sat a lonely man whose appearance interested me a good deal. he was a man of middle age, with black hair turning white, and very dark, melancholy eyes in a pale, ascetic face. i have seen his type many times in the café de l'odéon on the "latin" side of paris, and i was surprised to find it in a roadside inn of the united states. a friend of mine, watching the direction of my gaze, said, "yes, that is a remarkable man--one of the best-known architects in america, and, among other things, the designer of the victory decorations of new york." he came over to our table and i had a talk with him--a strange conversation, in which this man of art spoke mostly of war, from unusual angles of thought. his idea seemed to me that peace is only a preparation for war, and that war is not the abnormal thing which most people think, but the normal, because it is the necessary conflict by which human character and destiny are shaped. he seemed to think that the psychology of the world had become twisted and weakened by too much peace so that the sight of armless or legless men was horrifying, whereas people should be accustomed to such sights and take them for granted, because that, with all pain and suffering, is the price of life. i disagreed with him profoundly, believing that war in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred is unnecessary and due to the stupidities of people who are doped by spell-words put upon them by their leaders; but i was interested in getting this viewpoint from a man whose whole life has been devoted to beauty. it seemed to me the strangest paradox.... a roadside inn in the united states is a good place for the study of psychology and social habits in america. one custom which happens here during winter and summer evenings is a local dance given by some inhabitant of the neighborhood who finds more spaciousness here for a party of guests than in his own homestead. the rugs and chairs are put away, and the floor is polished for dancing. outside, the inn is decorated with colored lamps and lanterns, and a bright light streams through the leaded window-panes across the road from new york. the metal of many machines sparkles in the shadow world beyond the lanterns. through the open windows, if the night is mild, comes the ragtime music of a string band and the sound of women's laughter. sometimes queer figures, like ghosts of history, pass through the swing-doors, for it is a fancy-dress dance in the inn, and there is a glimpse of columbine in her fluffy white skirt, with long white stockings, and with her hand on the arm of a tall young pierrot; while a lady of the court of marie antoinette trips beside the figure of a scarlet devil, and a little puritan girl of new england (two hundred years ago) passes in with monsieur beaucaire in his white-satin coat and flowered waistcoat and silk stockings above buckled shoes. i like the idea and the customs of the roadside inn, for it helps to make human society sweet and friendly in villages beyond the glare of america's great cities. to study a people, however, one must see them in their homes, and i was fortunate in having friends who took me into their home life. when i went there it was at a time when american homes were excited and happy after the armistice, and when the soldiers who had been "over there" were coming back, with victory and honor. in many homes of the united states, scattered far and wide, there was not happiness, but sorrow, because in the victory march down fifth avenue there would be for some of the onlookers one figure missing--the figure of some college boy who had gone marching away with smiling eyes and a stiff upper lip, or the figure of some middle-aged fellow who waved his hand to a group of small children and one woman who turned to hide her tears. there were empty chairs in the homesteads of the united states, and empty hearts on armistice day--and afterward. but i did not see them, and i thought of the many homes in england desolated by the appalling sacrifice of youth, so that in every town, and in every street, there are houses out of which all hope in life has gone, leaving behind a dreadful dreariness, an incurable loneliness, mocking at victory. there was one home i went to where a mother of cheery babes waited for her man with an eager joy she did not try to hide. the smallest babe had been born while he was away, a boy baby with the gift of laughter from the fairy godmother; and there was great excitement at the thought of the first interview between father and son. all the community in the neighborhood of this house in westchester county took a personal interest in this meeting when "the major" should see his latest born, and when the wife should meet her man again. they had kept his memory green and had cheered up the loneliness of his wife by making a rendezvous of his house. she had played up wonderfully, with a pluck that never failed, and a spirit of comradeship to all her husband's friends, especially if he wore khaki and was far from his own folk. one was always certain of meeting a merry crowd at cocktail time. with some ceremony a party of friends were conducted to the cellar to see how a careful housewife with a hospitable husband got ahead of prohibition.... then the major came back, a little overwhelmed by the warmth of his greeting from old friends, a little dazed by the sharp contrast between war and peace, moved to his depths by the first sight of peter, his boy baby. one day at dinner he described how he had heard the news of peter in the war zone. he bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the event--it was the only bottle to be had for love or money--and went round to the mess to call a toast. there were many officers, and the champagne did not give them full glasses, but in a sparkling drop or two they drank to the son of this good officer and good comrade. i was glad to get a glimpse of that american home and of the two small girls in it, who had the habit, which i find pleasant among the children of america, of dropping a bob courtesy to any grown-up visitor. the children of america have the qualities of their nation, simplicity, common sense, and self-reliance. they are not so bashful as english boys and girls, and they are free from the little constraints of nursery etiquette which make so many english children afraid to open their mouths. they are also free entirely from that juvenile snobbishness which is still cultivated in english society, where boys and girls of well-to-do parents are taught to look down with contempt upon children of the poorer classes. i sat down at table many mornings with a small boy and girl who were representative, i have no doubt, of young america in the making. the boy, dick, had an insatiable curiosity about the way things work in the world, and about the make-up of the world itself. to satisfy that curiosity he searched the _children's book of knowledge_, the encyclopedias in the library, and the brain of any likely person, such as the irish chauffeur and gardener, for scraps of useful information. in games of "twenty questions," played across the luncheon-table, he chose mountains in asia, or rivers in africa, or parts of complicated engines, putting the company to shame by their ignorance of geography and mechanics. for sheer personal pleasure he worked out sums in arithmetic when he wakened early in the morning. his ambition is to be an engineer, and he is already designing monster airplanes, and electrical machines of fantastic purpose--like, i suppose, millions of other small boys in america. the girl, aged eight, seemed to me the miniature representative of all american girlhood, and for that reason is a source of apprehension to her mother, who has to camouflage her amusement at this mite's audacity, and looks forward with a thrill of anxiety and delight to the time when joan will put her hair up and play hell with boys' hearts. joan has big, wondering eyes, which she already uses for cajolery and blandishment. joan has a sense of humor which is alarming in an elf of her size. joan can tell the most almighty "whoppers," with an air of innocence which would deceive an angel. joan has a passionate temper when thwarted of her will, a haughty arrogance of demeanor before which grown men quail, and a warm-hearted affection for people who please her which exacts forgiveness of all naughtiness. she dances for sheer joy of life, lives in imagination with fairies, screams with desire at the sight of glittering jewels and fine feathers, and weeps passionately at times because she is not old enough to go with her mother to dinner in new york. in another ten years, when she goes to college, there will be the deuce of a row in her rooms, and three years later new york will be invaded by a pair of hazel eyes which will complicate, still further, the adventure of life east and west of fifth avenue. those two young people go forth to school every morning, from a country house in connecticut, in a "flivver" driven by the irish chauffeur, with whom they are the best of friends. now and again they are allowed the use of the cadillac car and spread themselves under the rugs with an air of luxury and arrogance, redeemed by a wink from dick, as though to say, "what a game--this life!" and a sweep of joan's eyelashes conveying the information that a princess of the united states is about to attend the educational establishment which she is pleased to honor with her presence, and where she hopes to be extremely naughty to-day, just to make things hum. this boy and girl are good and close comrades between the times they pull each other's hair, and have a profound respect for each other in spite of an intimate knowledge of their respective frailties and sinfulness. joan knows that dick invariably gets his sums right, whereas she invariably gets them wrong. she knows that his truthfulness is impregnable and painful in its deadly accuracy. she knows that his character is as solid as a rock and that he is patient up to the point when by exasperation she asks for a bang on the head, and gets it. dick knows that joan is more subtle in imagination than he can ever hope to be, and that she can twist him round her little finger when she sets out deliberately thereto, in order to get the first use of the new toy which came to him on his birthday, the pencil which he has just sharpened for his own drawing, or the picture-book which he has just had as a school prize. "you know mother says you mustn't be so terrible selfish," says joan, in answer to violent protests, and dick knows that he must pay the price of peace. he also knows that joan loves him devotedly, pines for him when he is away even for a little while, and admires his knowledge and efficiency with undisguised hero-worship, except when she wants to queen it over him, for the sake of his soul. i think of them in a little white house perched on flower-covered rocks, within sight of the sound through a screen of birch trees. inside the house there are some choice old bits of english and italian furniture bought by a lady who knows the real from the false, and has a fine eye for the color of her hangings and her chintz-covered chairs. on cool nights a log fire burns in a wide hearth, and the electric lamps are turned out to show the soft light of tall fat candles in wrought-iron torches each side of the hearthstone. galli-curci sings from a gramophone between hawaiian airs or the latest ragtime; or the master of the house--a man of all the talents and the heart of youth--strikes out plaintive little melodies made up "out of his own head," as children say, on a rosewood piano, while the two children play "pollyanna" on the carpet, and their mother watches through half-shut eyes the picture she has made of the room. it is a pretty picture of an american interior, as a painter might see it.... in new york, as in london, it is the ambition of many people, i find, to seek out a country cottage and get back to the "simple life" for a spell. "a real old place" is the dream of the american business man who has learned to love ancient things after a visit to europe, or by a sudden revolt against the modern side of civilization. the "real old place" is not easy to find, but i met one couple who had found it not more than thirty miles or so from madison square, yet in such a rural and unfrequented spot that it seemed a world away. they had discovered an old mill-house, built more than a hundred and fifty years ago, and unchanged all that time except by the weathering of its beams and panels, and the sinking of its brick floors, and the memories that are stored up in every crack and crevice of that homestead where simple folk wed and bred, worked and died, from one generation to another. the new owners are simple folk, too, though not of the peasant class, and with reverence and sound taste they decline to allow any architect to alter the old structure of the house, but keep it just as it stands. in their courtyard, on a sunday afternoon, were several motor-cars, and in their parlor a party of friends from new york who had come out to this little old mill-house in the country, and expressed their ecstasy at its quaint simplicity. some of them invited themselves to supper, whereat the lady of the mill-house laughed at them and said, "i guess you'll have to be content with boiled beans and salad, because my man and i are tired of the fatted calf and all the gross things of city life." to her surprise there was a chorus of "fine!" and the daintiest girl from new york offered to do the washing-up. through an open door in the parlor there was a pretty view of another room up a flight of wooden stairs. in such a room one might see the buxom ghost of some american phoebe of the farm, with bare arms and a low-necked bodice, coiling her hair at an old mirror for the time when john should come a-courting after he had brushed the straw from his hair.... i went into another country cottage, as old as this one and as simple as this. it stands in a meadow somewhere in sleepy hollow, low lying by a little stream that flows through its garden, but within quick reach, by a stiff climb, through silver beeches and bracken, and over gray rocks that crop through the soil, to hilltops from which one gazes over the hudson river and the sound, and a wide stretch of wooded country with little white towns in the valleys. here in the cottage lives a new york doctor and his wife, leading the simple life, not as a pose, but in utter sincerity, because they have simplicity in their souls. every morning the doctor walks away from his cottage to a railway which takes him off to the noisy city, and here until five of the evening he is busy in healing the sufferers of civilization and stupidity--the people who overeat themselves, the children who are too richly fed by foolish mothers, business men whose nerves have broken down by worry and work for the sake of ambition, society women wrecked in the chase of pleasure, and little ones, rickety, blind, or diseased because of the sins of their parents. the little doctor does not deal in medicine and does not believe in it. he treats his patients according to his philosophy of natural science, by which he gives their human nature a chance of freeing itself from the poison that has tainted it and getting back to normal self-healing action. he has devised a machine for playing waves of electricity through his patients by means of which he breaks up the clogging tissue of death in their cell life and regenerates the health of the cell system. he has made some startling cures, and i think the cheerful wisdom of the little man, his simple, childlike heart, and the clean faith that shines out of his eyes are part of the secret of his power. he goes back to his country cottage to tend his flowers and to think deeper into the science of life up there on the hilltop which looks across the sound among the silvery beeches, where in the spring there is a carpet of bluebells and in the autumn the fire of red bracken. in spring and summer and autumn he rises early and plunges into a pool behind the shelter of trees and bushes, and before dressing runs up and down a stone pathway bordered by the flowers he has grown, and after that dances a little to keep his spirit young.... i liked that glimpse i had of the american doctor in sleepy hollow. [illustration: i liked the greeting of the train conductor] and i liked all the glimpses i had of american home life in the suburbs of new york and in other townships of the united states. i liked the white woodwork of the houses, and the bright sunlight that swept the sky above them, and the gardens that grew without hedges. i liked the good nature of the people, the healthiness of their outlook on life, their hopefulness in the future, their self-reliance and their sincerity of speech. i liked the children of america, and the college girls who strolled in groups along the lanes, and the crowds who assembled in the morning at the local station to begin a new day's work or a new day's shopping in the big city at their journey's end. they had a keen and vital look, and nodded to one another in a neighborly way as they bought bulky papers from the bookstall and chewing-gum from the candy stall and had their shoes shined with one eye on the ticket office. i liked the greeting of the train conductor to all those people whose faces he knew as familiar friends, and to whom he passed the time o' day with a jesting word or two. i liked the social life of the american middle classes, because it is based, for the most part, on honesty, a kindly feeling toward mankind, and healthiness of mind and body. they are not out to make trouble in the world, and unless somebody asks for it very badly they are not inclined to interfere with other people's business. the thing i liked best in the united states is the belief of its citizens in the progress of mankind toward higher ideals of common sense; and after the madness of a world at war it is good to find such faith, however difficult to believe. iv america's new place in the world the united states of america has a new meaning in the world, and has entered, by no desire of its own, into the great family of nations, as a rich uncle whose authority and temper must be respected by those who desire his influence in their family quarrels, difficulties, and conditions of life. before the war the united states was wonderfully aloof from the peoples of europe. the three thousand miles of atlantic ocean made it seem enormously far away, and quite beyond the orbit of those passionate politics which stirred european communities with old world hatred and modern rivalries. it was free from the fear which was at the back of all european diplomacy and international intrigue--the fear of great standing armies across artificial frontiers, the fear of invasion, the fear of a modern european war in which nation against nation would be at one another's throats, in a wild struggle for self-preservation. america was still the new world, far away, to which people went in a spirit of adventure, in search of fortune and liberty. there was a chance of one, a certainty of the other, and it was this certain gift which called to multitudes of men and women--russians and russian jews, poles and polish jews, czechs, and bohemians, and germans of all kinds--to escape from the bondage which cramped their souls under the oppression of their own governments, and to gain the freedom of the stars and stripes. to the popular imagination of europe, america was the world's democratic paradise, where every man had equal opportunity and rights, a living wage with a fair margin and the possibility of enormous luck. a steady stream of youth flowed out from ireland to new york, year after year, and irish peasants left behind in their hovels heard of great doings by pat and mick, who had become the gentlemen entirely out there in the states, and of kathleen and biddy, who were piling up the dollars so fast that they could send some back to the old people and not feel the loss of them at all, at all. the internal resources of america were so vast and the development of their own states so absorbed the energies of the people that there was no need of international diplomacy and intrigue to capture new markets of the world or to gain new territory for the possession of raw material. the united states was self-centered and self-sufficient, and the spirit of the monroe doctrine prohibiting foreign powers from any colonizing within the boundaries of the republic was developed in popular imagination and tradition to a firm policy of self-isolation and of non-interference by others. the american people had no interest, politically, in the governments or affairs of other nations, and they desired to be left alone, with a "hands off!" their own sovereign power. it was this reality of isolation which gave america immense advantages as a republic and had a profound influence upon the psychology of her citizens. being aloof from the traditions of european peoples and from their political entanglements and interdependence, the united states could adopt a clear and straightforward policy of self-development on industrial lines. her diplomacy was as simple as a child's copy-book maxim. her ambassadors and ministers at european courts had no need of casuistry or machiavellian subtlety. they had an exceedingly interesting and pleasant time reporting back the absurdities of european embassies, the melodrama of european rivalries, the back-stairs influence at work in secret treaties, the assassinations, riots, revolutions, and political crises which from time to time convulsed various countries--and the corrupt bargainings and jugglings between small powers and great powers. the american representatives in europe watched all this as the greatest game on earth, but far away from the united states, and without the slightest effect upon the destiny of their own country, except when it excited wall street gamblers. american diplomats were not weighted down by the fear of offending the susceptibilities of germany or france or italy or russia, nor were they asked to play off one country against another, in order to maintain that delicate and evil mechanism known as "the balance of power"--the uniting of armed bands for self-defense or the means of aggression. the frontiers of america were inviolate and the atlantic and pacific seaboards were not open to sudden attack, like the boundaries between germany and france, turkey and bulgaria, italy and austria, where fear of invasion was the under-current of all political and popular thought, and the motive power of all national energy, to the detriment of social progress, because of the crippling cost of standing armies and unproductive labor for the material of war. nationally, therefore, the united states of america was in supreme luck because it could use its youth and resources with full advantage, free from menace and beyond all rivalry. the character of the people responded to this independence of the republic. the average american citizen, as far as i knew him, in europe before the war, had an amused contempt for many institutions and social ideas which he observed in a continental tour. he was able to regard the hotch-potch of european nationalities and traditions from an aloof and judicial viewpoint. they seemed to him on the whole very silly. he could not understand why an invisible line on a road should make people on each side of the line hate each other desperately. he watched the march past of troops in france or germany, the saluting of generals, the clicking of heels, the brilliant uniforms of officers, as a pageant which was utterly out of date in its application to life, and as a degradation of individual dignity. he did not link up the thriftiness of the french peasant--the desperate hoarding of his _petit sou_--with the old fear of invasion by german legions across the frontier, when the peasant might see his little farm in flames and his harvest trampled down by soldiers' boots. the american visitor observed the fuss made when one king visited another, and read the false adulation of the royal visitor, the insincere speeches at royal banquets, the list of decorations conferred upon court flunkies, and laughed at the whole absurdity, not seeing that it was all part of a bid for a new alliance or a bribe for peace, or a mask of fear, until the time came when all bids and bribes should be of no more avail, and the only masks worn were to be gas-masks, when the rival nations should hack at one another in a frenzy of slaughter. the american in europe who came to have a look 'round was astonished at the old-fashioned ways of people--their subservience to "caste" ideas, their allegiance to the divine right of kings, as to the "little father" of the russian people, and the "shining armor" of the german kaiser, and their apparent contentment with the wide gulf between underpaid labor and privileged capital. he did not realize that his own liberty of ideas and high rate of wage-earning were due to citizenship in a country free from militarism and its crushing taxation, and free also from hereditary customs upheld by the power of the sword used in civil strife as well as in international conflict, by the imperial governments of russia, germany, and other powers whose social philosophy was no different, though less tyrannical in expression. the american said, "i like europe as a peep-show, and it's a good place to spend money in; but we can teach you a few things in the united states; one of them is equality, and another is opportunity." he was right, and it was his luck. because of those privileges many pilgrims of fortune went to america from all the countries of europe, in a great tide of emigration, adopting american citizenship in most cases soon after sighting the statue of liberty--"old lib.," as i heard her called. the united states received these foreigners in hundreds of thousands and became "the melting-pot" of races. the melting process, however, was not so rapid as some people imagined, and it was something of a shock to the states to discover a few years before the war, and with a deeper realization at the outbreak of war, that they had within their boundaries enormous populations of foreign-born citizens, germans, poles, slavs of all kinds, italians, and austrians, who had not assimilated american ideas, but kept their speech, customs, and national sentiment. it was the vast foreign element which had to be converted to the american outlook upon the world tragedy which opened in august, . this mass of hostile or unwilling people had to be dragged into action when america found that her isolation was broken, that she could no longer stand aloof from the rest of mankind, nor be indifferent to the fate of friendly nations menaced with destruction, nor endure a series of outrages which flouted her own power, nor risk the world supremacy of a military autocracy which, if triumphant in europe, would very soon dictate to the united states. it is the miracle of the stars and stripes that when the american government conscripted all able-bodied youth and raised a vast and well-trained army, and sent it into the battlefields of france and flanders, there was no civil outbreak among those foreign-born citizens, and with absolute obedience they took their places in the ranks, germans to fight against their own flesh and blood, because of allegiance to a state which had given them liberty, provided they defended the ideals which belonged to the state--in this case the hardest test of loyalty, not without tragedy and agony and fear. for the first time there was no liberty in the united states--no liberty of private judgment, no liberty of action, no liberty of speech. the state ruled with complete despotism over the lives of its citizens, not tolerating any infringements of its orders, because the safety of the state would be endangered unless victory were assured. that was an enormous shock, i am sure, to the psychology of all americans, even to those most loyal to the state authority, and it has caused an entire change in the mental attitude of all american citizens toward the conditions and relationships of life, because that sense of utter liberty they had before the war is limited now by the knowledge that at any time the republic of which they are citizens may call upon them for life itself and for all service up to that of death, and that, whatever their ideas should be, they may not refuse. in that way they have no longer an advantage over frenchmen, or germans, or russians, or italians, whom they pitied as men without liberty of souls or bodies. that is to say, they have to make surrender to the state of all things in the last resort, which is war--a law which many european peoples learned to their cost, many times before, and which america learned once in her own civil war, but thought she could forget with other painful old things in the lumber-room of history. the people of the united states have learned many other things during the last few years, when all the world has changed, and they stand now at the parting of the ways, looking back on the things they knew which they will never see again, and looking forward to the future, which is still doubtful to them in its destiny. i went to them on a visit during the period between armistice and peace, when mentally, i think, they were in a transition stage, very conscious of this place at the crossroads, and filled with grave anxiety, in spite of exultation at the power of their armies and the valor of their men who had helped to gain stupendous victory. the things that had happened within the united states before and after its declaration of war had stirred them with passionate and complicated emotions. from the very outset of the great war, long before the united states was directly involved, large numbers of americans of the old stock, born of english, irish, scottish, or dutch ancestry, were neutral only by order and not at all in spirit. their sentiment toward france, based on the lafayette tradition and their love of paris and of french literature and wit, made them hate the invasion of northern france and eager to act as champions of the french people. their old ties with england, the bond of speech and of blood, made them put aside any minor antagonisms which they had felt on account of old prejudice, and they followed with deep sympathy and anxiety the progress of the heroic struggle of british armies in the slaughter-fields. they were impatient for america to get into the conflict against german aggression. as the germans became more ruthless of humane laws, more desperate in their attacks upon non-combatant as well as military populations by sea and air and land, these americans became sick and fevered at the thought of their own neutrality, and supported colonel roosevelt in his driving influence to get the united states into the war. they became more and more embittered with president wilson, who adopted an academic view of the jungle scenes in europe, dissociated the german people from the crimes of their war lords, and expounded a christian philosophy of world politics which seemed like cowardice and humiliation of american pride to people stung to fury by german insults and outrages. these thoughts were beginning to seethe like yeast throughout masses of american people, especially in the east, but took a long time to reach and stir the great west and were resisted by the mentality of foreign-born populations, including the jewish communities and the irish. they were averse to war, and took a detached view of the struggle in europe, which seemed to them too far away to matter to america. the german populations had a natural sympathy for their own race, much as some of them detested its militaristic ideals. there were, i imagine, also many intellectual men, not dragged down by the apathy of the masses, to whom "the war" seemed of less importance to the united states than the condition of the crops or the local baseball match. they felt that president wilson's hesitations, long-drawn-out notes, and exalted pacifism were on nobler lines of thought than the loud-mouthed jingoism and bloodthirsty howlings of low-class newspapers and speakers. the _lusitania_ was sunk, and a cry of agony and wrath went up from many hearts in the world at this new phase of war; but still the united states stayed out; and many americans lowered their heads with shame and had a fire of indignation in their hearts because their president still temporized. they believed that the american people would have rallied to him as one man had he made that outrage the signal of war. they had no patience with his careful letter-writing, his anxiety to act as a moral mentor instead of as a leader of great armies in a fight against world criminals.... at last wilson was forced to act, even his caution being overmastered by the urgent necessity of intervention on behalf of great britain and france and belgium, panting and bleeding from every pore after three years of struggle; even his philosophy of aloofness being borne down by acts of war which wounded american interests and threatened american security. so the united states declared war, gathered its youth into great training-camps, and launched into the world struggle with slow but ever-increasing energy which swept the people with a mighty whirlwind of emotion. the american people as a whole did truly enter into war in the spirit of crusaders. they sent out their sons as rescuers of stricken peoples fighting desperately against criminal powers. they had no selfish interests behind their sacrifice, and they did not understand that defeat of the nations allied against germany would inevitably menace them with dire perils to their sovereign power, to their commercial prosperity, and to their ideals of civilization. those things were true, but it was not because of them that the people of the united states were uplifted by a wonderful exaltation and that they put their full strength into preparing themselves for a long and bloody war. every little home was turned into a red cross factory. every young man of pluck and pride was eager to get the first call for active service in the field. girls took on men's jobs, old ladies knitted until their eyes were dim. hard business men gave away their dollars in bundles, denied themselves at meal-time so that europe should be fed, tried by some little sacrifice to share the spirit of those who made offer of their lives. the materialism of which america had been accused, not unjustly, was broken through by a spiritual idealism which touched every class, and americans did not shrink from sacrifice, but asked for it as a privilege, and were regretful that as a people they suffered so little in comparison with those who had fought and agonized so long.... all this i heard when i went to america in the spring, between armistice and peace, and with my own eyes and ears i saw and heard the proof of it. down fifth avenue i saw the march past of troops whom i had seen before marching along the roads of war to ypres and amiens, when the british army was hard pressed and glad to see these newcomers. in new york clubs i met young american officers who had been training with british staffs and battalions before they fought alongside british troops. and in american homes i met women who were still waiting for their men whom they had sent away with brave faces, hiding the fear in their hearts, and now knew, with thankfulness, that they were safe. victory had come quickly after the entry of the american troops, but it was only the low braggart who said, "we won the war--and taught the english how to fight." the main body of educated people whom i met in many american cities said, rather: "we were the last straw that broke the camel's back. we were glad to share the victory, but we did not suffer enough. we came in too late to take our full share of sacrifice." at that time, after the armistice and when mr. wilson was in europe at the peace conference, the people i met were not so much buoyed up with the sense of victory as perplexed and anxious about the new responsibilities which they would be asked to fulfill. a tremendous controversy raged round the president, who baffled them by his acts and speeches and silences. when in an article which i wrote soon after my landing i said i was "all for wilson" i received an immense number of letters "putting me wise" as to the failure of the president to gain the confidence of the american people and their grievous apprehensions that he was, out of personal vanity and with a stubborn, autocratic spirit, bartering away the rights and liberties of the united states, without the knowledge or support of the people, and involving them in european entanglements which they were not prepared to accept. this antagonism to the president was summed up clearly enough in some such words as those that follow: taft and roosevelt quarreled; wilson was born of it. wilson is all there is to the democratic party. he has had to dominate it; the brain of america is in the republican camp. he refused to use this material when offered for the war. he would not allow roosevelt to go to france and fight; he would not use general wood, who was the "lord bobs" of this country in regard to preparedness. for the winning of the war we put party aside and the congress gave wilson unlimited power. (lincoln put party aside and used the best he could get.) now mr. wilson asks and gets very little advice. when he has a difficult question he secludes himself, except for colonel house--and we know nothing about colonel house. mr. wilson dominated america and no one objected; the war was being won. in the fall he saw, of course, victory, and was planning his trip abroad. he boldly asked for a democratic senate, which would give him control of the treaty-making power. he said, practically: "everybody shows himself bigger than party. i will, too. all together now! but you prove it and give me a party senate, not a senate picked from the best brains of this america, but a democratic senate, so that i can have full power in the peace conference." the laugh that went up must have hit the stars, and we almost forgot the war to watch the election. can you imagine roosevelt in new york in this crisis? he held a monster meeting and said what he thought, through his teeth. "unconditional surrender for germany, no matter what it costs" (not idle words--quentin's death in france had cost roosevelt his famous boyishness of spirit), "and a senate that will curb autocratic power in america." then he told his hearers that they would not need a key to understand his speech. now, power goes to people's heads. mr. wilson had changed. time and again opposition in congress failed. you would hear, "wilson always wins." always a dominating figure, he grew defiant, a trifle ruthless, heady. the american answer to wilson was a republican senate, and the senators were put there to balance him. when he decided to go to europe he simply said he was going. he did not ask our approval, nor find out our wishes, nor even tell us what he was going to say, but did take over the cables and put them under government control. he made himself so inaccessible at that time that no one could get his ear. on his flying visit to new york he said that he returned to france to tell them that we backed him. is that true? we don't know what we think yet. we haven't made up our minds. we will back him when he is frank and when we are convinced. we can't sign our souls away, all our wonderful heritages, without knowing all about it.... if we join a league of nations, shall we prevent war? or, if we join, shall we be absorbed and make the fight a bigger one? this, i believe, is a fair statement of the views held by many educated people in the united states at the time between armistice and peace. i heard just such words in the city club of new york, in the union league club, from people in boston and philadelphia and washington, and at many dinner-tables where, after the preliminary courtesies of conversation, there was a quick clash of opinion among the guests, husbands differing from wives, brothers from sisters, and friends from friends, over the personality and purpose of the president, and the practical possibilities of a league of nations. the defenders of the president waived aside all personal issues and supported him ardently because they believed that it was only by the application of his ideals, modified, no doubt, by contact with the actual problems of european states, that a new war more devastating to the world than the one just past could be prevented, and that his obstinacy and singleness of purpose on behalf of a league of nations pointed him out as the man of destiny who would lead humanity out of the jungle to a higher plane of civilized philosophy. that was my own view of his mission and character, though now i think he failed at the peace conference in carrying out the principles of his own fourteen points, and weakened under the pressure of the governing powers of france, belgium, and england, who desired revenge as well as reparation, and the death of german militarism under the heel of an allied militarism based on the old german philosophy of might. the president failed largely because he insisted upon playing "a lone hand," and did not have the confidence of his country behind him, nor its understanding of his purpose, while he himself wavered in his principles. america, during the time of my visit, was afraid of taking too strong a lead in the resettlement of europe. so far from wishing to "boss the show," as some people suspected, most americans had an unnatural timidity, and one count of their charge against wilson was his obstinacy in his dealings with lloyd george and clemenceau. it was a consciousness of ignorance about european problems which made the americans draw back from strong decisions, and above all it was the fear of being "dragged in" to new wars, not of their concern, which made them deeply suspicious of the league of nations. in many conversations i found this fear the dominant thought. "if you people want to fight each other again, you will have to do without us," said american soldiers just back from the front. "no more crusades for us!" said others. "american isolation--and a plague on all your little nations!" said civilians as well as soldiers. bitter memories of french "economy" spoiled for american soldiers the romance of the lafayette tradition. "i lost my leg," said one man, "for a country which charged for the trenches where we fought, and for people who put up their prices three hundred per cent. when the american armies came to rescue them. france can go to hell as far as i'm concerned."... nevertheless, it became more clear to thinking minds in america that the days of "isolation" were gone, and that for good or evil the united states is linked up by unbreakable bonds of interest and responsibility with other great powers of the world. never again can she be indifferent to their fate. if another great convulsion happens in europe, american troops will again be there, quicker than before, because her action in the last war and her share of the terms of peace have made her responsible in honor for the safety of certain peoples and the upholding of certain agreements. the atlantic has shrunk in size to a narrow strip of water and the sky is a corridor which will be quickly traversed by aircraft before the next great war. but these physical conditions which are changing by mechanical development, altering the time-tables of traffic, are of no account compared with the vast change that happened in the world when the stars and stripes fluttered in the fields of france and flanders, when the bodies of america's heroic youth were laid to rest there under little white crosses, and when the united states of america entered into an intimate and enduring relationship with great britain and france. the effect of this change is not yet apparent in its fullness. america is still in a state of transition, watching, studying, thinking, feeling, and talking herself into convictions which will alter the fate of the world. i believe with all my heart and soul that america's closer relationship with europe will be all the better for europe. i believe that the spirit of the american people is essentially and unalterably democratic, and that as far as their power goes it will be used against the tyranny of military castes and attempted oppression of peoples. i believe that the influence of this spirit, visible to me in many people i met, will be of enormous benefit to england and france, because it will be used as an arbitrating factor in the conflict which is bound to come in both those countries between the old régime and the new. the influence of america will be the determining power in the settlement of ireland on a basis of common sense free from the silly old fetishes of historical enmities on both sides. it will intervene to give a chance of life to the german race after they have paid the forfeit for their guilt in the last war, and will, i am certain, react against the stupid philosophy of enduring vengeance with its desire to make a slave-state in central europe, which still animates bloody-minded men and women so passionate of revenge that they are kindling the fires of another terrible and devastating war. the united states of america is bound up with the fate of europe, but its people will still remain rather aloof in mentality from the passions of european nations, and will be more judicial in their judgment because of that. instinctively, rather than intellectually, americans will act in behalf of democratic rights against autocratic plots. they will not allow the russian people to be hounded back to the heels of grand dukes and under the lash of the knout. they will give their support to the league of nations not as a machinery to stifle popular progress by a combination of governments, but as a court for the reform of international laws and the safeguarding of liberty. europe will not be able to ignore the judgment of america. that country is, as i said, the rich uncle whose temper they must consult because of gratitude for favors to come--and because of wealth and power in the world's markets. america is at the threshold of her supreme destiny in the world. by her action in the war, when for the first time her strength was revealed as a mighty nation, full grown and conscious of power, she has attained the highest place among the peoples, and her will shall prevail if it is based upon justice and liberty. i believe that america's destiny will be glorious for mankind, not because i think that the individual american is a better, nobler, more spiritual being than the individual englishman, frenchman, or russian, but because i see, or think i see, that this great country is inspired more than any other nation among the big powers by the united, organized qualities of simple, commonplace people, with kindness of heart, independence of spirit, and sincerity of ideas, free from the old heritage of caste, snobbishness, militarism, and fetish-worship, which still lingers among the junkers of europe. they are a middle-class empire, untainted by imperial ambition or ancient traditions of overlordship. they are governed by middle-class sentiment. they put all problems of life to the test of that simplicity which is found in middle-class homes, where neither anarchy is welcome nor aristocratic privilege. america is the empire of the wage-earner, where even her plutocrats have but little power over the independence of the people. it is a nation of nobodies great with the power of the common man and the plain sense that governs his way of life. other nations are still ruled by their "somebodies"--by their pomposities and high panjandrums. but it is the nobodies whose turn is coming in history, and america is on their side. in that great federation of united states i saw, even in a brief visit, possible dangers that may spoil america's chance. i saw a luxury of wealth in new york and other cities which may be a vicious canker in the soul of the people. i saw a sullen discontent among wage-earners and home-coming soldiers because too many people had an unfair share of wealth. i met american junkers who would use the military possibilities of the greatest army in the world for imperialistic adventures and world dominance. i heard of anarchy being whispered among foreign-born masses in american cities and passed over to other laborers not of foreign origin. in the censorship of news i saw the first and most ominous sign of government autocracy desiring to work its will upon the people by keeping them in ignorance and warping their opinions; and now and then i was conscious of an intolerance of free thought which happened to conflict with popular sentiment, as ruthless as in russia during czardom. i saw hatred based on ignorance and the brute spirit of men inflamed by war. but these were only accidental things, to be found wherever humanity is crowded, and after my visit to america i came away with memories, which are still strong in my heart, of a people filled with vital energy, kind in heart, sincere and simple in their ways of thought and speech, idealistic in emotion, practical in conduct, and democratic by faith and upbringing. the soil of america is clean and strong and free; and the power that comes out of it will, i think and hope and pray, be used to gain the liberties of other nations, and to help forward the welfare of the human family. v what england thinks of america the title i have chosen for this chapter is indiscreet, and, as some readers may think, misleading. at least it needs this explanation--that there is no absolute point of view in england about the united states. "england" does not think (a statement not intended to be humorous at the expense of my own people) any more than any nation may be said to think in a single unanimous way about any subject under the sun. england is a collection of individuals and groups of individuals, each with different points of view or shades of view, based upon certain ideals and knowledge, or upon passion, ignorance, elementary common sense, or elementary stupidity, like the united states and every country on earth. it would convey an utterly false impression to analyze and expound the opinions of one such class, or to give as a general truth a few individual opinions. one can only get at something like the truth by following the drift of current thought, by contrasting national characteristics, and by striking a balance between extremes of thought. it is that which i propose to do in this chapter, frankly, and without fear of giving offense, because to my mind insincerity on a subject like this does more harm than good. i will not disguise, therefore, at the outset, that after the armistice which followed the great war huge numbers of people in england became annoyed, bitter, and unfriendly to the united states. the causes of that unkindness of sentiment were to some extent natural and inevitable, owing to the state of mind in england at that time. they had their foundations in the patriotism and emotion of a people who had just emerged from the crudest ordeal which had ever called to their endurance in history. when american soldiers, sailors, politicians, and patriots said, "well, boys, we won the war!" which, in their enthusiasm for great achievements, they could hardly avoid saying at public banquets or welcomes home, where every word is not measured to the sensibilities of other people or to the exact truth, english folk were hurt. they were not only hurt, but they were angry. mothers of boys in mean streets, or rural villages, or great mansions, reading these words in newspapers which gave them irritating prominence, said, "so they think that we did nothing in the years before they came to france!" and some mothers thought of the boys who had died in , , , , and they hated the thought that americans should claim the victory which so many english, scottish, irish, canadians, australians, new-zealanders, south-africans, and french had gained most of all by long-suffering, immense sacrifice, and hideous losses. they did not know, though i for one tried to tell them, that all over the united states american people did not forget, even in their justified enthusiasm for the valor of their own men and the immense power they had prepared to hurl against the enemy, that france and england had borne the brunt of the war in the long years when germany was at her strongest. a friend of mine--an english officer--was in a new york hotel on armistice night, when emotion and patriotic enthusiasm were high--and hot. a young american mounted a chair, waving the stars and stripes. he used the good old phrase: "well, boys, we won the war! the enemy fell to pieces as soon as the doughboys came along. england and france could not do the trick without us. we taught 'em how to fight and how to win!" my friend smiled, sat tight, and said nothing. he remembered a million dead in british ranks, untold and unrecorded heroism, the first french victory of the marne, the years of epic fighting when french and british troops had hurled themselves against the german lines and strained his war-machine. but it was armistice night, and in new york, and the "yanks" had done jolly well, and they had a right to jubilation for their share in victory. let the boy shout, and good luck to him. but an american rose from his chair and pushed his way toward my friend. "i'm ashamed to hear such rant before british and french officers," he said, holding out his hand. "we know that our share is not as great as yours, within a thousand miles." those were chivalrous words. they represented the conviction, i am sure, of millions of americans of the more thoughtful type, who would not allow themselves to be swept away beyond the just merits of their national achievements, even by the fervor of the moment. but in england people only knew the boast and not the modesty. because some americans claimed too much, the english of the lower and less intelligent classes belittled the real share of victory which belonged to america, and became resentful. it was so in france as in england. it was lamentable, but almost unavoidable, and when this resentment and this sullen denial of american victory became known in the united states, passed over the wires by newspaper correspondents, it naturally aroused counter-action, equal bitterness, and then we were in a vicious circle, abominable in its effect upon mutual understanding and liking. all that, however, was limited to the masses, for the most part certainly, and was only used as poison propaganda by the gutter press on both sides of the atlantic. educated people in both countries understood the folly and squalor of that stuff, and discounted it accordingly. what was more serious in its effect upon the intelligent classes was the refusal of the senate to ratify the peace treaty and its repudiation of president wilson's authority. i have already dealt in previous writings with that aspect of affairs, and have tried to prove my understanding of the american view. but there is also an english view, which americans should know and understand. at the time i am writing this chapter, and for some months previously, england has been irritated with the united states because of a sense of having been "let down" over the peace treaty and the league of nations by american action. i think that irritation has been to some extent justified. when president wilson came to london he received, as i have told elsewhere, the most enthusiastic and triumphant ovation that has ever been given to a foreign visitor by the population of that great old city. the cheers that rose in storms about him were shouted not only because his personality seemed to us then to have the biggest and most hopeful qualities of leadership in the world, but because he was, as we thought, the authorized representative of the united states, to whom, through him, we gave homage. it was only months afterward, when the peace treaty had been signed and when the league of nations (wilson's child) had been established, that we were told that wilson was not the authorized representative of the united states, that the american senate did not recognize his authority to pledge the country to the terms of the treaty, and that the signature to the document was not worth ten cents. that made us look pretty foolish. it made france and italy and other powers, who had yielded in many of their demands in order to satisfy president wilson's principles, feel pretty mad. it made a laughingstock of the new-born league of nations. it was the most severe blow to the prospects of world peace and reconstruction. in england, as i know, there were vast numbers of people who regarded the peace treaty as one of the most clumsy, illogical, and dangerous documents ever drawn up by a body of diplomats. i am one of those who think so. but that has nothing to do with the refusal of the senate to acknowledge wilson's signature. the character of the clauses which created a series of international blunders leading inevitably to new wars unless they are altered during the next decade was not the cause of the senate's "reservations." the american senators did not seem to be worried about that aspect of the treaty. their only worry was to safeguard the united states from any responsibility in europe, and to protect their own traditional powers against an autocratic president. however right they may have been, it must at least be acknowledged by every broad-minded american that we in europe were put completely "into the cart" by this action, and had some excuse for annoyance. all this is now past history, and no doubt before this book is published many other things will have happened as a consequence of the events which followed so rapidly upon the peace of versailles, so that what i am now writing will read like historical reminiscence. but it will always remain a painful chapter, and it will only be by mutual forbearance and the most determined efforts of people of good will on both sides of the atlantic that the growth of a most lamentable misunderstanding between our two peoples in consequence of those unfortunate episodes will be prevented. another cause of popular discontent with the united states was the rather abrupt statement of mr. carter glass, secretary of the treasury, that the united states would not grant any more loans to europe so long as she failed to readjust her financial situation by necessary taxation, economy, and production. the general (and in my opinion unjustified) anger aroused by this statement was expressed by a cartoon in _punch_ called "another reservation." it was a picture of a very sinister-looking uncle sam turning his back upon a starving woman and child who appeal to his charity, and he says: "very sad case. but i'm afraid she ain't trying." mr. punch is a formidable person in england, and by his barbed wit may destroy any public man or writing man who lays himself open to ridicule, but i ventured to risk that by denouncing the cartoon as unjust and unfair in spirit and fact. i pointed out that since the beginning of the war the united states had shown an immense, untiring, and inexhaustible generosity toward the suffering peoples of europe, and reminded england how under mr. hoover's organization the american relief committee had fed the belgian and french populations behind the german lines, and how afterward they had poured food into poland, serbia, austria, and other starving countries. that challenge i made against mr. punch was supported by large numbers of english people who wrote to me expressing their agreement and their gratitude to america. they deplored the spirit of the cartoon and the evil nature of so many attacks in low-class journals of england against the united states, whose own gutter press was at the same time publishing most scurrilous abuse of us. but among the letters i received was one from an american lady which i will quote now, because it startled me at the time, and provides, in spite of its bitterness, some slight excuse for the criticism which was aroused in england at the time. if an american could feel like that, scourging her own people too much (as i think), it is more pardonable that english sentiment should have been a little ruffled by america's threat to abandon europe. i only wish with all my heart [she wrote] that the _punch_ cartoon is wholly undeserved, or that your kind "apologia" is wholly deserved. i have never been "too proud to fight," but a great deal too proud to wear laurels i haven't earned. personally, i think the drubbing we are getting is wholesome and likely to do good. we have been given praise _ad nauseam_, and, to be honest, you can never compete with us on that ground. we can praise ourselves in terms that would silence any competitors.... i wish, too, that i could believe that the "beggars from europe" had either their hats or their bags stuffed with dollars. i'm afraid you have spoken to the americans, not to the beggars. i was one myself. i went home in april, prouder of my country than i had ever been, jealous of its good repute, and painfully anxious that it should live up to its reputation. i fear i found that people were not only tired of generosity, but wholly indifferent to the impressions being so widely circulated in the press--that france had been guilty of every form of petty ingratitude, that the atrocities of great britain in ireland outdid the germans in belgium and france. a minority everywhere was struggling against the tide, with dignity, and the generosity i had so securely counted on from my own people. but the collections being made for the serbians, for instance, were despairingly small. belgian relief had been turned into serbian relief groups, and from new york to california i heard the same tale--and, alas, experienced it--people were tired of giving, tired of the war. in new york i was invited to speak before a well-known women's club--i was "a guest of honor." i accepted, and spoke for ten minutes, and a woman at a table near by begged me to take up an immediate contribution. i was not at all anxious to do so, for it seemed a very base advantage to take of a luncheon invitation, so i referred her to the president. a contribution was taken up by a small group of women, all fashionably dressed, with pearl or "near-pearl," and the result was exactly $ . . as there were between and women present in the ballroom, i was inexpressibly shocked, and sternly suggested that the president should announce the sum for which i should have to account, and her speech was mildly applauded. all through my trip i felt bewilderment. i had just come from belgium and france, and the contrast oppressed me. i had the saddest kind of disillusionment, relieved by the most beautiful instances of charity and unselfishness. even in regard to the relief of belgium too much stress is laid on our generosity and a false impression has gone abroad--an impression nothing can ever eradicate. the organization of the b. r. f. was american, but mr. hoover never failed to underline how much of the fund came from great britain and canada. in fact, the belgian women embroidered their touching little phrases of gratitude to the americans, as i myself saw, on _canadian_ flour sacks. during the first year or so the contributions of americans were wholly incommensurate with our wealth and prosperity, and a letter from gertrude atherton a year after the war scourged us for our indifference even then. mr. balfour's revelation that great britain had contributed £ , , toward the relief of austria, etc., made my heart go down still farther. i have tried to believe that my experience was due to something lacking in myself. people were so enchantingly kind, so ready to give me large and expensive lunches, dinners, teas--but they would not be induced to refrain from the lunches and contribute the cost of them toward my cause.... i hope you will pardon this long effusion. like most americans who have served abroad i feel we came in too late, we failed to stay on the ground to clear up afterward, and now we are indulging in the most wicked propaganda against our late allies--france as well as england. personally, i realize that if we had contributed twenty times as much i should still not feel we had done enough. if you were not so confirmed a friend of america, i could never write as i have done, but just because you reach such an enormous public, because your influence is so great, i am anxious that america should not be given undue praise--which she does not herself credit--and that the disastrous results of her policy (if we have one) should be printed clear for her to read and profit by. that is a sincere, painful, and beautiful letter, and i think it ought to be read in the united states, not because i indorse its charge against america's lack of generosity--i cannot do that--but because it exculpates england and france of unreasoning disappointment, and is also the cry of a generous american soul, moved by the sufferings of europe, and eager that her people should help more, and not less, in the reconstruction of the world. the english people did not take her view that the americans had not done enough or were tired of generosity. it must be admitted by those who followed our press that, apart from two gutter journals, there was a full recognition of what the united states had done, and continual reminders that no policy would be tolerated which did not have as its basis anglo-american friendship. upon quite another level of argument is the criticism of american psychology and political evolution expressed by various english writers upon their return from visits to the united states, and a fairly close acquaintance with the character of american democracy as it was revealed during the war, and afterward. the judgment of these writers does not affect public opinion, because it does not reach down to the masses. it is confined rather to the student type of mind, and probably has remained unnoticed by the average man and woman in the united states. it is, however, very interesting because it seeks to forecast the future of america as a world power and as a democracy. the chief charge leveled against the intellectual tendency of the united states may be summed up in one word, "intolerance." men like george bernard shaw, j. a. hobson, and h. w. massingham do not find in their study of the american temperament or in the american form of government the sense of liberty with which the people of the united states credit themselves, and with which all republican democracies are credited by the proletariat in european countries. they seem inclined to believe, indeed, that america has less liberty in the way of free opinion and free speech than the english under their hereditary monarchy, and that the spirit of the people is harshly intolerant of minorities and nonconforming individuals, or of any idea contrary to the general popular opinion of the times. some of these critics see in the "statue of liberty" in new york harbor a figure of mockery behind which is individualism enchained by an autocratic oligarchy and trampled underfoot by the intolerance of the masses. they produce in proof of this not only the position of an american president, with greater power over the legislature than any constitutional king, but the mass violence of the majority in its refusal to admit any difference of opinion with regard to war aims during the time of war fever, and the tyrannical action of the executive in its handling of labor disputes and industrial leaders, during and after the war. it is, i think, true that as soon as america entered the war there was no liberty of opinion allowed in the united states. there was no tolerance of "conscientious objectors" nor mercy toward people who from religious motives, or intellectual crankiness, were antagonistic to the use of armed might. people who did not subscribe to the red cross funds were marked down, i am told, dismissed from their posts, and socially ruined. many episodes of that kind were reported, and startled the advanced radicals in england who had regarded the united states as the land of liberty. americans may retort that we did not give gentle treatment to our own "conscientious objectors," and that is true. many of them were put into prison and roughly handled, but on the other hand there was a formal, though insincere, acknowledgment that even in time of war there should be liberty of conscience, and a clause to that effect was passed by parliament. in spite also of the severity of censorship, and the martial law that was enforced by the defense of the realm act, there was, i believe, a greater freedom of criticism allowed to the press than would have been tolerated by the united states. periodicals like the _nation_ and the _new statesman_, even newspapers like the _daily mail_ and the _morning post_, indulged in violent criticism of the conduct of the war, the methods of the war cabinet, the action and military policy of leaders like lord kitchener, and the failure of military campaigns in the dardanelles and other places. no breath of criticism against american leadership or generalship was admitted to the american press, and their war correspondents were censored with far greater severity than their english comrades, who were permitted to describe, very fully, reverses as well as successes in the fields of war. what, however, has startled the advanced wing of english political thought more than all that is the ruthless way in which the united states government has dealt with labor disputes and labor leaders since the war. the wholesale arrests and deportations of men accused of revolutionary propaganda seem to these sympathizers with revolutionary ideals as gross in their violation of liberty as the british government's coercion of ireland. these people believe that american democracy has failed in the essential principle which alone justifies democracy, a toleration of minorities of opinion and of the absolute liberty of the individual within the law. they say that even in england there is greater liberty, in spite of its mediæval structure. in hyde park on sunday morning one may hear speeches which would cause broken heads and long terms of imprisonment if uttered in new york. labor, they say, would rise in instant and general revolt if any of their men were treated with the tyranny which befalls labor leaders in the united states. to my mind a great deal of this criticism is due to a misconception of the meaning of democracy. in england it was a tradition of liberal thought that democracy meant not only the right of the people to govern themselves, but the right of the individual or of any body of men to express their disagreement with the policy of the state, or with the majority opinion, or with any idea which annoyed them in any way. but, as we have seen by recent history, democratic rule does not mean individual liberty. democracy is government by the majority of the people, and that majority will be less tolerant of dissent than autocracy itself, which can often afford to give greater liberty of expression to the minority because of its inherent strength. the russian soviet government, which professes to be the most democratic form of government in the world, is utterly intolerant of minorities. i suppose there is less individual liberty in russia than in any other country, because disagreement with the state opinion is looked upon as treachery to the majority rule. so in the united states, which is a real democracy, in spite of the power of capital, there is less toleration of eccentric notions than in england, especially when the majority of americans are overwhelmed by a general impulse of enthusiasm or passion, such as happened when they went into the war. the people of the minority are then regarded as enemies of the state, traitors to their fellow-citizens, and outlaws. they are crushed accordingly by the weight of mass opinion, which is ruthless and merciless, with more authority and power than the decree of a king or the law of an aristocratic form of government. although disagreeing to some extent with those who criticize the american sense of liberty, i do believe that there is a danger in the united states of an access of popular intolerance, and sudden gusts of popular passion, which may sweep the country and lead to grave trouble. being the greatest democracy in the world, it is subject to the weakness of democracy as well as endowed with its strength, and to my mind the essential weakness of democracy is due to the unsteadiness and feverishness of public opinion. when the impulse of public opinion happens to be right it is the most splendid and vital force in the world, and no obstacle can stand against it. the idealism of a people attains almost supernatural force. but if it happens to be wrong it may lead to national and world disaster. in countries like england public opinion is still controlled and checked by a system of heavy drag wheels, which is an intolerable nuisance when one wants to get moving. but that system is very useful when there are rocks ahead and the ship of state has to steer a careful course. our constitutional monarchy, our hereditary chamber composed of men who do not hold their office by popular vote, our traditional and old-fashioned school of diplomacy, our social castes dominated by those on top who are conservative and cautious because of their possessions and privileges, are abominably hindering to ardent souls who want quick progress, but they are also a national safeguard against wild men. the british system of government, and the social structure rising by a series of caste gradations to the topmost ranks, are capable of tremendous reforms and changes being made gradually, and without any violent convulsion or break with tradition. i am of opinion that this is not so in the united states, owing to the greater pressure of mass emotion. if, owing to the effects of war throughout the world, altering the economic conditions of life and the psychology of peoples, there is a demand for radical alteration in the conditions of labor within the united states, and for a different distribution of wealth (as there is bound to be), it is, in the opinion of many observers, almost certain that these changes will be effected after a period of greater violence in america than in england. the clash between capital and labor, they think, will be more direct and more ruthless in its methods of conflict on both sides. it will not be eased by the numerous differences of social class, shading off one into the other, which one finds in a less democratic country like mine, where the old aristocratic families and the country landowning families, below the aristocracy, are bound up traditionally with the sentiment of the agricultural population, and where the middle classes in the cities are sympathetic on the one hand with the just demands of the wage-earning crowd, and, on the other hand, by snobbishness, by romanticism, by intellectual association, and by financial ambitions with the governing, and moneyed, régime. there are students of life in the united states who forecast two possible ways of development in the future history of the american people. neither of them is pleasant to contemplate, and i hope that neither is true, but i think there is a shade of truth in them, and that they are sufficiently possible to be considered seriously as dangers ahead. the first vision of these minor prophets (and gloomy souls) is a social revolution in the united states on bolshevik lines, leading through civil strife between the forces of the wage-earning classes and the profit-holding classes to anarchy as fierce, as wild, and as bloody as that in russia during the reign of terror. they see fifth avenue swept by machine-gun fire, and its rich shops sacked, and some of its skyscrapers rising in monstrous bonfires to lick the sky with flames. they see cities like pittsburgh, detroit, and cleveland in the hands of revolutionary committees of workmen after wild scenes of pillage and mob passion. they see the rich daughters of millionaires stripped of their furs and their pearls and roughly handled by hordes of angry men, hungry after long strikes and lockouts, desperate because of a long and undecided warfare with the strong and organized powers of law and of capital. their vision is rather hazy about the outcome of this imaginary civil war, but of its immense, far-reaching anarchy they have no doubt, with the certainty that prophets have until the progress of history proves them to be false. let me say for myself that i do not pose as a prophet nor believe this particular prophecy in its lurid details. but i do believe that there may be considerable social strife in the united states for various reasons. one reason which stares one in the face is the immense, flaunting, and dangerous luxury of the wealthy classes in cities like new york. it is provocative and challenging to masses of wage-earners who find prices rising against them quicker than their wages rise, and who wish not only for a greater share of the proceeds of their labor, but also a larger control of the management and machinery of labor. the fight, if it comes, is just as much for control as for profit, and resistance on the part of capital will be fierce and ruthless on that point. american society--the high caste of millionaires and semi-millionaires, and demi-semi-millionaires--is perhaps rather careless in its display of wealth and in its open manifestations of luxury. the long, unending line of automobiles that go crawling down fifth avenue and rushing down riverside drive, on any evening of the year, revealing women all aglitter with diamonds, with priceless furs round their white shoulders, in gowns that have cost the year's income of a working family, has no parallel in any capital of europe. there is no such pageant of wealth in london or paris. in no capital is there such luxury as one finds in new york hotels, mansions, and ballrooms. the evidence of money is overwhelming and oppressive. the generosity of many of these wealthy people, their own simplicity, good humor, and charm, are not safeguards against the envy and the hatred of those who struggle hard for a living wage and for a security in life which is harder still to get. when i was in america i found a consciousness of this among the rich people, with some of whom i came in touch. they were afraid of the future. they saw trouble ahead, and they seemed anxious to build bridges between the ranks of labor and their own class. the wisest among them did not adopt the stiff-necked attitude of complete hostility to the demands of labor for a more equal share of profit and of governance. one or two men i met remembered the days when they were at the bottom of the ladder, and said, "those fellows are right.... i'm going half-way to meet them." if capital goes anything like half-way, there will be no bloody conflict in the united states. but there will be revolution, not less radical because not violent. that meeting half-way between capital and labor in the united states would be the greatest revolution the modern world has seen. that, then, is one of the ways in which english observers see the future of the united states. the other way they suggest would be a great calamity for the world. it is the way of militarism--a most grisly thought! it is argued by those who take this line of prophecy that democracy is no enemy of war. on the contrary, they say, a democracy like that of the united states, virile, easily moved to emotion, passionate, sure of its strength, jealous of its honor, and quick to resent any fancied insult, is more liable to catch the war fever than nations controlled by cautious diplomats and by hereditary rulers. it is generally believed now that the great war in europe which ravaged so many countries was not made by the peoples on either side, and that it did not happen until the rival powers on top desired it to happen and pressed the buttons and spoke the spell-words which called the armies to the colors. it is probable, and almost certain, that it would not have happened at all if the peoples had been left to themselves, if the decision of war and peace had been in their hands, and if their passions had not been artificially roused and educated. but that is no argument, some think, against the warlike character of strong democracies. the ancient greeks were a great democracy, but they were the most ardent warriors of their world, and fought for markets, sea supremacy, and racial prestige. so some people believe that the united states may adopt a philosophy of militarism challenging the sea-power of the british empire, by adding mexico to her dominions, and by capturing the strategic points of the world's trade routes. they see in the ease with which the united states adopted military service in the late war and the rapid, efficient way in which an immense army was raised and trained a menace to the future of the world, because what was done once to crush the enemy of france and england may be done again if france or england arouse the hostility of the american people. the intense self-confidence of the americans, their latent contempt of european peoples, their quickness to take affront at fancied slights worked up by an unscrupulous press, their consciousness of the military power that was organized but only partially used in the recent war, and their growing belief that they are a people destined to take and hold the leadership of the world, constitute, in the opinion of some nervous onlookers, a psychology which may lead the united states into tremendous and terrible adventures. i have heard it stated by many people not wholly insane that the next world war will be mainly a duel between the united states and the british empire. they are not wholly insane, the people who say these things over the dinner-table or in the club smoking-room, yet to my mind such opinions verge on insanity. it is of course always possible that any nation may lose all sense of reason and play the wild beast, as germany did. it is always possible that by some overwhelming popular passion any nation may be stricken with war fever. but of all nations in the world i think the people of the united states are least likely to behave in that way, especially after their experience in the european war. the men who went back were under no illusions as to the character of modern warfare. they hated it. they had seen its devilishness. they were convinced of its idiocy, and in every american home to which they returned were propagandists against war as an argument or as a romance. apart from that, it is almost certain that militarism of an aggressive kind is repugnant to the tradition and instinct of the american people. they have no use for "shining armor" and all the old shibboleths of war's pomp and pageantry which put a spell on european peoples. the military tradition based on the falsity of war's "glory" is not in their spirit or in their blood. they will fight for the safety of civilization, as it was threatened in , for the rescue of free peoples menaced by brutal destruction, and they will fight, as all brave people will fight, to safeguard their own women and children and liberty. but i do not believe that the american people will ever indulge in aggressive warfare for the sake of imperial ambitions or for world domination. their spirit of adventure finds scope in higher ideals, in the victories of science and commerce, in the organization of every-day life, in the triumph of industry, in the development of the natural sources of wealth which belong to their great country and their ardent individuality. they believe in peace, if we may judge by their history and tradition, and non-interference with the outside world. their hostility to the peace terms and to certain clauses in the league of nations was due to a deep-seated distrust of entanglements with foreign troubles, jealousies, and rivalries, and the spirit of the united states, so far from desiring "mandates" over great populations outside the frontiers of its own people, harked back to the old faith in a "splendid isolation" free from imperial responsibilities. the people were perhaps too cautious and too reserved. they risked the chance they had of reshaping the structure of human society to a higher level of common sense and liberty. they made "reservations" which caused the withdrawal of their representatives from the council-chamber of the allied nations. but that was due not merely, i think, to party politics or the passionate rivalry of statesmen. truly and instinctively, it was due to the desire of the american people to draw back to their own frontiers and to work out their own destiny in peace, neither interfering nor being interfered with, according to their traditional and popular policy. apart from individual theorists, of the "cranky" kind, the main body of intellectual opinion in england, as far as i know it, looks to the united states as the arbitrator of the world's destiny, and the leader of the world's democracies, on peaceful and idealistic lines. there is a conviction among many of us--not killed by the controversy over the peace treaty--that the spirit of the american people as a whole is guided by an innate common sense free from antiquated spell-words, facing the facts of life shrewdly and honestly, and leaning always to the side of popular liberty against all tyrannies of castes, dynasties, and intolerance. aloof from the historical enmities that still divide the nations of europe, yet not aloof in sympathy with the sufferings, the strivings, and the sentiment of those peoples, the united states is able to play the part of a reconciling power, in any league of nations, with a detached and disinterested judgment. it is above all because it is disinterested that europe has faith and trust in its sense of justice. it is not out for empire, for revenge, or for diplomatic vanity. its people are supporters of president wilson's ideal of "open covenants openly arrived at," and of the "self-determination of nations," however violently they challenge the authority by which their president pledged them to definite clauses in an unpopular contract. they are a friendly and not unfriendly folk in their instincts and in their methods. they respond quickly and generously to any appeal to honest sentiment, though they have no patience with hypocrisy. they are realists, and hate sham, pose, and falsehood. give them "a square deal" and they will be scrupulous to a high standard of business morality. because of the infusion of foreign blood in their democracy which has been slowly produced from the great melting-pot of nations, they are subject to all the sensibilities of the human race and not narrowly fixed to one racial idea or type of mind. the celt, the slav, the saxon, the teuton, the hebrew, and the latin strains are present in the subconsciousness of the american people, so that they are capable of an enormous range of sympathy with human nature in its struggle upward to the light. they are the new people of destiny in the world of progress, because after their early adventures of youth, their time of preparation, their immense turbulent growth, their forging of tools, and training of soul, they stand now in their full strength and maturity, powerful with the power of a great, free, confident people. to some extent, and i think in an increasing way, the old supremacy which europe had is passing westward. europe is stricken, tired, and poor. america is hearty, healthy, and rich. intellectually it is still boyish and young and raw. there is the wisdom as well as the sadness of old age in europe. we have more subtlety of brain, more delicate sense of art, a literature more expressive of the complicated emotions which belong to an old heritage of civilization, luxury, and philosophy. but i look for a golden age of literature and art in america which shall be like our elizabethan period, fresh and spring-like, and rich in vitality and promise. i am bound to believe that out of the fusion of races in america, and out of their present period of wealth and power, and out of this new awakening to the problems of life outside their own country, there will come great minds, and artists, and leaders of thought, surpassing any that have yet revealed themselves. all our reading of history points to that evolution. the flowering-time of america seems due to arrive, after its growing pains. be that as it may, it is clear, at least, that the destiny of the american people is now marked out for the great mission of leading the world to a new phase of civilization. by the wealth they have, and by their power for good or evil, they have a controlling influence in the reshaping of the world after its convulsions. they cannot escape from that power, even though they shrink from its responsibility. their weight thrown one way or the other will turn the scale of all the balance of the world's desires. people of destiny, they have the choice of arranging the fate of many peoples. by their action they may plunge the world into strife again or settle its peace. they may kill or cure. they may be reconcilers or destroyers. they may be kind or cruel. it is a terrific power for any people to hold. if i were a citizen of the united states i should be afraid--afraid lest my country should by passion, or by ignorance, or by sheer carelessness take the wrong way. i think some americans have that fear. i have met some who are anxious and distressed. but i think that the majority of americans do not realize the power that has come to them nor their new place in the world. they have a boisterous sense of importance and prestige, but rather as a young college man is aware of his lustiness and vitality without considering the duties and the dangers that have come to him with manhood. they are inclined to a false humility, saying: "we aren't our brothers' keepers, anyway. we needn't go fussing around. let's keep to our own job and let the other people settle their own affairs." but meanwhile the other people know that american policy, american decisions, the american attitude in world problems, will either make or mar them. it is essential for the safety of the world, and of civilization itself, that the united states should realize its responsibilities and fulfill the destiny that has come to it by the evolution of history. to those whom i call the people of destiny i humbly write the words: let the world have peace. vi americans in europe it is only during the war and afterward that european people have come to know anything in a personal way of the great democracy in the united states. before then america was judged by tourists who came to "do" europe in a few months or a few weeks. in france, especially, all of them were popularly supposed to be "millionaires," or, at least, exceedingly rich. many of them were, and in paris, to which they went in greatest numbers, they were preyed upon by hotel managers and shopkeepers, and were caricatured in french farces and french newspapers as the "_nouveaux riches_" of the world who could afford to buy all the luxury of life, but had no refinement of taste or delicacy of sentiment. there was an enormous ignorance of the education, civilization, and temperament of the great masses of people in the united states, and it was an absolute belief among the middle classes of europe that the "almighty dollar" was the god of america and that there was no other worship on that side of the atlantic. this opinion changed in a remarkable way during the war and before the united states had sent a single soldier to french soil. the cause of the change was mainly the immensely generous, and marvelously efficient, campaign of rescue for war-stricken and starving people by the american relief committee under the direction of mr. hoover. in february of i left the war zone for a little while on a mission to holland, to study the dutch methods of dealing with their enormous problem caused by the invasion of belgian refugees. into one little village across the scheldt , belgians had come in panic-stricken flight from antwerp, utterly destitute, and holland was choked with these starving families. but their plight was not so bad at that time as that of the millions of french and belgian inhabitants who had not escaped by quick flight from the advancing tide of war, but had been made civil prisoners behind the enemy lines. their rescue was more difficult because of the needs of the german army, which requisitioned the produce and the labor of the peasants and work-people, so that they were cut off from the means of life. the united states was quick to understand and to act, and in mr. hoover it had a man able to translate the generous emotion in the heart of a great people into practical action. i saw him in his offices at rotterdam, dictating his orders to his staff of clerks, and organizing a scheme of relief which spread its life-giving influence over great tracts of europe where war had passed. my conversation with him was brief, but long enough to let me see the masterful character, the irresistible energy, the cool, unemotional efficiency of this great business man whose brain and soul were in his job. it was in the arena of war that i and many others saw the result of american generosity. after the battles of the somme, when the germans fell back in a wide retreat under the pressure of the british army, many ruined villages fell into our hands, and among the ruins many french civilians. to this day i remember the thrill i had when in some of those bombarded places i saw the sign-boards of the american relief over wooden shanties where half-starved men and women came to get their weekly rations which had come across the sea and by some miracle, as it seemed to them, had arrived at their village close to the firing-lines. i went into those places, some of which had escaped from shell-fire, and picked up the tickets for flour and candles and the elementary necessities of life, and read the notices directing the people how to take their share of these supplies, and thanked god that somewhere in the world--away in the united states--the spirit of charity was strong to help the victims of the cruelty which was devastating europe. an immense gratitude for america was in the hearts of these french civilians. whatever causes of irritation and annoyance may have spoiled the fine flower of the enthusiasm with which france greeted the american armies when they first landed on her coast, and the admiration of the american people for france herself, it is certain, i think, that in those villages which were engirdled by the barbed wire of the hostile armies, and to which the american supplies came in days of dire distress, there will be a lasting reverence for the name of america, which was the fairy godmother of so many women and children. over and over again these women told me of their gratitude. "without the american relief," they said, "we should have starved to death." others said, "the only thing that saved us was the weekly distribution of the american supplies." "there has been no kindness in our fate," said one of them, "except the bounty of america." it is true that into mr. hoover's warehouses there flowed great stores of food from england, canada, france, and other countries, who gave generously, out of their own needs, for the sake of those who were in greater need, but the largest part of the work was america's, and hers was the honor of its organization. in the face of that noble effort, revealing the enormous pity of the united states for suffering people, and a careless expenditure of that "almighty dollar" which now the american people poured into this abyss of european distress, it was impossible for france or england to accuse the united states of selfishness or of callousness because she still held back from any declaration of war against our enemies. i honestly believe (though i shall not be believed in saying so) that the americans who came over to europe at this time, in the red cross or as volunteers, were more impatient of that delay of their country's purpose than public opinion in england. i met many american doctors, nurses, red cross volunteers, war correspondents, and business men, during that long time of waiting when president wilson was writing his series of "notes," and i could see how strained was their patience and how self-conscious and apologetic they were because their president used arguments instead of "direct action." one american friend of mine, with whom i often used to walk when streams of wounded tommies were a bloody commentary on the everlasting theme of war, used to defend wilson with a chivalrous devotion and wealth of argument. "give him time," he used to say. "he is working slowly but surely to a definite conviction, and when he has made up his mind that there is no alternative not all the devils of hell will budge him from his course of action. you english must be patient with him and with all of us." "but, my dear old man," i used to say, "we _are_ patient. it is you who are impatient. there is no need of all that defensive argument. england realizes the difficulty of president wilson and has a profound reverence for his ideals." but my friend used to shake his head sadly. "you are always guying us," he said. "even at the mess-table your young officers fling about the words 'too proud to fight!' it makes it very hard for an american among you." that was true. our young officers, and some of our old ones, liked to "pull the leg" of any american who sat at table with them. they made jocular remarks about president wilson as a complete letter-writer. that unfortunate remark, "too proud to fight," was too good to miss by young men with a careless sense of humor. it came in with devilish appropriateness on all sorts of occasions, as when a battery of ours fired off a consignment of american shells in which some failed to explode. "they're too proud to fight, sir," said a subaltern, addressing the major, and there was a roar of laughter which hurt an american war correspondent in english uniform. the english sense of humor remains of schoolboy character among any body of young men who delight in a little playful "ragging," and there is no doubt that some of us were not sufficiently aware how sensitive any american was at this time, and how a chance word spoken in jest would make his nerves jump. but i am sure that the main body of english opinion was not impatient with america before she entered the war, but, on the contrary, understood the difficulty of obtaining a unanimous spirit over so vast a territory in order to have the whole nation behind the president. indeed we exaggerated the differences of opinion in the united states and made a bogy of the alien population in the great "melting-pot." it seemed to many of us certain that if america declared war against germany there would be civil riots and rebellions on a serious scale among german-americans. that thought was always in our minds when we justified wilson's philosophical reluctance to draw the sword; that and a very general belief among english "intellectuals" that it would be well to have one great nation and democracy outside the arena of conflict, free from the war madness that had taken possession of europe, to act as arbitrator if no decision could be obtained in the battlefields. it is safe to say now that in spite of newspaper optimism, engineered by the propaganda departments, there were many competent observers in the army as well as in the country who were led to the belief, after the first eighteen months of strife, that the war would end in a deadlock and that its continuance would only lead to further years of mutual extermination. for that reason they looked to the american people, under the leadership of president wilson, as the only neutral power which could intervene to save the civilization of europe, not by military acts, but by a call back to sanity and conciliation. it was not until the downfall of russia and the approaching menace of an immense concentration of german divisions on the western front that france and england began to look across the atlantic with anxious eyes for military aid. our immense losses and the complete elimination of russia gave the germans a chance of striking us mortal blows before their own man-power was exhausted. the vast accession of power that would come to us if the united states mobilized her manhood and threw them into the scale was realized and coveted by our military leaders, but even after america's declaration of war the imagination of the rank and file in england and france was not profoundly stirred by a new hope of support. vaguely we heard of the tremendous whirlwind efforts "over there" to raise and equip armies, but there was hardly a man that i met who really believed in his soul that he would ever hear the tramp of american battalions up our old roads of war or see the stars and stripes fluttering over headquarters in france. our men knew that at the quickest it would take a year to raise and train an american army, and in the thought of another year of war seemed fantastic, incredible, impossible. we believed--many of us--that before that year had passed the endurance of european armies and peoples would be at an end, and that in some way or other, by german defeat or general exhaustion, peace would come. to american people that may seem like weakness of soul. in a way it was weakness, but justified by the superhuman strain which our men had endured so long. week after week, month after month, year after year, they had gone into the fields of massacre, and strong battalions had come out with frightful losses, to be made up again by new drafts and to be reduced again after another spell in the trenches or a few hours "over the top." it is true they destroyed an equal number of germans, but germany seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of "gun-fodder." only extreme optimists, and generally those who were most ignorant, prophesied an absolute smash of the enemy's defensive power. by the end of , when the british alone had lost , men in the fields of flanders, the thought that another year still might pass before the end of the war seemed too horrible to entertain by men who were actually in the peril and misery of this conflict. not even then did it seem likely that the americans could be in before the finish. it was only when the startling menace of a new german offensive, in a last and mighty effort, threatened our weakened lines that england became impatient at last for american legions and sent out a call across the atlantic, "come quickly or you will come too late!" america was ready. in a year she had raised the greatest army in the world by a natural energy which was terrific in its concentration and enthusiasm. we knew that if she could get those men across the atlantic, in spite of submarines, the germans would be broken to bits, unless they could break us first by a series of rapid blows which would outpace the coming of the american troops. we did not believe that possible. even when the enemy broke through the british lines in march of , with one hundred and fourteen divisions to our forty-eight, we did not believe they would destroy our armies or force us to the coast. facts showed that our belief was right, though it was a touch-and-go chance. we held our lines and england sent out her last reserves of youth-- , of them--to fill up our gaps. the germans were stopped at a dead halt, exhausted after the immensity of their effort and by prodigious losses. behind our lines, and behind the french front, there came now a tide of "new boys." america was in france, and the doom of the german war machine was at hand. it would be foolish of me to recapitulate the history of the american campaign. the people of the united states know what their men did in valor and in achievement, and europe has not forgotten their heroism. here i will rather describe as far as i may the impressions created in my own mind by the first sight of those american soldiers and by those i met on the battle-front. the very first "bunch" of "yanks" (as we called them) that i met in the field were non-combatants who suddenly found themselves in a tight corner. they belonged to some sections of engineers who were working on light railways in the neighborhood of two villages called gouzeaucourt and fins, in the cambrai district. on the morning of november , , i went up very early with the idea of going through gouzeaucourt to the front line, three miles ahead, which we had just organized after byng's surprise victory of november th, when we broke through the hindenburg lines with squadrons of tanks, and rounded up thousands of prisoners and many guns. as i went through fins toward gouzeaucourt i was aware of some kind of trouble. the men of some labor battalions were tramping back in a strange, disorganized way, and a number of field batteries were falling back. "what's up?" i asked, and a young officer answered me. "the germans have made a surprise attack and broken through." "where are they?" i asked again, startled by this news. he pointed up the road. "just there.... inside gouzeaucourt." the situation was extremely unpleasant. the enemy had brought up some field-guns and was scattering his fire. it was in a field close by that i met the american engineers. "i guess this is not in the contract," said one of them, grinning. "all the same, if i find any britisher to lend me a rifle i'll get a knock at those fellers who spoiled my breakfast." one man stooped for a petrol tin and put it on his head as a shell came howling over us. "i guess this makes me look more like you other guys," he said, with a glance at our steel helmets. one tall, loose-limbed, swarthy fellow, who looked like a mexican, but came from texas, as he told me, was spoiling for a fight, and with many strange oaths declared his intention of going into gouzeaucourt with the first batch of english who would go that way with him. they were the grenadier guards who came up to the counter-attack, munching apples, as i remember, when they marched toward the enemy. some of the american engineers joined them and with borrowed rifles helped to clear out the enemy's machine-gun nests and recapture the ruins of the village. i met some of them the following day again, and they told me it was a "darned good scrap." they were "darned" good men, hard, tough, humorous, and full of individual character. the general type of young americans was not, however, like these hard-grained men of middle age who had led an adventurous life before they came to see what war was like in europe. we watched them curiously as the first battalions came streaming along the old roads of france and picardy, and we were conscious that they were different from all the men and all the races behind our battle-front. physically they were splendid--those boys of the twenty-seventh and seventy-seventh divisions whom we saw first of all. they were taller than any of our regiments, apart from the guards, and they had a fine, easy swing of body as they came marching along. they were better dressed than our tommies, whose rough khaki was rather shapeless. there was a dandy cut about this american uniform and the cloth was of good quality, so that, arriving fresh, they looked wonderfully spruce and neat compared with our weatherworn, battle-battered lads who had been fighting through some hard and dreadful days. but those accidental differences did not matter. what was more interesting was the physiognomy and character of these young men who, by a strange chapter of history, had come across the wide atlantic to prove the mettle of their race and the power of their nation in this world struggle. it came to me, and to many other englishmen, as a revelation that there was an american type, distinctive, clearly marked off from our own, utterly different from the canadians, australians, and new-zealanders, as strongly racial as the french or italians. in whatever uniform those men had been marching one would have known them as americans. looking down a marching column, we saw that it was something in the set of the eyes, in the character of the cheek-bones, and in the facial expression that made them distinctive. they had a look of independence and self-reliance, and it was as visible as the sun that these were men with a sort of national pride and personal pride, conscious that behind them was a civilization and a power which would give them victory though they in the vanguard might die. those words express feebly and foolishly the first impression that came to us when the "yanks" came marching up the roads of war, but that in a broad way was the truth of what we thought. i remember one officer of ours summed up these ideas as he stood on the edge of the road, watching one of those battalions passing with their transport. "what we are seeing," he said, "is the greatest thing that has happened in history since the norman conquest. it is the arrival of america in europe. those boys are coming to fulfill the destiny of a people which for three hundred years has been preparing, building, growing, for the time when it will dominate the world. those young soldiers will make many mistakes. they will be mown down in their first attacks. they will throw away their lives recklessly, because of their freshness and ignorance. but behind them are endless waves of other men of their own breed and type. germany will be destroyed because her man-power is already exhausted, and she cannot resist the weight which america will now throw against her. but by this victory, which will leave all the old allies weakened and spent and licking their wounds, america will be the greatest power in the world, and will hold the destiny of mankind in her grasp. those boys slogging through the dust are like the roman legionaries. with them marches the fate of the world, of which they are masters." "a good thing or a bad?" i asked my friend. he made a circle in the dust with his trench stick, and stared into the center of it. "who can tell?" he said, presently. "was it good or bad that the romans conquered europe, or that afterward they fell before the barbarians? was it good or bad that william and his normans conquered england? there is no good or bad in history; there is only change, building-up, and disintegrating, new cycles of energy, decay, and rebirth. after this war, which those lads will help to win, the power will pass to the west, and europe will fall into the second class." those were high views. thinking less in prophecy, getting into touch with the actual men, i was struck by the exceptionally high level of individual intelligence among the rank and file, and by the general gravity among them. the american private soldier seemed to me less repressed by discipline than our men. he had more original points of view, expressed himself with more independence of thought, and had a greater sense of his own personal value and dignity. he was immensely ignorant of european life and conditions, and our tommies were superior to him in that respect. nor had he their easy way of comradeship with french and flemish peasants, their whimsical philosophy of life which enabled them to make a joke in the foulest places and conditions. they were harder, less sympathetic; in a way, i think, less imaginative and spiritual than english or french. they had no tolerance with foreign habits or people. after their first look round they had very little use for france or the french. the language difficulty balked them at the outset and they did not trouble much to cope with it, though i remember some of the boys sitting under the walls of french villages with small children who read out words in conversation-books and taught them to pronounce. they had a fierce theoretical hatred of the germans, who, they believed, were bad men, in the real old-fashioned style of devil incarnate, so that it was up to every american soldier to kill germans in large numbers. it was noticeable that after the armistice, when the american troops were billeted among german civilians, that hatred wore off very quickly, as it did with the english tommies, human nature being stronger than war passion. before they had been in the fighting-line a week these "new boys" had no illusions left about the romance or the adventure of modern war. they hated shell-fire as all soldiers hate it, they loathed the filth of the trenches, and--they were very homesick. i remember one private soldier who had fought in the american-spanish war and in the philippines--an old "tough." "three weeks of this war," he said, "is equal to three years of all others." but he and "the pups," as he called his younger comrades, were going to see it through, and they were animated by the same ideals with which the french and british had gone into the war. "this is a fight for civilization," said one man, and another said, "there'll be no liberty in the world if the germans win." it is natural that many of the boys were full of "buck" before they saw the real thing, and were rather scornful of the british and french troops, who had been such a long time "doing nothing," as they said. "you've been kidding yourselves that you know how to fight," said one of them to an english tommy. "we've come to show you!" that was boys' talk, like our "ragging," and was not meant seriously. on the contrary, the companies of the twenty-seventh division who went into action with the australians at hamel near amiens--the first time that american troops were in action in france--were filled with admiration for the stolid way in which those veterans played cards in their dugouts before going over the top at dawn. the american boys were tense and strained, knowing that in a few hours they would be facing death. but when the time came they went away like greyhounds, and were reckless of fire. "they'll go far when they've learned a bit," said the australians. they had to learn the usual lessons in the same old way, by mistakes, by tragedy, by lack of care. they overcrowded their forward trenches so that they suffered more heavily than they should have done under enemy shell-fire. they advanced in the open against machine-gun nests and were mown down. they went ahead too fast without "mopping up" the ground behind them, and on the day they helped to break the hindenburg line they did not clear out the german dugouts, and the germans came out with their machine-guns and started fighting in the rear, so that when the australians came up in support they had to capture the ground again, and lost many men before they could get in touch with the americans ahead. for some time the american transport system broke down, so that the fighting troops did not always obtain their supplies on the field of battle, and there were other errors, inevitable in an army starting a great campaign with inexperienced staff officers. what never failed was the gallantry of the troops, which reached heights of desperate valor in the forest of the argonne. the officers were tremendously in earnest. what struck us most was their gravity. our officers took their responsibility lightly, laughed and joked more readily, and had a boyish, whimsical sense of humor. it seemed to us, perhaps quite wrongly, that the american officers were not, on the whole, of a merry disposition. they were frank and hearty, but as they walked about their billeting area behind the lines some of them looked rather solemn and grim, and our young men were nervous of them. i think that was simply a matter of facial expression plus a pair of spectacles, for on closer acquaintance one found, invariably, that an american officer was a human soul, utterly devoid of swank, simple, straight, and delightfully courteous. their modesty was at times almost painful. they were over-anxious to avoid hurting the feelings of french or british by any appearance of self-conceit. "we don't know a darned thing about this war," said many of them, so that the phrase became familiar to us. "we have come here to learn." well, they learned pretty quickly and there were some things they did not need teaching--courage, endurance, pride of manhood, pride of race. they were not going to let down the stars and stripes, though all hell was against them. they won a new glory for the star-spangled banner, and it was the weight they threw in and the valor that went with it which, with the french and british armies attacking all together, under the directing genius of foch, helped to break the german war machine and to achieve decisive and supreme victory. it would have been better, i think, for america and for all of us, especially for france, if quickly after victory the american troops had gone back again. that was impossible because of holding the rhine and enforcing the terms of peace. but during the long time that great bodies of american troops remained in france after the day of armistice, there was occasion for the bigness of ideals and achievements to be whittled down by the little nagging annoyances of a rather purposeless existence. boredom, immense and long enduring, took possession of the american army in france. the boys wanted to go home, now that the job was done. they wanted the victory march down fifth avenue, not the lounging life in little french villages, nor even the hectic gayeties of leave in paris. old french châteaux used as temporary headquarters suffered from successive waves of occupation by officers who proceeded to modernize their surroundings by plugging old panels for electric light and fixing up telephone-wires through painted ceilings, to the horror of the concierges and the scandal of the neighborhood. in the restaurants and hotels and cinema halls the americans trooped in, took possession of all the tables, shouted at the waiters who did not seem to know their jobs, and expressed strong views in loud voices (understood by french civilians who had learned english in the war) about the miserable quality of french food and the darned arrogance of french officers. it was all natural and inevitable--but unfortunate. the french were too quick to forget after armistice that they owed a good deal to american troops for the complete defeat of germany. the americans were not quite careful in remembering the susceptibilities of a sensitive people. so there were disillusion and irritation on both sides, in a broad and general way, allowing for many individual friendships between french and americans, many charming memories which will remain on both sides of the atlantic when the war is old in history. americans who overcame the language difficulty by learning enough to exchange views with the french inhabitants--and there were many--were able to overlook the minor, petty things which divided the two races, and were charmed with the intelligence, spirit, and humor of the french bourgeoisie and educated classes. they got the best out of france, and were enchanted with french cathedrals, mediæval towns, picture-galleries, and life. paris caught hold of them, as it takes hold of all men and women who know something of its history and learn to know and love its people. thousands of american officers came to know paris intimately, from montmartre to montparnasse, became familiar and welcome friends in little restaurants tucked away in the side-streets, where they exchanged badinage with the proprietor and the waitresses, and felt the spirit of paris creep into their bones and souls. along the grands boulevards these young men from america watched the pageant of life pass by as they sat outside the cafés, studying the little high-heeled ladies who passed by with a side-glance at these young men, marveling at the strange medley of uniforms, as french, english, australian, new zealand, canadian, italian, portuguese, and african soldiers went by, realizing the meaning of "europe" with all its races and rivalries and national traditions, and getting to know the inside of european politics by conversations with men who spoke with expert knowledge about this conglomeration of peoples. those young men who are now back in the united states have already made a difference to their country's intellectual outlook. they have taught america to look out upon the world with wider vision and to abandon the old isolation of american thought which was apt to ignore the rest of the human family and remain self-contained and aloof from a world policy. during the months that followed the armistice many americans of high intellectual standing came to europe, attracted by the great drama and business of the peace conference, and to prepare the way for the reconstruction of civilization after the years of conflict. they were statesmen, bankers, lawyers, writers, and financiers. i met some of them in paris, rome, vienna, london, and other cities of europe. they were the onlookers and the critics of the new conflict that had followed the old, the conflict of ideas, policy, and passion which raged outside the quiet chamber at versailles, where president wilson, lloyd george, clemenceau, and a few less important mortals were redrawing the frontiers of europe, asia, and other parts of the globe. from the first, many of these men were frank in private conversation about the hostility that was growing up in the united states against president wilson, and the distrust of the american people in a league of nations which might involve the united states in european entanglements alien to her interests and without the consent of her people. at the same time, and at that time when there still seemed to be a chance of arriving at a new compact between nations which would eliminate the necessity of world-wide war, and of washing out the blood-stains of strife by new springs of human tolerance and international common sense, these american visitors did not throw down the general scheme for a league of nations, and looked to the peace conference to put forward a treaty which might at least embody the general aspirations of stricken peoples. gradually these onlookers sickened with disgust. they sickened at the interminable delays in the work of the conference, and the imperialistic ambitions of the allied powers, and the greedy rivalries of the little nations, at all the falsity of lip-service to high principles while hatred, vengeance, injustice, and sordid interests were in the spirit of that document which might have been the new charter of rights for the peoples of the world. they saw that clemenceau's vision of peace was limited to the immediate degradation and ruin of the central powers, and that he did not care for safeguarding the future or for giving liberty and justice and a chance of economic life to democracies liberated from military serfdom. they saw that lloyd george was shifting his ground continually as pressure was brought to bear on him now from one side of the cabinet and now from the other, so that his policy was a strange compound of extreme imperialism and democratic idealism, with the imperialist ambition winning most of the time. they saw that wilson was being hoodwinked by the subtlety of diplomatists who played on his vanity, and paid homage to his ideals, and made a prologue of his principles to a drama of injustice. our american visitors were perplexed and distressed. they had desired to be heart and soul with the allies in the settlement of peace. they still cherished the ideals which had uplifted them in the early days of the war. they were resolved that the united states should not play a selfish part in the settlement or profit by the distress of nations who had been hard hit. but gradually they became disillusioned with the statecraft of europe, and disappointed with the low level of intelligence and morality reflected in the newspaper press of europe, which still wrote in the old strain of "propaganda" when insincerity and manufactured falsehood took the place of truth. they hardened visibly, i think, against the view that the united states should be pledged by wilson to the political and economic schemes of the big powers in europe, which, far from healing the wounds of the world, kept them raw and bleeding, while arranging, not deliberately, but very certainly, for future strife into which america would be dragged against her will. england and france failed to see the american point of view, which seems to me reasonable and sound. the generous way in which the united states came to the rescue of starving peoples in the early days of the war was not deserted by her when the armistice and the peace that followed revealed the frightful distress in poland, hungary, and austria. while the doom of these people was being pronounced by statesmen not naturally cruel, but nevertheless sentencing great populations to starvation, and while the blockade was still in force, american representatives of a higher law than that of vengeance went into these ruined countries and organized relief on a great scale for suffering childhood and despairing womanhood. i saw the work of the american relief committee in vienna and remember it as one of the noblest achievements i have seen. all ancient enmity, all demands for punishment or reparation, went down before the agony of austria. vienna, a city of two and a half million souls, once the capital of a great empire, for centuries a rendezvous of gayety and genius, the greatest school of medicine in the world, the birthplace and home of many great musicians, and the dwelling-place of a happy, careless, and luxurious people, was now delivered over to beggary and lingering death. with all its provinces amputated so that it was cut off from its old natural resources of food and raw material, it had no means of livelihood and no hope. austrian paper money had fallen away to mere trash. the krone tumbled down to the value of a cent, and it needed many kronen to buy any article of life-- , for a suit of clothes, for a pair of boots, for the smallest piece of meat in any restaurant. middle-class people lived almost exclusively on cabbage soup, with now and then potatoes. a young doctor i met had a salary of kronen a week. when i asked him how he lived he said: "i don't. this is not life." the situation goes into a nutshell when i say--as an actual fact--that the combined salaries of the austrian cabinet amounted, according to the rate of exchange, to the wages of three old women who look after the lavatories in lucerne. many people, once rich, lived on bundles of paper money which they flung away as leaves are scattered from autumn trees. they were the lucky ones, though ruin stared them in the eyes. by smuggling, which became an open and acknowledged system, they could afford to pay the ever-mounting prices of the peasants for at least enough food to keep themselves alive. but the working-classes, who did not work because factories were closed for lack of coal and raw material, just starved, keeping the flame of life aflicker by a thin and miserable diet, until the weakest died. eighty-three per cent. of the children had rickets in an advanced stage. children of three and four had never sat up or walked. thousands of children were just living skeletons, with gaunt cheek-bones and bloodless lips. they padded after one in the street, like little old monkeys, holding out their claws for alms. the american relief committee got to work in the early months of . they brought truck-loads of food to vienna, established distributing centers and feeding centers in old viennese palaces, and when i was there in the early autumn they were giving , children a meal a day. i went round these places with a young american naval officer--lieutenant stockton--one of the leading organizers of relief, and i remember him as one of the best types of manhood i have ever met up and down the roads of life. his soul was in his job, but there was nothing sloppy about his sentiment or his system. he was a master of organization and details and had established the machinery of relief, with austrian ladies doing the drudgery with splendid devotion (as he told me, and as i saw), so that it was in perfect working order. as a picture of childhood receiving rescue from the agony of hunger, i remember nothing so moving nor so tragic as one of those scenes when i saw a thousand children sitting down to the meal that came from america. here before them in that bowl of soup was life and warmth. in their eyes there was the light of ecstasy, the spiritual gratitude of children for the joy that had come after pain. for a little while they had been reprieved from the hunger-death. american agents of the y. m. c. a., nurses, members of american missions and philanthropic societies, penetrated europe in far and strange places. i met a crowd of them on the "entente train" from vienna to paris, and in various italian towns. they were all people with shrewd, observant eyes, a quiet sense of humor, and a repugnance to be "fudged off" from actual facts by any humbug of theorists. they studied the economic conditions of the countries through which they traveled, studied poverty by personal visits to slum areas and working-class homes, and did not put on colored spectacles to stare at the life in which they found themselves. the american girls were as frank and courageous as the men in their facing of naked truth, and they had no false prudery or sentimental shrinking from the spectacle of pain and misery. their greatest drawback was an ignorance of foreign languages, which prevented many of them from getting more than superficial views of national psychology, and i think many of them suffered from the defect of admirable qualities by a humorous contempt of foreign habits and ideas. that did not make them popular with people whom they were not directly helping. their hearty laughter, their bunching together in groups in which conversation was apt to become noisy, and their cheerful disregard of conventionality in places where europeans were on their "best behavior" had an irritating effect at times upon foreign observers, who said: "those americans have not learned good manners. they are the new barbarians in europe." english people, traveling as tourists before the war, were accused of the same lack of respect and courtesy, and were unpopular for the same reason. toward the end of and in the beginning of i came into touch with a number of americans who came to europe on business enterprises or to visit the battlefields. in private conversation they did not disguise their sense of distress that there were strained relations between the public opinion of england and america. several of them asked me if it were true that england was as hostile to america as the newspapers tried to make out. by way of answer i asked them whether america were as hostile to us as the newspapers asked us to believe. they admitted at once that this was a just and illuminating reply, because the intelligent section of american society--people of decent education and good will--was far from being hostile to england, but on the contrary believed firmly that the safety and happiness of the world depended a good deal upon anglo-american friendship. it was true that the average citizen of the united states, even if he were uninfluenced by irish-american propaganda, believed that england was treating ireland stupidly and unjustly--to which i answered that the majority of english people agreed with that view, though realizing the difficulty of satisfying ireland by any measure short of absolute independence and separation. it was also true, they told me, that there was a general suspicion in the united states that england had made a big grab in the peace terms for imperial aggrandizement, masked under the high-sounding name of "mandate" for the protection of african and oriental states. my reply to that, not as a political argument, but as simple sincerity, was the necessity of some control of such states, if the power of the turk were to be abolished from his old strongholds, and a claim for the british tradition as an administrator of native races; but i added another statement which my american friends found it hard to believe, though it is the absolute truth, as nine englishmen out of ten will affirm. so far from desiring an extension of our empire, the vast and overwhelming majority of british people, not only in england, but in our dominions beyond the seas, are aghast at the new responsibilities which we have undertaken, and would relinquish many of them, especially in asia, with a sense of profound relief. we have been saddled with new and perilous burdens by the ambition of certain statesmen who have earned the bitter animosity of the great body of the british people entirely out of sympathy with their imperialistic ideals. i have not encountered a single american in europe who has not expressed, with what i believe is absolute sincerity, a friendly and affectionate regard for england, whose people and whose ways of life they like, and whose language, literature, and ideals belong to our united civilization. they have not found in england any of that hostility which they were told to expect, apart from a few blackguardly articles in low-class journals. on the contrary, they have found a friendly folk, grateful for their help in the war, full of admiration for american methods, and welcoming them to our little old island. they have gone back to the united states with the conviction, which i share, with all my soul, that commercial rivalry, political differences, and minor irritations, inevitable between two progressive peoples of strong character, must never be allowed to divide our two nations, who fundamentally belong to the same type of civilization and to the same code of principles. most of the so-called hostility between us is the mere froth of foul-mouthed men on both sides, and the rest of it is due to the ignorance of the masses. we must get to know each other, as the americans in europe have learned to know us and to like us, and as all of us who have crossed the atlantic the other way about have learned to know and like the american people. for the sake of the future of the world and all the hopes of humanity we must get to the heart of each other and establish a lasting and unbreakable friendship. it is only folly that will prevent us. the end [illustration: fifth avenue, new york] the future in america a search after realities by h.g. wells author of "anticipations" "the war of the worlds" "thirty strange stories" etc. illustrated [illustration] harper & brothers publishers new york and london copyright, , by harper & brothers. _all rights reserved._ published november, . contents chap. page i. the prophetic habit of mind ii. material progress iii. new york iv. growth invincible v. the economic process vi. some aspects of american wealth vii. certain workers viii. corruption ix. the immigrant x. state-blindness xi. two studies in disappointment xii. the tragedy of color xiii. the mind of a modern state xiv. culture xv. at washington the envoy illustrations fifth avenue, new york _frontispiece_ entrance to brooklyn bridge _facing p._ state street, chicago " western farmers still own their farms " plump and pretty pupils of extravagance " new york's crowded, littered east side " breaker boys at a pennsylvania colliery " interior of a new york office building " where immigrant children are americanized " harvard hall and the johnson gate, cambridge " a bit of princeton university " in the congressional library " the future in america the future in america chapter i the prophetic habit of mind (_at a writing-desk in sandgate_) i the question "are you a polygamist?" "are you an anarchist?" the questions seem impertinent. they are part of a long paper of interrogations i must answer satisfactorily if i am to be regarded as a desirable alien to enter the united states of america. i want very much to pass that great statue of liberty illuminating the world (from a central position in new york harbor), in order to see things in its light, to talk to certain people, to appreciate certain atmospheres, and so i resist the provocation to answer impertinently. i do not even volunteer that i do not smoke and am a total abstainer; on which points it would seem the states as a whole still keep an open mind. i am full of curiosity about america, i am possessed by a problem i feel i cannot adequately discuss even with myself except over there, and i must go even at the price of coming to a decision upon the theoretically open questions these two inquiries raise. my problem i know will seem ridiculous and monstrous when i give it in all its stark disproportions--attacked by me with my equipment it will call up an image of an elephant assailed by an ant who has not even mastered jiu-jitsu--but at any rate i've come to it in a natural sort of way and it is one i must, for my own peace of mind, make some kind of attempt upon, even if at last it means no more than the ant crawling in an exploratory way hither and thither over that vast unconscious carcass and finally getting down and going away. that may be rather good for the ant, and the experience may be of interest to other ants, however infinitesimal from the point of view of the elephant, the final value of his investigation may be. and this tremendous problem in my case and now in this--simply; what is going to happen to the united states of america in the next thirty years or so? i do not know if the reader has ever happened upon any books or writings of mine before, but if, what is highly probable, he has not, he may be curious to know how it is that any human being should be running about in so colossally an interrogative state of mind. (for even the present inquiry is by no means my maximum limit). and the explanation is to be found a little in a mental idiosyncrasy perhaps, but much more in the development of a special way of thinking, of a habit of mind. that habit of mind may be indicated by a proposition that, with a fine air of discovery, i threw out some years ago, in a happy ignorance that i had been anticipated by no less a person than heraclitus. "there is no being but becoming," that was what appeared to my unscholarly mind to be almost triumphantly new. i have since then informed myself more fully about heraclitus, there are moments now when i more than half suspect that all the thinking i shall ever do will simply serve to illuminate my understanding of him, but at any rate that apothegm of his does exactly convey the intellectual attitude into which i fall. i am curiously not interested in things, and curiously interested in the consequences of things. i wouldn't for the world go to see the united states for what they are--if i had sound reason for supposing that the entire western hemisphere was to be destroyed next christmas, i should not, i think, be among the multitude that would rush for one last look at that great spectacle,--from which it follows naturally that i don't propose to see niagara. i should much more probably turn an inquiring visage eastward, with the west so certainly provided for. i have come to be, i am afraid, even a little insensitive to fine immediate things through this anticipatory habit. this habit of mind confronts and perplexes my sense of things that simply _are_, with my brooding preoccupation with how they will shape presently, what they will lead to, what seed they will sow and how they will wear. at times, i can assure the reader, this quality approaches otherworldliness, in its constant reference to an all-important here-after. there are times indeed when it makes life seem so transparent and flimsy, seem so dissolving, so passing on to an equally transitory series of consequences, that the enhanced sense of instability becomes restlessness and distress; but on the other hand nothing that exists, nothing whatever, remains altogether vulgar or dull and dead or hopeless in its light. but the interest is shifted. the pomp and splendor of established order, the braying triumphs, ceremonies, consummations, one sees these glittering shows for what they are--through their threadbare grandeur shine the little significant things that will make the future.... and now that i am associating myself with great names, let me discover that i find this characteristic turn of mind of mine, not only in heraclitus, the most fragmentary of philosophers, but for one fine passage at any rate, in mr. henry james, the least fragmentary of novelists. in his recent impressions of america i find him apostrophizing the great mansions of fifth avenue, in words quite after my heart;-- "it's all very well," he writes, "for you to look as if, since you've had no past, you're going in, as the next best thing, for a magnificent compensatory future. what are you going to make your future _of_, for all your airs, we want to know? what elements of a future, as futures have gone in the great world, are at all assured to you?" i had already when i read that, figured myself as addressing if not these particular last triumphs of the fine transatlantic art of architecture, then at least america in general in some such words. it is not unpleasant to be anticipated by the chief master of one's craft, it is indeed, when one reflects upon his peculiar intimacy with this problem, enormously reassuring, and so i have very gladly annexed his phrasing and put it here to honor and adorn and in a manner to explain my own enterprise. i have already studied some of these fine buildings through the mediation of an illustrated magazine--they appear solid, they appear wonderful and well done to the highest pitch--and before many days now i shall, i hope, reconstruct that particular moment, stand--the latest admirer from england--regarding these portentous magnificences, from the same sidewalk--will they call it?--as my illustrious predecessor, and with his question ringing in my mind all the louder for their proximity, and the universally acknowledged invigoration of the american atmosphere. "what are you going to make your future _of_, for all your airs?" and then i suppose i shall return to crane my neck at the flat-iron building or the _times_ sky-scraper, and ask all that too, an identical question. ii philosophical certain phases in the development of these prophetic exercises one may perhaps be permitted to trace. to begin with, i remember that to me in my boyhood speculation about the future was a monstrous joke. like most people of my generation i was launched into life with millennial assumptions. this present sort of thing, i believed, was going on for a time, interesting personally perhaps but as a whole inconsecutive, and then--it might be in my lifetime or a little after it--there would be trumpets and shoutings and celestial phenomena, a battle of armageddon and the judgment. as i saw it, it was to be a strictly protestant and individualistic judgment, each soul upon its personal merits. to talk about the man of the year million was of course in the face of this great conviction, a whimsical play of fancy. the year million was just as impossible, just as gayly nonsensical as fairy-land.... i was a student of biology before i realized that this, my finite and conclusive end, at least in the material and chronological form, had somehow vanished from the scheme of things. in the place of it had come a blackness and a vagueness about the endless vista of years ahead, that was tremendous--that terrified. that is a phase in which lots of educated people remain to this day. "all this scheme of things, life, force, destiny which began not six thousand years, mark you, but an infinity ago, that has developed out of such strange weird shapes and incredible first intentions, out of gaseous nebulæ, carboniferous swamps, saurian giantry and arboreal apes, is by the same tokens to continue, developing--into what?" that was the overwhelming riddle that came to me, with that realization of an end averted, that has come now to most of our world. the phase that followed the first helpless stare of the mind was a wild effort to express one's sudden apprehension of unlimited possibility. one made fantastic exaggerations, fantastic inversions of all recognized things. anything of this sort might come, anything of any sort. the books about the future that followed the first stimulus of the world's realization of the implications of darwinian science, have all something of the monstrous experimental imaginings of children. i myself, in my microcosmic way, duplicated the times. almost the first thing i ever wrote--it survives in an altered form as one of a bookful of essays,--was of this type; "the man of the year million," was presented as a sort of pantomime head and a shrivelled body, and years after that, the _time machine_, my first published book, ran in the same vein. at that point, at a brief astonished stare down the vistas of time-to-come, at something between wonder and amazed, incredulous, defeated laughter, most people, i think, stop. but those who are doomed to the prophetic habit of mind go on. the next phase, the third phase, is to shorten the range of the outlook, to attempt something a little more proximate than the final destiny of man. one becomes more systematic, one sets to work to trace the great changes of the last century or so, and one produces these in a straight line and according to the rule of three. if the maximum velocity of land travel in was twelve miles an hour and in (let us say) sixty miles an hour, then one concludes that in a.d. it will be three hundred miles an hour. if the population of america in --but i refrain from this second instance. in that fashion one got out a sort of gigantesque caricature of the existing world, everything swollen to vast proportions and massive beyond measure. in my case that phase produced a book, _when the sleeper wakes_, in which, i am told, by competent new-yorkers, that i, starting with london, an unbiassed mind, this rule-of-three method and my otherwise unaided imagination, produced something more like chicago than any other place wherein righteous men are likely to be found. that i shall verify in due course, but my present point is merely that to write such a book is to discover how thoroughly wrong this all too obvious method of enlarging the present is. one goes on therefore--if one is to succumb altogether to the prophetic habit--to a really "scientific" attack upon the future. the "scientific" phase is not final, but it is far more abundantly fruitful than its predecessors. one attempts a rude wide analysis of contemporary history, one seeks to clear and detach operating causes and to work them out, and so, combining this necessary set of consequences with that, to achieve a synthetic forecast in terms just as broad and general and vague as the causes considered are few. i made, it happens, an experiment in this scientific sort of prophecy in a book called _anticipations_, and i gave an altogether excessive exposition and defence of it, i went altogether too far in this direction, in a lecture to the royal institution, "the discovery of the future," that survives in odd corners as a pamphlet, and is to be found, like a scrap of old newspaper in the roof gutter of a museum, in _nature_ (vol. lxv., p. ) and in the smithsonian report (for ). within certain limits, however, i still believe this scientific method is sound. it gives sound results in many cases, results at any rate as sound as those one gets from the "laws" of political economy; one can claim it really does effect a sort of prophecy on the material side of life. for example, it was quite obvious about that invention and enterprise were very busy with the means of locomotion, and one could deduce from that certain practically inevitable consequences in the distribution of urban populations. with easier, quicker means of getting about there were endless reasons, hygienic, social, economic, why people should move from the town centres towards their peripheries, and very few why they should not. the towns one inferred therefore, would get slacker, more diffused, the countryside more urban. from that, from the spatial widening of personal interests that ensued, one could infer certain changes in the spirits of local politics, and so one went on to a number of fairly valid adumbrations. then again starting from the practical supersession in the long run of all unskilled labor by machinery one can work out with a pretty fair certainty many coming social developments, and the broad trend of one group of influences at least from the moral attitude of the mass of common people. in industry, in domestic life again, one foresees a steady development of complex appliances, demanding, and indeed in an epoch of frequently changing methods _forcing_, a flexible understanding, versatility of effort, a universal rising standard of education. so too a study of military methods and apparatus convinces one of the necessary transfer of power in the coming century from the ignorant and enthusiastic masses who made the revolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and won napoleon his wars, to any more deliberate, more intelligent and more disciplined class that may possess an organized purpose. but where will one find that class? there comes a question that goes outside science, that takes one at once into a field beyond the range of the "scientific" method altogether. so long as one adopts the assumptions of the old political economist and assumes men without idiosyncrasy, without prejudices, without, as people say, wills of their own, so long as one imagines a perfectly acquiescent humanity that will always in the long run under pressure liquefy and stream along the line of least resistance to its own material advantage, the business of prophecy is easy. but from the first i felt distrust for that facility in prophesying, i perceived that always there lurked something, an incalculable opposition to these mechanically conceived forces, in law, in usage and prejudice, in the poiëtic power of exceptional individual men. i discovered for myself over again, the inseparable nature of the two functions of the prophet. in my _anticipations_, for example, i had intended simply to work out and foretell, and before i had finished i was in a fine full blast of exhortation.... that by an easy transition brought me to the last stage in the life history of the prophetic mind, as it is at present known to me. one comes out on the other side of the "scientific" method, into the large temperance, the valiant inconclusiveness, the released creativeness of philosophy. much may be foretold as certain, much more as possible, but the last decisions and the greatest decisions, lie in the hearts and wills of unique incalculable men. with them we have to deal as our ultimate reality in all these matters, and our methods have to be not "scientific" at all for all the greater issues, the humanly important issues, but critical, literary, even if you will--artistic. here insight is of more account than induction and the perception of fine tones than the counting of heads. science deals with necessity and necessity is here but the firm ground on which our freedom goes. one passes from affairs of predestination to affairs of free will. this discovery spread at once beyond the field of prophesying. the end, the aim, the test of science, as a model man understands the word, is foretelling by means of "laws," and my error in attempting a complete "scientific" forecast of human affairs arose in too careless an assent to the ideas about me, and from accepting uncritically such claims as that history should be "scientific," and that economics and sociology (for example) are "sciences." directly one gauges the fuller implications of that uniqueness of individuals darwin's work has so permanently illuminated, one passes beyond that. the ripened prophet realizes schopenhauer--as indeed i find professor münsterberg saying. "the deepest sense of human affairs is reached," he writes, "when we consider them not as appearances but as decisions." there one has the same thing coming to meet one from the psychological side.... but my present business isn't to go into this shadowy, metaphysical foundation world on which our thinking rests, but to the brightly lit overworld of america. this philosophical excursion is set here just to prepare the reader quite frankly for speculations and to disabuse his mind of the idea that in writing of the future in america i'm going to write of houses a hundred stories high and flying-machines in warfare and things like that. i am not going to america to work a pretentious horoscope, to discover a destiny, but to find out what i can of what must needs make that destiny,--a great nation's will. iii the will of america the material factors in a nation's future are subordinate factors, they present advantages, such as the easy access of the english to coal and the sea, or disadvantages, such as the ice-bound seaboard of the russians, but these are the circumstances and not necessarily the rulers of its fate. the essential factor in the destiny of a nation, as of a man and of mankind, lies in the form of its will and in the quality and quantity of its will. the drama of a nation's future, as of a man's, lies in this conflict of its will with what would else be "scientifically" predictable, materially inevitable. if the man, if the nation was an automaton fitted with good average motives, so and so, one could say exactly, would be done. it's just where the thing isn't automatic that our present interest comes in. i might perhaps reverse the order of the three aspects of will i have named, for manifestly where the quantity of will is small, it matters nothing what the form or quality. the man or the people that wills feebly is the sport of every circumstance, and there if anywhere the scientific method holds truest or even altogether true. do geographical positions or mineral resources make for riches? then such a people will grow insecurely and disastrously rich. is an abundant prolific life at a low level indicated? they will pullulate and suffer. if circumstances make for a choice between comfort and reproduction, your feeble people will dwindle and pass; if war, if conquest tempt them then they will turn from all preoccupations and follow the drums. little things provoke their unstable equilibrium, to hostility, to forgiveness.... and be it noted that the quantity of will in a nation is not necessarily determined by adding up the wills of all its people. i am told, and i am disposed to believe it, that the americans of the united states are a people of great individual force of will, the clear strong faces of many young americans, something almost roman in the faces of their statesmen and politicians, a distinctive quality i detect in such americans as i have met, a quality of sharply cut determination even though it be only about details and secondary things, that one must rouse one's self to meet, inclines me to give a provisional credit to that, but how far does all this possible will-force aggregate to a great national purpose?--what algebraically does it add up to when this and that have cancelled each other? that may be a different thing altogether. and next to this net quantity of will a nation or people may possess, come the questions of its quality, its flexibility, its consciousness and intellectuality. a nation may be full of will and yet inflexibly and disastrously stupid in the expression of that will. there was probably more will-power, mere haughty and determined self-assertion in the young bull that charged the railway engine than in several regiments of men, but it was after all a low quality of will with no method but a violent and injudicious directness, and in the end it was suicidal and futile. there again is the substance for ramifying enquiries. how subtle, how collected and patient, how far capable of a long plan, is this american nation? suppose it has a will so powerful and with such resources that whatever simple end may be attained by rushing upon it is america's for the asking, there still remains the far more important question of the ends that are not obvious, that are intricate and complex and not to be won by booms and cataclysms of effort. an englishman comes to think that most of the permanent and precious things for which a nation's effort goes are like that, and here too i have an open mind and unsatisfied curiosities. and lastly there is the form of the nation's purpose. i have been reading what i can find about that in books for some time, and now i want to cross over the atlantic, more particularly for that, to question more or less openly certain americans, not only men and women, but the mute expressive presences of house and appliance, of statue, flag and public building, and the large collective visages of crowds, what it is all up to, what it thinks it is all after, how far it means to escape or improve upon its purely material destinies? i want over there to find whatever consciousness or vague consciousness of a common purpose there may be, what is their vision, their american utopia, how much will there is shaping to attain it, how much capacity goes with the will--what, in short, there is in america, over and above the mere mechanical consequences of scattering multitudes of energetic europeans athwart a vast healthy, productive and practically empty continent in the temperate zone. there you have the terms of reference of an enquiry, that is i admit (as mr. morgan richards the eminent advertisement agent would say), "mammoth in character." the american reader may very reasonably inquire at this point why an englishman does not begin with the future of his own country. the answer is that this particular one has done so, and that in many ways he has found his intimacy and proximity a disadvantage. one knows too much of the things that seem to matter and that ultimately don't, one is full of misleading individual instances intensely seen, one can't see the wood for the trees. one comes to america at last, not only with the idea of seeing america, but with something more than an incidental hope of getting one's own england there in the distance and as a whole, for the first time in one's life. and the problem of america, from this side anyhow, has an air of being simpler. for all the philippine adventure her future still seems to lie on the whole compactly in one continent, and not as ours is, dispersed round and about the habitable globe, strangely entangled with india, with japan, with africa and with the great antagonism the germans force upon us at our doors. moreover one cannot look ten years ahead in england, without glancing across the atlantic. "there they are," we say to one another, "those americans! they speak our language, read our books, give us books, share our mind. what we think still goes into their heads in a measure, and their thoughts run through our brains. what will they be up to?" our future is extraordinarily bound up in america's and in a sense dependent upon it. it is not that we dream very much of political reunions of anglo saxondom and the like. so long as we british retain our wide and accidental sprawl of empire about the earth we cannot expect or desire the americans to share our stresses and entanglements. our empire has its own adventurous and perilous outlook. but our civilization is a different thing from our empire, a thing that reaches out further into the future, that will be going on changed beyond recognition. because of our common language, of our common traditions, americans are a part of our community, are becoming indeed the larger part of our community of thought and feeling and outlook--in a sense far more intimate than any link we have with hindoo or copt or cingalese. a common englishman has an almost pathetic pride and sense of proprietorship in the states; he is fatally ready to fall in with the idea that two nations that share their past, that still, a little restively, share one language, may even contrive to share an infinitely more interesting future. even if he does not chance to be an american now, his grandson may be. america is his inheritance, his reserved accumulating investment. in that sense indeed america belongs to the whole western world; all europe owns her promise, but to the englishman the sense of participation is intense. "_we_ did it," he will tell of the most american of achievements, of the settlement of the middle west for example, and this is so far justifiable that numberless men, myself included, are englishmen, australian, new-zealanders, canadians, instead of being americans, by the merest accidents of life. my father still possesses the stout oak box he had had made to emigrate withal, everything was arranged that would have got me and my brothers born across the ocean, and only the coincidence of a business opportunity and an illness of my mother's, arrested that. it was so near a thing as that with me, which prevents my blood from boiling with patriotic indignation instead of patriotic solicitude at the frequent sight of red-coats as i see them from my study window going to and fro to shorncliffe camp. well i learn from professor münsterberg how vain my sense of proprietorship is, but still this much of it obstinately remains, that i will at any rate _look_ at the american future. by the accidents that delayed that box it comes about that if i want to see what america is up to, i have among other things to buy a baedeker and a steamer ticket and fill up the inquiring blanks in this remarkable document before me, the long string of questions that begins:-- "are you a polygamist?" "are you an anarchist?" here i gather is one little indication of the great will i am going to study. it would seem that the united states of america regard anarchy and polygamy with aversion, regard indeed anarchists and polygamists as creatures unfit to mingle with the already very various eighty million of citizens who constitute their sovereign powers, and on the other hand hold these creatures so inflexibly honorable as certainly to tell these damning truths about themselves in this matter.... it's a little odd. one has a second or so of doubt about the quality of that particular manifestation of will. chapter ii material progress (_on the "carmania" going americanward_) i american certitudes when one talks to an american of his national purpose he seems a little at a loss; if one speaks of his national destiny, he responds with alacrity. i make this generalization on the usual narrow foundations, but so the impression comes to me. until this present generation, indeed until within a couple of decades, it is not very evident that americans did envisage any national purpose at all, except in so far as there was a certain solicitude not to be cheated out of an assured destiny. a sort of optimistic fatalism possessed them. they had, and mostly it seems they still have, a tremendous sense of sustained and assured growth, and it is not altogether untrue that one is told--i have been told--such things as that "america is a great country, sir," that its future is gigantic and that it is already (and going to be more and more so) the greatest country on earth. i am not the sort of englishman who questions that. i do so regard that much as obvious and true that it seems to me even a little undignified, as well as a little overbearing, for americans to insist upon it so; i try to go on as soon as possible to the question just how my interlocutor _shapes_ that gigantic future and what that world predominance is finally to do for us in england and all about the world. so far, i must insist, i haven't found anything like an idea. i have looked for it in books, in papers, in speeches and now i am going to look for it in america. at the most i have found vague imaginings that correspond to that first or monstrous stage in the scheme of prophetic development i sketched in my opening. there is often no more than a volley of rhetorical blank-cartridge. so empty is it of all but sound that i have usually been constrained by civility from going on to a third enquiry;-- "and what are you, sir, doing in particular, to assist and enrich this magnificent and quite indefinable destiny of which you so evidently feel yourself a part?"... that seems to be really no unjust rendering of the conscious element of the american outlook as one finds it, for example, in these nice-looking and pleasant-mannered fellow-passengers upon the _carmania_ upon whom i fasten with leading questions and experimental remarks. one exception i discover--a pleasant new york clubman who has doubts of this and that. the discipline and sense of purpose in germany has laid hold upon him. he seems to be, in contrast with his fellow-countrymen, almost pessimistically aware that the american ship of state is after all a mortal ship and liable to leakages. there are certain problems and dangers he seems to think that may delay, perhaps even prevent, an undamaged arrival in that predestined port, that port too resplendent for the eye to rest upon; a chinese peril, he thinks has not been finally dealt with, "race suicide" is not arrested for all that it is scolded in a most valiant and virile manner, and there are adverse possibilities in the immigrant, in the black, the socialist, against which he sees no guarantee. he sees huge danger in the development and organization of the new finance and no clear promise of a remedy. he finds the closest parallel between the american republic and rome before the coming of imperialism. but these other americans have no share in his pessimisms. they may confess to as much as he does in the way of dangers, admit there are occasions for calking, a need of stopping quite a number of possibilities if the american idea is to make its triumphant entry at last into that port of blinding accomplishment, but, apart from a few necessary preventive proposals, i do not perceive any extensive sense of anything whatever to be done, anything to be shaped and thought out and made in the sense of a national determination to a designed and specified end. ii a symbol of progress there are, one must admit, tremendous justifications for the belief in a sort of automatic ascent of american things to unprecedented magnificences, an ascent so automatic that indeed one needn't bother in the slightest to keep the whole thing going. for example, consider this, last year's last-word in ocean travel in which i am crossing, the _carmania_ with its unparalleled steadfastness, its racing, tireless great turbines, its vast population of souls! it has on the whole a tremendous effect of having come by fate and its own forces. one forgets that any one planned it, much of it indeed has so much the quality of moving, as the planets move, in the very nature of things. you go aft and see the wake tailing away across the blue ridges, you go forward and see the cleft water, lift protestingly, roll back in an indignant crest, own itself beaten and go pouring by in great foaming waves on either hand, you see nothing, you hear nothing of the toiling engines, the reeking stokers, the effort and the stress below; you beat west and west, as the sun does and it might seem with nearly the same independence of any living man's help or opposition. equally so does it seem this great, gleaming, confident thing of power and metal came inevitably out of the past and will lead on to still more shining, still swifter and securer monsters in the future. one sees in the perspective of history, first the little cockle-shells of columbus, the comings and goings of the precarious tudor adventurers, the slow uncertain shipping of colonial days. says sir george trevelyan in the opening of his _american revolution_, that then--it is still not a century and a half ago!-- "a man bound for new york, as he sent his luggage on board at bristol, would willingly have compounded for a voyage lasting as many weeks as it now lasts days.... adams, during the height of the war, hurrying to france in the finest frigate congress could place at his disposal ... could make not better speed than five and forty days between boston and bordeaux. lord carlisle ... was six weeks between port and port; tossed by gales which inflicted on his brother commissioners agonies such as he forbore to make a matter of joke even to george selwyn.... how humbler individuals fared.... they would be kept waiting weeks on the wrong side of the water for a full complement of passengers and weeks more for a fair wind, and then beating across in a badly found tub with a cargo of millstones and old iron rolling about below, they thought themselves lucky if they came into harbor a month after their private store of provisions had run out and carrying a budget of news as stale as the ship's provisions." even in the time of dickens things were by no measure more than half-way better. i have with me to enhance my comfort by this aided retrospect, his _american notes_. his crossing lasted eighteen days and his boat was that "far-famed american steamer," the _britannia_ (the first of the long succession of cunarders, of which this _carmania_ is the latest); his return took fifty days, and was a jovial home-coming under sail. it's the journey out gives us our contrast. he had the "state-room" of the period and very unhappy he was in it, as he testifies in a characteristically mounting passage. "that this state-room had been specially engaged for 'charles dickens, esquire, and lady,' was rendered sufficiently clear even to my scared intellect by a very small manuscript, announcing the fact, which was pinned on a very flat quilt, covering a very thin mattress, spread like a surgical plaster on a most inaccessible shelf. but that this was the state-room, concerning which charles dickens, esquire, and lady, had held daily and nightly conferences for at least four months preceding; that this could by any possibility be that small snug chamber of the imagination, which charles dickens, esquire, with the spirit of prophecy strong upon him, had always foretold would contain at least one little sofa, and which his lady, with a modest and yet most magnificent sense of its limited dimensions, had from the first opined would not hold more than two enormous portmanteaus in some odd corner out of sight (portmanteaus which could now no more be got in at the door, not to say stowed away, than a giraffe could be persuaded or forced into a flower-pot): that this utterly impracticable, thoroughly preposterous box, had the remotest reference to, or connection with, those chaste and pretty bowers, sketched in a masterly hand, in the highly varnished, lithographic plan, hanging up in the agent's counting-house in the city of london: that this room of state, in short, could be anything but a pleasant fiction and cheerful jest of the captain's, invented and put in practice for the better relish and enjoyment of the real state-room presently to be disclosed: these were truths which i really could not bring my mind at all to bear upon or comprehend." so he precludes his two weeks and a half of vile weather in this paddle boat of the middle ages (she carried a "formidable" multitude of no less than eighty-six saloon passengers) and goes on to describe such experiences as this; "about midnight we shipped a sea, which forced its way through the skylights, burst open the doors above, and came raging and roaring down into the ladies' cabin, to the unspeakable consternation of my wife and a little scotch lady.... they, and the handmaid before mentioned, being in such ecstacies of fear that i scarcely knew what to do with them, i naturally bethought myself of some restorative or comfortable cordial; and nothing better occurring to me, at the moment, than hot brandy-and-water, i procured a tumblerful without delay. it being impossible to stand or sit without holding on, they were all heaped together in one corner of a long sofa--a fixture extending entirely across the cabin--where they clung to each other in momentary expectation of being drowned. when i approached this place with my specific, and was about to administer it with many consolatory expressions, to the nearest sufferer, what was my dismay to see them all roll slowly down to the other end! and when i staggered to that end, and held out the glass once more, how immensely baffled were my good intentions by the ship giving another lurch, and their rolling back again! i suppose i dodged them up and down this sofa, for at least a quarter of an hour, without reaching them once; and by the time i did catch them, the brandy-and-water was diminished, by constant spilling, to a teaspoonful. to complete the group, it is necessary to recognize in this disconcerted dodger, an individual very pale from sea-sickness, who had shaved his beard and brushed his hair last at liverpool; and whose only articles of dress (linen not included) were a pair of dreadnought trousers; a blue jacket, formerly admired upon the thames at richmond; no stockings; and one slipper." it gives one a momentary sense of superiority to the great master to read that. one surveys one's immediate surroundings and compares them with _his_. one says almost patronizingly: "poor old dickens, you know, really did have too awful a time!" the waves are high now, and getting higher, dark-blue waves foam-crested; the waves haven't altered--except relatively--but one isn't even sea-sick. at the most there are squeamish moments for the weaker brethren. one looks down on these long white-crested undulations thirty feet or so of rise and fall, as we look down the side of a sky-scraper into a tumult in the street. we displace thirty thousand tons of water instead of twelve hundred, we can carry first and second class passengers, a crew of , and emigrants below.... we're a city rather than a ship, our funnels go up over the height of any reasonable church spire, and you need walk the main-deck from end to end and back only four times to do a mile. any one who has been to london and seen trafalgar square will get our dimensions perfectly, when he realizes that we should only squeeze into that finest site in europe, diagonally, dwarfing the national gallery, st. martin's church, hotels and every other building there out of existence, our funnels towering five feet higher than nelson on his column. as one looks down on it all from the boat-deck one has a social microcosm, we could set up as a small modern country and renew civilization even if the rest of the world was destroyed. we've the plutocracy up here, there is a middle class on the second-class deck and forward a proletariat--the _proles_ much in evidence--complete. it's possible to go slumming aboard.... we have our daily paper, too, printed aboard, and all the latest news by marconigram.... never was anything of this sort before, never. caligula's shipping it is true (unless it was constantine's) did, as mr. cecil torr testifies, hold a world record until the nineteenth century and he quotes pliny for thirteen hundred tons--outdoing the _britannia_--and moschion for cabins and baths and covered vine-shaded walks and plants in pots. but from onward, we have broken away into a new scale for life. this _carmania_ isn't the largest ship nor the finest, nor is it to be the last. greater ships are to follow and greater. the scale of size, the scale of power, the speed and dimensions of things about us alter remorselessly--to some limit we cannot at present descry. iii is progress inevitable? it is the development of such things as this, it is this dramatically abbreviated perspective from those pre-reformation caravels to the larger, larger, larger of the present vessels, one must blame for one's illusions. one is led unawares to believe that this something called progress is a natural and necessary and secular process, going on without the definite will of man, carrying us on quite independently of us; one is led unawares to forget that it is after all from the historical point of view only a sudden universal jolting forward in history, an affair of two centuries at most, a process for the continuance of which we have no sort of guarantee. most western europeans have this delusion of automatic progress in things badly enough, but with americans it seems to be almost fundamental. it is their theory of the cosmos and they no more think of inquiring into the sustaining causes of the progressive movement than they would into the character of the stokers hidden away from us in this great thing somewhere--the officers alone know where. i am happy to find this blind confidence very well expressed for example in an illustrated magazine article by mr. edgar saltus, "new york from the flat-iron," that a friend has put in my hand to prepare me for the wonders to come. mr. saltus writes with an eloquent joy of his vision of broadway below, broadway that is now "barring trade-routes, the largest commercial stretch on this planet." so late as dickens's visit it was scavenged by roving untended herds of gaunt, brown, black-blotched pigs. he writes of lower fifth avenue and upper fifth avenue, of madison square and its tower, of sky-scrapers and sky-scrapers and sky-scrapers round and about the horizon. (i am to have a tremendous view of them to-morrow as we steam up from the narrows.) and thus mr. saltus proceeds,-- "as you lean and gaze from the toppest floors on houses below, which from those floors seem huts, it may occur to you that precisely as these huts were once regarded as supreme achievements, so, one of these days, from other and higher floors, the flat-iron may seem a hut itself. evolution has not halted. undiscernibly but indefatigably, always it is progressing. its final term is not existing buildings, nor in existing man. if humanity sprang from gorillas, from humanity gods shall proceed." the rule of three in excelsis! "the story of olympus is merely a tale of what might have been. that which might have been may yet come to pass. even now could the old divinities, hushed forevermore, awake, they would be perplexed enough to see how mortals have exceeded them.... in fifth avenue inns they could get fairer fare than ambrosia, and behold women beside whom venus herself would look provincial and juno a frump. the spectacle of electricity tamed and domesticated would surprise them not a little, the elevated quite as much, the flat-iron still more. at sight of the latter they would recall the titans with whom once they warred, and sink to their sun-red seas outfaced. "in this same measure we have succeeded in exceeding them, so will posterity surpass what we have done. evolution may be slow, it achieved an unrecognized advance when it devised buildings such as this. it is demonstrable that small rooms breed small thoughts. it will be demonstrable that, as buildings ascend, so do ideas. it is mental progress that sky-scrapers engender. from these parturitions gods may really proceed--beings, that is, who, could we remain long enough to see them, would regard us as we regard the apes...." mr. saltus writes, i think, with a very typical american accent. most americans think like that and all of them i fancy feel like it. just in that spirit a later-empire roman might have written apropos the gigantic new basilica of constantine the great (who was also, one recalls, a record-breaker in ship-building) and have compared it with the straitened proportions of cæsar's forum and the meagre relics of republican rome. so too (_absit omen_) he might have swelled into prophecy and sounded the true modern note. one hears that modern note everywhere nowadays where print spreads, but from america with fewer undertones than anywhere. even i find it, ringing clear, as a thing beyond disputing, as a thing as self-evident as sunrise again and again in the expressed thought of mr. henry james. but you know this progress isn't guaranteed. we have all indeed been carried away completely by the up-rush of it all. to me now this _carmania_ seems to typify the whole thing. what matter it if there are moments when one reflects on the mysterious smallness and it would seem the ungrowing quality of the human content of it all? we are, after all, astonishingly like flies on a machine that has got loose. no matter. those people on the main-deck are the oddest crowd, strange oriental-looking figures with astrakhan caps, hook-noses, shifty eyes, and indisputably dirty habits, bold-eyed, red-capped, expectorating women, quaint and amazingly dirty children; tartars there are too, and cossacks, queer wraps, queer head-dresses, a sort of greasy picturesqueness over them all. they use the handkerchief solely as a head covering. their deck is disgusting with fragments of food, with egg-shells they haven't had the decency to throw over-board. collectively they have--an atmosphere. they're going where we're going, wherever that is. what matters it? what matters it, too, if these people about me in the artistic apartment talk nothing but trivialities derived from the _daily bulletin_, think nothing but trivialities, are, except in the capacity of paying passengers, the most ineffectual gathering of human beings conceivable? what matters it that there is no connection, no understanding whatever between them and that large and ominous crowd a plank or so and a yard or so under our feet? or between themselves for the matter of that? what matters it if nobody seems to be struck by the fact that we are all, the three thousand two hundred of us so extraordinarily got together into this tremendous machine, and that not only does nobody inquire what it is has got us together in this astonishing fashion and why, but that nobody seems to feel that we are together in any sort of way at all? one looks up at the smoke-pouring funnels and back at the foaming wake. it will be all right. aren't we driving ahead westward at a pace of four hundred and fifty miles a day? and twenty or thirty thousand other souls, mixed and stratified, on great steamers ahead of us, or behind, are driving westward too. that there's no collective mind apparent in it at all, worth speaking about is so much the better. that only shows its destiny, its progress as inevitable as gravitation. i could almost believe it, as i sit quietly writing here by a softly shaded light in this elegantly appointed drawing-room, as steady as though i was in my native habitat on dry land instead of hurrying almost fearfully, at twenty knots an hour, over a tumbling empty desert of blue waves under a windy sky. but, only a little while ago, i was out forward alone, looking at that. everything was still except for the remote throbbing of the engines and the nearly effaced sound of a man, singing in a strange tongue, that came from the third-class gangway far below. the sky was clear, save for a few black streamers of clouds, orion hung very light and large above the waters, and a great new moon, still visibly holding its dead predecessor in its crescent, sank near him. between the sparse great stars were deep blue spaces, unfathomed distances. out there i had been reminded of space and time. out there the ship was just a hastening ephemeral fire-fly that had chanced to happen across the eternal tumult of the winds and sea. chapter iii new york (_in a room on the ninth floor in the sky-scraper hotel new york_) i first impressions my first impressions of new york are enormously to enhance the effect of this progress, this material progress, that is to say, as something inevitable and inhuman, as a blindly furious energy of growth that must go on. against the broad and level gray contours of liverpool one found the ocean liner portentously tall, but here one steams into the middle of a town that dwarfs the ocean liner. the sky-scrapers that are the new-yorker's perpetual boast and pride rise up to greet one as one comes through the narrows into the upper bay, stand out, in a clustering group of tall irregular crenellations, the strangest crown that ever a city wore. they have an effect of immense incompleteness; each one seems to await some needed terminal,--to be, by virtue of its woolly jets of steam, still as it were in process of eruption. one thinks of st. peter's great blue dome, finished and done as one saw it from a vine-shaded wine-booth above the milvian bridge, one thinks of the sudden ascendency of st. paul's dark grace, as it soars out over any one who comes up by the thames towards it. these are efforts that have accomplished their ends, and even paris illuminated under the tall stem of the eiffel tower looked completed and defined. but new york's achievement is a threatening promise, growth going on under a pressure that increases, and amidst a hungry uproar of effort. one gets a measure of the quality of this force of mechanical, of inhuman, growth as one marks the great statue of liberty on our larboard, which is meant to dominate and fails absolutely to dominate the scene. it gets to three hundred feet about, by standing on a pedestal of a hundred and fifty; and the uplifted torch, seen against the sky, suggests an arm straining upward, straining in hopeless competition with the fierce commercial altitudes ahead. poor liberating lady of the american ideal! one passes her and forgets. happy returning natives greet the great pillars of business by name, the st. paul building, the world, the manhattan tower; the english new-comer notes the clear emphasis of the detail, the freedom from smoke and atmospheric mystery that new york gains from burning anthracite, the jetting white steam clouds that emphasize that freedom. across the broad harbor plies an unfamiliar traffic of grotesque broad ferry-boats, black with people, glutted to the lips with vans and carts, each hooting and yelping its own distinctive note, and there is a wild hurrying up and down and to and fro of piping and bellowing tugs and barges; and a great floating platform, bearing a railway train, gets athwart our course as we ascend and evokes megatherial bellowings. everything is moving at a great speed, and whistling and howling, it seems, and presently far ahead we make out our own pier, black with expectant people, and set up our own distinctive whoop, and with the help of half a dozen furiously noisy tugs are finally lugged and butted into dock. the tugs converse by yells and whistles, it is an affair of short-tempered mechanical monsters, amidst which one watches for one's opportunity to get ashore. noise and human hurry and a vastness of means and collective result, rather than any vastness of achievement, is the pervading quality of new york. the great thing is the mechanical thing, the unintentional thing which is speeding up all these people, driving them in headlong hurry this way and that, exhorting them by the voice of every car conductor to "step lively," aggregating them into shoving and elbowing masses, making them stand clinging to straps, jerking them up elevator shafts and pouring them on to the ferry-boats. but this accidental great thing is at times a very great thing. much more impressive than the sky-scrapers to my mind is the large brooklyn suspension-bridge. i have never troubled to ask who built that; its greatness is not in its design, but in the quality of necessity one perceives in its inanimate immensity. it _tells_, as one goes under it up the east river, but it is far more impressive to the stranger to come upon it by glimpses, wandering down to it through the ill-paved van-infested streets from chatham square. one sees parts of cyclopean stone arches, one gets suggestive glimpses through the jungle growth of business now of the back, now of the flanks, of the monster; then, as one comes out on the river, one discovers far up in one's sky the long sweep of the bridge itself, foreshortened and with a maximum of perspective effect; the streams of pedestrians and the long line of carts and vans, quaintly microscopic against the blue, the creeping progress of the little cars on the lower edge of the long chain of netting; all these things dwindling indistinguishably before brooklyn is reached. thence, if it is late afternoon, one may walk back to city hall park and encounter and experience the convergent stream of clerks and workers making for the bridge, mark it grow denser and denser, until at last they come near choking even the broad approaches of the giant duct, until the congested multitudes jostle and fight for a way. they arrive marching afoot by every street in endless procession; crammed trolley-cars disgorge them; the subway pours them out.... the individuals count for nothing, they are clerks and stenographers, shop-men, shop-girls, workers of innumerable types, black-coated men, hat-and-blouse girls, shabby and cheaply clad persons, such as one sees in london, in berlin, anywhere. perhaps they hurry more, perhaps they seem more eager. but the distinctive effect is the mass, the black torrent, rippled with unmeaning faces, the great, the unprecedented multitudinousness of the thing, the inhuman force of it all. [illustration: entrance to brooklyn bridge] i made no efforts to present any of my letters, or to find any one to talk to on my first day in new york. i landed, got a casual lunch, and wandered alone until new york's peculiar effect of inhuman noise and pressure and growth became overwhelming, touched me with a sense of solitude, and drove me into the hospitable companionship of the century club. oh, no doubt of new york's immensity! the sense of soulless gigantic forces, that took no heed of men, became stronger and stronger all that day. the pavements were often almost incredibly out of repair, when i became footweary the street-cars would not wait for me, and i had to learn their stopping-points as best i might. i wandered, just at the right pitch of fatigue to get the full force of it into the eastward region between third and fourth avenue, came upon the elevated railway at its worst, the darkened streets of disordered paving below, trolley-car-congested, the ugly clumsy lattice, sonorously busy overhead, a clatter of vans and draught-horses, and great crowds of cheap, base-looking people hurrying uncivilly by.... ii the coming of white marble i corrected that first crowded impression of new york with a clearer, brighter vision of expansiveness when next day i began to realize the social quality of new york's central backbone, between fourth avenue and sixth. the effect remained still that of an immeasurably powerful forward movement of rapid eager advance, a process of enlargement and increment in every material sense, but it may be because i was no longer fatigued, was now a little initiated, the human being seemed less of a fly upon the wheels. i visited immense and magnificent clubs--london has no such splendors as the union, the university, the new hall of the harvard--i witnessed the great torrent of spending and glittering prosperity in carriage and motor-car pour along fifth avenue. i became aware of effects that were not only vast and opulent but fine. it grew upon me that the twentieth century, which found new york brown-stone of the color of desiccated chocolate, meant to leave it a city of white and colored marble. i found myself agape, admiring a sky-scraper--the prow of the flat-iron building, to be particular, ploughing up through the traffic of broadway and fifth avenue in the afternoon light. the new york sundown and twilight seemed to me quite glorious things. down the western streets one gets the sky hung in long cloud-barred strips, like japanese paintings, celestial tranquil yellows and greens and pink luminosity toning down to the reeking blue-brown edge of the distant new jersey atmosphere, and the clear, black, hard activity of crowd and trolley-car and elevated railroad. against this deepening color came the innumerable little lights of the house cliffs and the street tier above tier. new york is lavish of light, it is lavish of everything, it is full of the sense of spending from an inexhaustible supply. for a time one is drawn irresistibly into the universal belief in that inexhaustible supply. at a bright table in delmonico's to-day at lunch-time, my host told me the first news of the destruction of the great part of san francisco by earthquake and fire. it had just come through to him, it wasn't yet being shouted by the newsboys. he told me compactly of dislocated water-mains, of the ill-luck of the unusual eastward wind that was blowing the fire up-town, of a thousand reported dead, of the manifest doom of the greater portion of the city, and presently the shouting voices in the street outside arose to chorus him. he was a newspaper man and a little preoccupied because his san francisco offices were burning, and that no further news was arriving after these first intimations. naturally the catastrophe was our topic. but this disaster did not affect him, it does not seem to have affected any one with a sense of final destruction, with any foreboding of irreparable disaster. every one is talking of it this afternoon, and no one is in the least degree dismayed. i have talked and listened in two clubs, watched people in cars and in the street, and one man is glad that chinatown will be cleared out for good; another's chief solicitude is for millet's "man with the hoe." "they'll cut it out of the frame," he says, a little anxiously. "sure." but there is no doubt anywhere that san francisco can be rebuilt, larger, better, and soon. just as there would be none at all if all this new york that has so obsessed me with its limitless bigness was itself a blazing ruin. i believe these people would more than half like the situation. it would give them scope, it would facilitate that conversion into white marble in progress everywhere, it would settle the difficulties of the elevated railroad and clear out the tangles of lower new york. there is no sense of accomplishment and finality in any of these things, the largest, the finest, the tallest, are so obviously no more than symptoms and promises of material progress, of inhuman material progress that is so in the nature of things that no one would regret their passing. that, i say again, is at the first encounter the peculiar american effect that began directly i stepped aboard the liner, and that rises here to a towering, shining, clamorous climax. the sense of inexhaustible supply, of an ultra-human force behind it all, is, for a time, invincible. one assumes, with mr. saltus, that all america is in this vein, and that this is the way the future must inevitably go. one has a vision of bright electrical subways, replacing the filth-diffusing railways of to-day, of clean, clear pavements free altogether from the fly-prolific filth of horses coming almost, as it were, of their own accord beneath the feet of a population that no longer expectorates at all; of grimy stone and peeling paint giving way everywhere to white marble and spotless surfaces, and a shining order, of everything wider, taller, cleaner, better.... so that, in the meanwhile, a certain amount of jostling and hurry and untidiness, and even--to put it mildly--forcefulness may be forgiven. iii ellis island i visited ellis island yesterday. it chanced to be a good day for my purpose. for the first time in its history this filter of immigrant humanity has this week proved inadequate to the demand upon it. it was choked, and half a score of gravid liners were lying uncomfortably up the harbor, replete with twenty thousand or so of crude americans from ireland and poland and italy and syria and finland and albania; men, women, children, dirt, and bags together. of immigration i shall have to write later; what concerns me now is chiefly the wholesale and multitudinous quality of that place and its work. i made my way with my introduction along white passages and through traps and a maze of metal lattices that did for a while succeed in catching and imprisoning me, to commissioner wachorn, in his quiet, green-toned office. there, for a time, i sat judicially and heard him deal methodically, swiftly, sympathetically, with case after case, a string of appeals against the sentences of deportation pronounced in the busy little courts below. first would come one dingy and strangely garbed group of wild-eyed aliens, and then another: roumanian gypsies, south italians, ruthenians, swedes, each under the intelligent guidance of a uniformed interpreter, and a case would be started, a report made to washington, and they would drop out again, hopeful or sullen or fearful as the evidence might trend.... down-stairs we find the courts, and these seen, we traverse long refectories, long aisles of tables, and close-packed dormitories with banks of steel mattresses, tier above tier, and galleries and passages innumerable, perplexing intricacy that slowly grows systematic with the commissioner's explanations. here is a huge, gray, untidy waiting-room, like a big railway-depot room, full of a sinister crowd of miserable people, loafing about or sitting dejectedly, whom america refuses, and here a second and a third such chamber each with its tragic and evil-looking crowd that hates us, and that even ventures to groan and hiss at us a little for our glimpse of its large dirty spectacle of hopeless failure, and here, squalid enough indeed, but still to some degree hopeful, are the appeal cases as yet undecided. in one place, at a bank of ranges, works an army of men cooks, in another spins the big machinery of the ellis island laundry, washing blankets, drying blankets, day in and day out, a big clean steamy space of hurry and rotation. then, i recall a neat apartment lined to the ceiling with little drawers, a card-index of the names and nationalities and significant circumstances of upward of a million and a half of people who have gone on and who are yet liable to recall. the central hall is the key of this impression. all day long, through an intricate series of metal pens, the long procession files, step by step, bearing bundles and trunks and boxes, past this examiner and that, past the quick, alert medical officers, the tallymen and the clerks. at every point immigrants are being picked out and set aside for further medical examination, for further questions, for the busy little courts; but the main procession satisfies conditions, passes on. it is a daily procession that, with a yard of space to each, would stretch over three miles, that any week in the year would more than equal in numbers that daily procession of the unemployed that is becoming a regular feature of the london winter, that in a year could put a cordon round london or new york of close-marching people, could populate a new boston, that in a century--what in a century will it all amount to?... on they go, from this pen to that, pen by pen, towards a desk at a little metal wicket--the gate of america. through this metal wicket drips the immigration stream--all day long, every two or three seconds an immigrant, with a valise or a bundle, passes the little desk and goes on past the well-managed money-changing place, past the carefully organized separating ways that go to this railway or that, past the guiding, protecting officials--into a new world. the great majority are young men and young women, between seventeen and thirty, good, youthful, hopeful, peasant stock. they stand in a long string, waiting to go through that wicket, with bundles, with little tin boxes, with cheap portmanteaus, with odd packages, in pairs, in families, alone, women with children, men with strings of dependents, young couples. all day that string of human beads waits there, jerks forward, waits again; all day and every day, constantly replenished, constantly dropping the end beads through the wicket, till the units mount to hundreds and the hundreds to thousands.... yes, ellis island is quietly immense. it gives one a visible image of one aspect at least of this world-large process of filling and growing and synthesis, which is america. "look there!" said the commissioner, taking me by the arm and pointing, and i saw a monster steamship far away, and already a big bulk looming up the narrows. "it's the _kaiser wilhelm der grosse_. she's got--i forget the exact figures, but let us say--eight hundred and fifty-three more for us. she'll have to keep them until friday at the earliest. and there's more behind her, and more strung out all across the atlantic." in one record day this month , immigrants came into the port of new york alone; in one week over , . this year the total will be , , souls, pouring in, finding work at once, producing no fall in wages. they start digging and building and making. just think of the dimensions of it! iv to fall river one must get away from new york to see the place in its proper relations. i visited staten island and jersey city, motored up to sleepy hollow (where once the headless horseman rode), saw suburbs and intimations of suburbs without end, and finished with the long and crowded spectacle of the east river as one sees it from the fall river boat. it was friday night, and the fall river boat was in a state of fine congestion with jews, italians, and week-enders, and one stood crowded and surveyed the crowded shore, the sky-scrapers and tenement-houses, the huge grain elevators, big warehouses, the great brooklyn bridge, the still greater williamsburgh bridge, the great promise of yet another monstrous bridge, overwhelmingly monstrous by any european example i know, and so past long miles of city to the left and to the right past the wide brooklyn navy-yard (where three clean white war-ships lay moored), past the clustering castellated asylums, hospitals, almshouses and reformatories of blackwell's long shore and ward's island, and then through a long reluctant diminuendo on each receding bank, until, indeed, new york, though it seemed incredible, had done. and at one point a grave-voiced man in a peaked cap, with guide-books to sell, pleased me greatly by ending all idle talk suddenly with the stentorian announcement: "we are now in hell gate. we are now passing through hell gate!" but they've blown hell gate open with dynamite, and it wasn't at all the hell gate that i read about in my boyhood in the delightful chronicle of knickerbocker. so through an elbowing evening (to the tune of "cavalleria rusticana" on an irrepressible string band) and a night of unmitigated fog-horn to boston, which i had been given to understand was a cultured and uneventful city offering great opportunities for reflection and intellectual digestion. and, indeed, the large quiet of beacon street, in the early morning sunshine, seemed to more than justify that expectation.... chapter iv growth invincible i boston's way of growing but boston did not propose that its less-assertive key should be misunderstood, and in a singularly short space of time i found myself climbing into a tremulous impatient motor-car in company with three enthusiastic exponents of the work of the metropolitan park commission, and provided with a neatly tinted map, large and framed and glazed, to explore a fresh and more deliberate phase in this great american symphony, this symphony of growth. if possible it is more impressive, even, than the crowded largeness of new york, to trace the serene preparation boston has made through this commission to be widely and easily vast. new york's humanity has a curious air of being carried along upon a wave of irresistible prosperity, but boston confesses design. i suppose no city in all the world (unless it be washington) has ever produced so complete and ample a forecast of its own future as this commission's plan of boston. an area with a radius of between fifteen and twenty miles from the state house has been planned out and prepared for growth. great reservations of woodland and hill have been made, the banks of nearly all the streams and rivers and meres have been secured for public park and garden, for boating and other water sports; big avenues of vigorous young trees; a hundred and fifty yards or so wide, with drive-ways and ridingways and a central grassy band for electric tramways, have been prepared, and, indeed, the fair and ample and shady new boston, the boston of , grows visibly before one's eyes. i found myself comparing the disciplined confidence of these proposals to the blind enlargement of london; london, that like a bowl of viscid human fluid, boils sullenly over the rim of its encircling hills and slops messily and uglily into the home counties. i could not but contrast their large intelligence with the confused hesitations and waste and muddle of our english suburban developments.... there were moments, indeed, when it seemed too good to be true, and mr. sylvester baxter, who was with me and whose faith has done so much to secure this mapping out of a city's growth beyond all precedent, became the victim of my doubts. "will this enormous space of sunlit woodland and marsh and meadow really be filled at any time?" i urged. "all cities do not grow. cities have shrunken." i recalled bruges. i recalled the empty, goat-sustaining, flower-rich meadows of rome within the wall. what made him so sure of this progressive magnificence of boston's growth? my doubts fell on stony soil. my companions seemed to think these scepticisms inopportune, a forced eccentricity, like doubting the coming of to-morrow. of course growth will go on.... the subject was changed by the sight of the fine marble buildings of the harvard medical school, a shining façade partially eclipsed by several dingy and unsightly wooden houses. "these shanties will go, of course," says one of my companions. "it's proposed to take the avenue right across this space straight to the schools." "you'll have to fill the marsh, then, and buy the houses." "sure."... i find myself comparing this huge growth process of america with the things in my own land. after all, this growth is no distinctive american thing; it is the same process anywhere--only in america there are no disguises, no complications. come to think of it, birmingham and manchester are as new as boston--newer; and london, south and east of the thames, is, save for a little nucleus, more recent than chicago--is in places, i am told, with its smoky disorder, its clattering ways, its brutality of industrial conflict, very like chicago. but nowhere now is growth still so certainly and confidently _going on_ as here. nowhere is it upon so great a scale as here, and with so confident an outlook towards the things to come. and nowhere is it passing more certainly from the first phase of a mob-like rush of individualistic undertakings into a planned and ordered progress. ii the end of niagara everywhere in the america i have seen the same note sounds, the note of a fatal gigantic economic development, of large prevision and enormous pressures. i heard it clear above the roar of niagara--for, after all, i stopped off at niagara. as a water-fall, niagara's claim to distinction is now mainly quantitative; its spectacular effect, its magnificent and humbling size and splendor, were long since destroyed beyond recovery by the hotels, the factories, the power-houses, the bridges and tramways and hoardings that arose about it. it must have been a fine thing to happen upon suddenly after a day of solitary travel; the indians, they say, gave it worship; but it's no great wonder to reach it by trolley-car, through a street hack-infested and full of adventurous refreshment-places and souvenir-shops and the touting guides. there were great quantities of young couples and other sightseers with the usual encumbrances of wrap and bag and umbrella, trailing out across the bridges and along the neat paths of the reservation parks, asking the way to this point and that. notice boards cut the eye, offering extra joys and memorable objects for twenty-five and fifty cents, and it was proposed you should keep off the grass. after all, the gorge of niagara is very like any good gorge in the ardennes, except that it has more water; it's about as wide and about as deep, and there is no effect at all that one has not seen a dozen times in other cascades. one gets all the water one wants at tivoli, one has gone behind half a hundred downpours just as impressive in switzerland; a hundred tons of water is really just as stunning as ten million. a hundred tons of water stuns one altogether, and what more do you want? one recalls "orridos" and "schluchts" that are not only magnificent but lonely. no doubt the falls, seen from the canadian side, have a peculiar long majesty of effect; but the finest thing in it all, to my mind, was not niagara at all, but to look up-stream from goat island and see the sea-wide crest of the flashing sunlit rapids against the gray-blue sky. that was like a limitless ocean pouring down a sloping world towards one, and i lingered, held by that, returning to it through an indolent afternoon. it gripped the imagination as nothing else there seemed to do. it was so broad an infinitude of splash and hurry. and, moreover, all the enterprising hotels and expectant trippers were out of sight. that was the best of the display. the real interest of niagara for me, was not in the water-fall but in the human accumulations about it. they stood for the future, threats and promises, and the water-fall was just a vast reiteration of falling water. the note of growth in human accomplishment rose clear and triumphant above the elemental thunder. for the most part these accumulations of human effort about niagara are extremely defiling and ugly. nothing--not even the hotel signs and advertisement boards--could be more offensive to the eye and mind than the schoellkopf company's untidy confusion of sheds and buildings on the american side, wastefully squirting out long, tail-race cascades below the bridge, and nothing more disgusting than the sewer-pipes and gas-work ooze that the town of niagara falls contributes to the scenery. but, after all, these represent only the first slovenly onslaught of mankind's expansion, the pioneers' camp of the human-growth process that already changes its quality and manner. there are finer things than these outrages to be found. the dynamos and turbines of the niagara falls power company, for example, impressed me far more profoundly than the cave of the winds; are, indeed, to my mind, greater and more beautiful than that accidental eddying of air beside a downpour. they are will made visible, thought translated into easy and commanding things. they are clean, noiseless, and starkly powerful. all the clatter and tumult of the early age of machinery is past and gone here; there is no smoke, no coal grit, no dirt at all. the wheel-pit into which one descends has an almost cloistered quiet about its softly humming turbines. these are altogether noble masses of machinery, huge black slumbering monsters, great sleeping tops that engender irresistible forces in their sleep. they sprang, armed like minerva, from serene and speculative, foreseeing and endeavoring brains. first was the word and then these powers. a man goes to and fro quietly in the long, clean hall of the dynamos. there is no clangor, no racket. yet the outer rim of the big generators is spinning at the pace of a hundred thousand miles an hour; the dazzling clean switch-board, with its little handles and levers, is the seat of empire over more power than the strength of a million disciplined, unquestioning men. all these great things are as silent, as wonderfully made, as the heart in a living body, and stouter and stronger than that.... when i thought that these two huge wheel-pits of this company are themselves but a little intimation of what can be done in this way, what will be done in this way, my imagination towered above me. i fell into a day-dream of the coming power of men, and how that power may be used by them.... for surely the greatness of life is still to come, it is not in such accidents as mountains or the sea. i have seen the splendor of the mountains, sunrise and sunset among them, and the waste immensity of sky and sea. i am not blind because i can see beyond these glories. to me no other thing is credible than that all the natural beauty in the world is only so much material for the imagination and the mind, so many hints and suggestions for art and creation. whatever is, is but the lure and symbol towards what can be willed and done. man lives to make--in the end he must make, for there will be nothing else left for him to do. and the world he will make--after a thousand years or so! i, at least, can forgive the loss of all the accidental, unmeaning beauty that is going for the sake of the beauty of fine order and intention that will come. i believe--passionately, as a doubting lover believes in his mistress--in the future of mankind. and so to me it seems altogether well that all the froth and hurry of niagara at last, all of it, dying into hungry canals of intake, should rise again in light and power, in ordered and equipped and proud and beautiful humanity, in cities and palaces and the emancipated souls and hearts of men.... i turned back to look at the power-house as i walked towards the falls, and halted and stared. its architecture brought me out of my day-dream to the quality of contemporary things again. it's a well-intentioned building enough, extraordinarily well intentioned, and regardless of expense. it's in granite and by stanford white, and yet--it hasn't caught the note. there's a touch of respectability in it, more than a hint of the box of bricks. odd, but i'd almost as soon have had one of the schoellkopf sheds. a community that can produce such things as those turbines and dynamos, and then cover them over with this dull exterior, is capable, one realizes, of feats of bathos. one feels that all the power that throbs in the copper cables below may end at last in turning great wheels for excursionists, stamping out aluminum "fancy" ware, and illuminating night advertisements for drug shops and music halls. i had an afternoon of busy doubts.... there is much discussion about niagara at present. it may be some queer compromise, based on the pretence that a voluminous water-fall is necessarily a thing of incredible beauty, and a human use is necessarily a degrading use, will "save" niagara and the hack-drivers and the souvenir-shops for series of years yet, "a magnificent monument to the pride of the united states in a glory of nature," as one journalistic savior puts it. it is, as public opinion stands, a quite conceivable thing. this electric development may be stopped after all, and the huge fall of water remain surrounded by gravel paths and parapets and geranium-beds, a staring-point for dull wonder, a crown for a day's excursion, a thunderous impressive accessory to the vulgar love-making that fills the surrounding hotels, a titanic imbecility of wasted gifts. but i don't think so. i think somebody will pay something, and the journalistic zeal for scenery abate. i think the huge social and industrial process of america will win in this conflict, and at last capture niagara altogether. and then--what use will it make of its prey? iii the tail of chicago in smoky, vast, undisciplined chicago growth forced itself upon me again as the dominant american fact, but this time a dark disorder of growth. i went about chicago seeing many things of which i may say something later. i visited the top of the masonic building and viewed a wilderness of sky-scrapers. i acquired a felt of memories of swing bridges and viaducts and interlacing railways and jostling crowds and extraordinarily dirty streets, i learnt something of the mystery of the "floating foundations" upon which so much of chicago rests. but i got my best vision of chicago as i left it. i sat in the open observation-car at the end of the pennsylvania limited express, and watched the long defile of industrialism from the union station in the heart of things to out beyond south chicago, a dozen miles away. i had not gone to the bloody spectacle of the stock-yards that "feed the world," because, to be frank, i have an immense repugnance to the killing of fixed and helpless animals; i saw nothing of those ill-managed, ill-inspected establishments, though i smelt the unwholesome reek from them ever and again, and so it was here i saw for the first time the enormous expanse and intricacy of railroads that net this great industrial desolation, and something of the going and coming of the myriads of polyglot workers. chicago burns bituminous coal, it has a reek that outdoes london, and right and left of the line rise vast chimneys, huge blackened grain-elevators, flame-crowned furnaces and gauntly ugly and filthy factory buildings, monstrous mounds of refuse, desolate, empty lots littered with rusty cans, old iron, and indescribable rubbish. interspersed with these are groups of dirty, disreputable, insanitary-looking wooden houses. we swept along the many-railed track, and the straws and scraps of paper danced in our eddy as we passed. we overtook local trains and they receded slowly in the great perspective, huge freight-trains met us or were overtaken; long trains of doomed cattle passed northward; solitary engines went by--every engine tolling a melancholy bell; open trucks crowded with workmen went cityward. by the side of the track, and over the level crossings, walked great numbers of people. so it goes on mile after mile--chicago. the sun was now bright, now pallid through some streaming curtain of smoke; the spring afternoon was lit here and again by the gallant struggle of some stunted tree with a rare and startling note of new green.... it was like a prolonged, enlarged mingling of the south side of london with all that is bleak and ugly in the black country. it is the most perfect presentation of nineteenth-century individualistic industrialism i have ever seen--in its vast, its magnificent squalor; it is pure nineteenth century; it had no past at all before that; in it was empty prairie, and one marvels for its future. it is indeed a nineteenth-century nightmare that culminates beyond south chicago in the monstrous fungoid shapes, the endless smoking chimneys, the squat retorts, the black smoke pall of the standard oil company. for a time the sun is veiled altogether by that.... and then suddenly chicago is a dark smear under the sky, and we are in the large emptiness of america, the other america--america in between. iv intimations of order "undisciplined"--that is the word for chicago. it is the word for all the progress of the victorian time, a scrambling, ill-mannered, undignified, unintelligent development of material resources. packingtown, for example, is a place that feeds the world with meat, that concentrates the produce of a splendid countryside at a position of imperial advantage, and its owners have no more sense, no better moral quality, than to make it stink in the nostrils of any one who comes within two miles of it; to make it a centre of distribution for disease and decay, an arena of shabby evasions and extra profits; a scene of brutal economic conflict and squalid filthiness, offensive to every sense. (i wish i could catch the soul of herbert spencer and tether it in chicago for awhile to gather fresh evidence upon the superiority of unfettered individualistic enterprises to things managed by the state.) want of discipline! chicago is one hoarse cry for discipline! the reek and scandal of the stock-yards is really only a gigantic form of that same quality in american life that, in a minor aspect, makes the sidewalk filthy. the key to the peculiar nasty ugliness of those schoellkopf works that defile the niagara gorge is the same quality. the detestableness of the elevated railroads of chicago and boston and new york have this in common. all that is ugly in america, in lancashire, in south and east london, in the pas de calais, is due to this, to the shoving unintelligent proceedings of underbred and morally obtuse men. each man is for himself, each enterprise; there is no order, no prevision, no common and universal plan. modern economic organization is still as yet only thinking of emerging from its first chaotic stage, the stage of lawless enterprise and insanitary aggregation, the stage of the prospector's camp.... but it does emerge. men are makers--american men, i think, more than most men--and amidst even the catastrophic jumble of chicago one finds the same creative forces at work that are struggling to replan a greater boston, and that turned a waste of dumps and swamps and cabbage-gardens into central park, new york. chicago also has its parks commission and its green avenues, its bright flower-gardens, its lakes and playing-fields. its midway plaisance is in amazing contrast with the dirt, the congestion, the moral disorder of its state street; its field houses do visible battle with slum and the frantic meanness of commercial folly. field houses are peculiar to chicago, and chicago has every reason to be proud of them. i visited one that is positively within smell of the stock-yards and wedged into a district of gaunt and dirty slums. it stands in the midst of a little park, and close by it are three playing-grounds with swings and parallel bars and all manner of athletic appliances, one for little children, one for girls and women, and one for boys and youths. in the children's place is a paddling-pond of clear, clean, running water and a shaded area of frequently changed sand, and in the park was a broad asphalted arena that can be flooded for skating in winter. all this is free to all comers, and free too is the field house itself. this is a large, cool italianate place with two or three reading-rooms--one specially arranged for children--a big discussion-hall, a big and well-equipped gymnasium, and big, free baths for men and for women. there is also a clean, bright refreshment-place where wholesome food is sold just above cost price. it was early on friday afternoon when i saw it all, but the place was busy with children, reading, bathing, playing in a hundred different ways. [illustration: state street, chicago] and this field house is not an isolated philanthropic enterprise. it is just one of a number that are dotted about chicago, mitigating and civilizing its squalor. it was not distilled by begging and charity from the stench of the stock-yards or the reek of standard oil. it is part of the normal work of a special taxing body created by the legislature of the state of illinois. it is just one of the fruits upon one of the growths that spring from such persistent creative efforts as that of the chicago city club. it is socialism--even as its enemies declare.... even amidst the sombre uncleanliness of chicago one sees the light of a new epoch, the coming of new conceptions, of foresight, of large collective plans and discipline to achieve them, the fresh green leaves, among all the festering manure, of the giant growths of a more orderly and more beautiful age. v the pennsylvania limited these growing towns, these giant towns that grow up and out, that grow orderly and splendid out of their first chaotic beginnings, are only little patches upon a vast expanse, upon what is still of all habitable countries the emptiest country in the world. my long express journey from chicago to washington lasted a day and a night and more, i could get sooner from my home in kent to italy, and yet that was still well under a third of the way across the continent. i spent most of my daylight time in the fine and graceful open loggia at the end of the observation-car or in looking out of the windows, looking at hills and valleys, townships and quiet places, sudden busy industrial outbreaks about coal-mine or metal, big undisciplined rivers that spread into swamp and lake, new forest growths, very bright and green now, foaming up above blackened stumps. there were many cypress-trees and trees with white blossom and the judas-tree, very abundant among the spring-time green. i got still more clearly the enormous scale of this american destiny i seek to discuss, through all that long and interesting day of transit. i measured, as it seemed to me for the first time, the real scale of the growth process that has put a four-track road nine hundred miles across this exuberant land and scarred every available hill with furnace and mine. bigness--that's the word! the very fields and farm-buildings seem to me to have four times the size of our english farms. some casual suggestion of the wayside, i forget now what, set me thinking of the former days, so recent that they are yet within the lifetime of living men, when this was frontier land, when even the middle west remained to be won. i thought of the slow diffusing population of the forties, the pioneer wagon, the men armed with axe and rifle, knife and revolver, the fear of the indians, the weak and casual incidence of law. then the high-road was but a prairie track and all these hills and hidden minerals unconquered fastnesses that might, it seemed, hold out for centuries before they gave their treasure. how quickly things had come! "progress, progress," murmured the wheels, and i began to make this steady, swift, and shiningly equipped train a figure, just as i had made the _carmania_ a figure of that big onward sweep that is moving us all together. it was not a noisy train, after the english fashion, nor did the cars sway and jump after the habit of our lighter coaches, but the air was full of deep, triumphant rhythms. "it goes on," i said, "invincibly," and even as the thought was in my head, the brakes set up a droning, a vibration ran through the train and we slowed and stopped. a minute passed, and then we rumbled softly back to a little trestle-bridge and stood there. i got up, looked from the window, and then went to the platform at the end of the train. i found two men, a passenger and a colored parlor-car attendant. the former was on the bottom step of the car, the latter was supplying him with information. "his head's still in the water," he remarked. "whose head?" said i. "a man we've killed," said he. "we caught him in the trestle-bridge." i descended a step, craned over my fellow-passenger, and saw a little group standing curiously about the derelict thing that had been a living man three minutes before. it was now a crumpled, dark-stained blue blouse, a limply broken arm with hand askew, trousered legs that sprawled quaintly, and a pair of heavy boots, lying in the sunlit fresh grass by the water below the trestle-bridge.... a man on the line gave inadequate explanations. "he'd have been all right if he hadn't come over this side," he said. "who was he?" said i. "one of these eyetalians on the line," he said, and turned away. the train bristled now with a bunch of curiosity at every car end, and even windows were opened.... presently it was intimated to us by a whistle and the hasty return of men to the cars that the incident had closed. we began to move forward again, crept up to speed.... but i could not go on with my conception of the train as a symbol of human advancement. that crumpled blue blouse and queerly careless legs would get into the picture and set up all sorts of alien speculations. i thought of distant north italian valleys and brown boys among the vines and goats, of the immigrants who had sung remotely to me out of the carmania's steerage, of the hopeful bright-eyed procession of the new-comers through ellis island wicket, of the regiments of workers the line had shown me, and i told myself a tale of this italian's journey to the land of promise, this land of gigantic promises.... for a time the big spectacle of america about me took on a quality of magnificent infidelity.... and by reason of this incident my last image of material progress thundered into washington station five minutes behind its scheduled time. chapter v the economic process i a bird's-eye view let me try now and make some sort of general picture of the american nation as it impresses itself upon me. it is, you will understand, the vision of a hurried bird of passage, defective and inaccurate at every point of detail, but perhaps for my present purpose not so very much the worse for that. the fact that i am transitory and bring a sort of theorizing naïveté to this review is just what gives me the chance to remark these obvious things the habituated have forgotten. i have already tried to render something of the effect of huge unrestrained growth and material progress that america first gives one, and i have pointed out that so far america seems to me only to refresh an old impression, to give starkly and startlingly what is going on everywhere, what is indeed as much in evidence in birkenhead or milan or london or calcutta, a huge extension of human power and the scale of human operations. this growth was elaborated in the physical and chemical laboratories and the industrial experiments of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and chiefly in europe. the extension itself is nothing typically american. nevertheless america now shows it best. america is most under the stress and urgency of it, resonates most readily and loudly to its note. the long distances of travel, and the sense of isolation between place and place, the remoteness verging upon inaudibility of washington in chicago, of chicago in boston, the vision i have had of america from observation cars and railroad windows brings home to me more and more that this huge development of human appliances and resources is here going on in a community that is still, for all the dense crowds of new york, the teeming congestion of the east side, extraordinarily scattered. america, one recalls, is still an unoccupied country, across which the latest developments of civilization are rushing. we are dealing here with a continuous area of land which is, leaving alaska out of account altogether, equal to great britain, france, the german empire, the austro-hungarian empire, italy, belgium, japan, holland, spain and portugal, sweden and norway, turkey in europe, egypt and the whole empire of india, and the population spread out over this vast space is still less than the joint population of the first two countries named and not a quarter that of india. moreover, it is not spread at all evenly. much of it is in undistributed clots. it is not upon the soil, barely half of it is in holdings and homes and authentic communities. it is a population of an extremely modern type. urban concentration has already gone far with it; fifteen millions of it are crowded into and about twenty great cities, other eighteen millions make up five hundred towns. between these centres of population run railways indeed, telegraph wires, telephone connections, tracks of various sorts, but to the european eye these are mere scratchings on a virgin surface. an empty wilderness manifests itself through this thin network of human conveniences, appears in the meshes even at the railroad side. essentially america is still an unsettled land, with only a few incidental good roads in favored places, with no universal police, with no wayside inns where a civilized man may rest, with still only the crudest of rural postal deliveries, with long stretches of swamp and forest and desert by the track side, still unassailed by industry. this much one sees clearly enough eastward of chicago. westward, i am told, it becomes more and more the fact. in idaho at last, comes the untouched and perhaps invincible desert, plain and continuous through the long hours of travel. huge areas do not contain one human being to the square mile, still vaster portions fall short of two.... and this community, to which material progress is bringing such enormous powers, and that is knotted so densely here and there, and is otherwise so attenuated a veil over the huge land surface, is, as professor münsterberg points out, in spite of vast and increasing masses of immigrants still a curiously homogeneous one, homogeneous in the spirit of its activities and speaking a common tongue. it is sustained by certain economic conventions, inspired throughout by certain habits, certain trends of suggestion, certain phrases and certain interpretations that collectively make up what one may call the american idea. to the process of enlargement and diffusion and increase and multiplying resources, we must now bring the consideration of the social and economic process that is going on. what is the form of that process as one finds it in america? an english tory will tell you promptly, "a scramble for dollars." a good american will tell you it is self realization under equality of opportunity. the english tory will probably allege that that amounts to the same thing. let us look into that. ii liberty of property one contrast between america and the old world i had in mind before ever i crossed the atlantic, and now it comes before me very vividly,--returns reinforced by a hundred little things observed and felt. the contrast consists in the almost complete absence from the normal american scheme, of certain immemorial factors in the social structure of our european nations. in the first place, every european nation except the english is rooted to the soil by a peasantry, and even in england one still finds the peasant represented, in most of his features by those sons of dispossessed serf-peasants, the agricultural laborers. here in america, except in the regions where the negro abounds, there is no lower stratum, no "soil people," to this community at all; your bottom-most man is a mobile free man who can read, and who has ideas above digging and pigs and poultry keeping, except incidentally for his own ends. no one owns to subordination. as a consequence, any position which involves the acknowledgment of an innate inferiority is difficult to fill; there is, from the european point of view, an extraordinary dearth of servants, and this endures in spite of a great peasant immigration. the servile tradition will not root here now, it dies in this soil. an enormous importation of european serfs and peasants goes on, but as they touch this soil their backs begin to stiffen with a new assertion. and at the other end of the scale, also, one misses an element. there is no territorial aristocracy, no aristocracy at all, no throne, no legitimate and acknowledged representative of that upper social structure of leisure, power, state responsibility, which in the old european theory of society was supposed to give significance to the whole. the american community, one cannot too clearly insist, does not correspond to an entire european community at all, but only to the middle masses of it, to the trading and manufacturing class between the dimensions of the magnate and the clerk and skilled artisan. it is the central part of the european organism without either the dreaming head or the subjugated feet. even the highly feudal slave-holding "county family" traditions of virginia and the south pass now out of memory. so that in a very real sense the past of this american community is in europe, and the settled order of the past is left behind there. this community was, as it were, taken off its roots, clipped of its branches and brought hither. it began neither serf nor lord, but burgher and farmer, it followed the normal development of the middle class under progress everywhere and became capitalistic. essentially america is a middle-class become a community and so its essential problems are the problems of a modern individualistic society, stark and clear, unhampered and unilluminated by any feudal traditions either at its crest or at its base. it would be interesting and at first only very slightly misleading to pursue the rough contrast of american and english conditions upon these lines. it is not difficult to show for example, that the two great political parties in america represent only one english party, the middle-class liberal party, the party of industrialism and freedom. there are no tories to represent the feudal system, and no labor party. it is history, it is no mere ingenious gloss upon history, that the tories, the party of the crown, of the high gentry and control, of mitigated property and an organic state, vanished from america at the revolution. they left the new world to the whigs and nonconformists and to those less constructive, less logical, more popular and liberating thinkers who became radicals in england, and jeffersonians and then democrats in america. all americans are, from the english point of view, liberals of one sort or another. you will find a fac-simile of the declaration of independence displayed conspicuously and triumphantly beside magna charter in the london reform club, to carry out this suggestion. but these fascinating parallelisms will lead away from the chief argument in hand, which is that the americans started almost clear of the medieval heritage, and developed in the utmost--purity if you like--or simplicity or crudeness, whichever you will, the modern type of productive social organization. they took the economic conventions that were modern and progressive at the end of the eighteenth century and stamped them into the constitution as if they meant to stamp them there for all time. in england you can still find feudalism, medievalism, the renascence, at every turn. america is pure eighteenth century--still crystallizing out from a turbid and troubled solution. to turn from any european state to america is, in these matters anyhow, to turn from complication to a stark simplicity. the relationship between employer and employed, between organizer and worker, between capital and labor, which in england is qualified and mellowed and disguised and entangled with a thousand traditional attitudes and subordinations, stands out sharply in a bleak cold rationalism. there is no feeling that property, privilege, honor, and a grave liability to official public service ought to go together, none that uncritical obedience is a virtue in a worker or that subordination carries with it not only a sense of service but a claim for help. coming across the atlantic has in these matters an effect of coming out of an iridescent fog into a clear bright air. this homologization of the whole american social mass, not with the whole english social mass, but with its "modern" classes, its great middle portion, and of its political sides with the two ingredients of english liberalism, goes further than a rough parallel. an englishman who, like myself, has been bred and who has lived all his life either in london, with its predominant west-end, or the southern counties with their fair large estates and the great country houses, is constantly being reminded, when he meets manufacturing and business men from birmingham or lancashire, of americans, and when he meets americans, of industrial north-country people. there is more push and less tacit assumption, more definition, more displayed energy and less restraint, more action and less subtlety, more enterprise and self-assertion than there is in the typical englishman of london and the home counties. the american carries on the contrast further, it is true, and his speech is not northernly, but marked by the accent of hampshire or east anglia, and better and clearer than his english equivalent's; but one feels the two are of the same stuff, nevertheless, and made by parallel conditions. the liberalism of the eighteenth century, the material progress of the nineteenth have made them both--out of the undifferentiated stuart englishman. and they are the same in their attitude towards property and social duty, individualists to the marrow. but the one grew inside a frame of regal, aristocratic, and feudal institutions, and has chafed against it, struggled with it, modified it, strained it, and been modified by it, but has remained within it; the other broke it and escaped to complete self-development. the liberalism of the eighteenth century was essentially the rebellion of the modern industrial organization against the monarchial and aristocratic state,--against hereditary privilege, against restrictions upon bargains--whether they were hard bargains or not. its spirit was essentially anarchistic,--the antithesis of socialism. it was the anti-state. it aimed not only to liberate men but property from state control. its most typical expressions, the declaration of independence, and the french declaration of the rights of man, are zealously emphatic for the latter interest--for the sacredness of contracts and possessions. post reformation liberalism did to a large extent let loose property upon mankind. the english civil war of the seventeenth century, like the american revolution of the eighteenth, embodied essentially the triumphant refusal of private property to submit to taxation without consent. in england the result was tempered and qualified, security for private property was achieved, but not cast-iron security; each man who had property became king of that property, but only a constitutional and conditional king. in america the victory of private property was complete. let one instance suffice to show how decisively it was established that individual property and credit and money were sacred. ten years ago the supreme court, trying a case arising out of the general revenue tax of , decided that a graduated income-tax, such as the english parliament might pass to-morrow, can never be levied upon the united states nation without a change in the constitution, which can be effected only by a vote of two-thirds of both houses of congress as an initiative, and this must be ratified either by the legislatures of three-fourths of the states, or by special conventions representing three-fourths of the states. the fundamental law of the states forbids any such invasion of the individual's ownership. no national income-tax is legal, and there is practically no power, short of revolution, to alter that.... could anything be more emphatic? that tall liberty with its spiky crown that stands in new york harbor and casts an electric flare upon the world, is, indeed, the liberty of property, and there she stands at the zenith.... iii aggregation and some protests now the middle-class of the english population and the whole population of america that matters at all when we discuss ideas, is essentially an emancipated class, a class that has rebelled against superimposed privilege and honor, and achieved freedom for its individuals and their property. without property its freedom is a featureless and unsubstantial theory, and so it relies for the reality of life upon that, upon the possession and acquisition and development of property, that is to say upon "business." that is the quality of its life. everywhere in the modern industrial and commercial class this deep-lying feeling that the state is something escaped from, has worked out to the same mental habit of social irresponsibility, and in america it has worked unimpeded. patriotism has become a mere national self-assertion, a sentimentality of flag cheering, with no constructive duties. law, social justice, the pride and preservation of the state as a whole are taken as provided for before the game began, and one devotes one-self to business. at business all men are held to be equal, and none is his brother's keeper. all men are equal at the great game of business. you try for the best of each bargain and so does your opponent; if you chance to have more in your hand than he--well, that's your advantage, and you use it. presently he may have more than you. you take care he doesn't if you can, but you play fair--except for the advantage in your hand; you play fair--and hard. now this middle-class equality ultimately destroys itself. out of this conflict of equals, and by virtue of the fact that property, like all sorts of matter, does tend to gravitate towards itself whenever it is free, there emerge the modern rich and the modern toiler. one can trace the process in two or three generations in lancashire or the potteries, or any industrial region of england. one sees first the early lancashire industrialism, sees a district of cotton-spinners more or less equal together, small men all; then come developments, comes a state of ideally free competition with some men growing large, with most men dropping into employment, but still with ample chances for an industrious young man to end as a prosperous master; and so through a steady growth in the size of the organization to the present opposition of an employer class in possession of everything, almost inaccessibly above, and an employed class below. the railways come, and the wealthy class reaches out to master these new enterprises, capitalistic from the outset.... america is simply repeating the history of the lancashire industrialism on a gigantic scale, and under an enormous variety of forms. but in england, as the modern rich rise up, they come into a world of gentry with a tradition of public service and authority; they learn one by one and assimilate themselves to the legend of the "governing class" with a sense of proprietorship which is also, in its humanly limited way, a sense of duty to the state. they are pseudomorphs after aristocrats. they receive honors, they inter-marry, they fall (and their defeated competitors too fall) into the mellowed relationships of an aristocratic system. that is not a permanent mutual attitude; it does, however, mask and soften the british outline. industrialism becomes quasi-feudal. america, on the other hand, had no effectual "governing class," there has been no such modification, no clouding of the issue. its rich, to one's superficial inspection, do seem to lop out, swell up into an immense consumption and power and inanity, develop no sense of public duties, remain winners of a strange game they do not criticise, concerned now only to hold and intensify their winnings. the losers accept no subservience. that material progress, that secular growth in scale of all modern enterprises, widens the gulf between owner and worker daily. more and more do men realize that this game of free competition and unrestricted property does not go on for ever; it is a game that first in this industry and then in that, and at last in all, can be played out and is being played out. property becomes organized, consolidated, concentrated, and secured. this is the fact to which america is slowly awaking at the present time. the american community is discovering a secular extinction of opportunity, and the appearance of powers against which individual enterprise and competition are hopeless. enormous sections of the american public are losing their faith in any personal chance of growing rich and truly free, and are developing the consciousness of an expropriated class. this realization has come slowlier in america than in europe, because of the enormous undeveloped resources of america. so long as there was an unlimited extent of unappropriated and unexplored land westward, so long could tension be relieved by so simple an injunction as horace greeley's, "go west, young man; go west." and to-day, albeit that is no longer true of the land, and there are already far larger concentrations of individual possessions in the united states of america than anywhere else in the world, yet so vast are their continental resources that it still remains true that nowhere in the world is property so widely diffused. consider the one fact that america can take in three-quarters of a million of workers in one year without producing a perceptible fall in wages, and you will appreciate the scale upon which things are measured here, the scale by which even mr. j.d. rockefeller's billion dollars becomes no more than a respectable but by no means overwhelming "pile." for all these concentrations, the western farmers still own their farms, and it is the rule rather than the exception for a family to possess the freehold of the house it lives in. but the process of concentration goes on nevertheless--is going on now perceptibly to the american mind. that it has not gone so far as in the european instance it is a question of size, just as the gestation of an elephant takes longer than that of a mouse. if the process is larger and slower, it is, for the reasons i have given, plainer, and it will be discussed and dealt with plainly. that steady trend towards concentration under individualistic rules, until individual competition becomes disheartened and hopeless, is the essential form of the economic and social process in america as i see it now, and it has become the cardinal topic of thought and discussion in the american mind. [illustration: western farmers still own their farms] this realization has been reached after the most curious hesitation. there is every reason for this; for it involves the contradiction of much that seems fundamental in the american idea. it amounts to a national change of attitude. it is a conscious change of attitude that is being deliberately made. this slow reluctant process of disillusionment with individualism is interestingly traceable through the main political innovations of the last twenty years. there was the discovery in the east that the supply of land was not limitless, and we had the single tax movement, and the epoch of the first mr. henry george. he explained fervently of course, how individualistic, how profoundly american he was--but land was not to be monopolized. then came the discovery in the west that there were limits to borrowing and that gold appreciated against the debtor, and so we have the populist movement and extraordinary schemes for destroying the monopolization of gold and credit. mr. bryan led that and nearly captured the country, but only in last may's issue of the _century magazine_ i found him explaining (expounding meanwhile a largely socialistic programme) that he too is an individualist of the purest water. and then the attack shifted to the destruction of free competition by the trusts. the small business went on sufferance, 'not knowing from week to week when its hour to sell out or fight might come. the trusts have crushed competition, raised prices against the consumer, and served him often quite abominably. the curious reader may find in mr. upton sinclair's essentially veracious _jungle_ the possibilities of individualistic enterprise in the matter of food and decency. the states have been agitated by a big disorganized anti-trust movement for some years, it becomes of the gravest political importance at every election, and the sustained study of the affairs and methods of that most typical and prominent of trust organizations, the standard oil company, by miss tarbell and a host of followers, is bringing to light more and more clearly the defencelessness of the common person, and his hopelessness, however enterprising, as a competitor against those great business aggregations. his faith in all his reliances and securities fades in the new light that grows about him, he sees his little investments, his insurance policy, his once open and impartial route to market by steamboat and rail, all passing into the grip of the great property accumulators. the aggregation of property has created powers that are stronger than state legislatures and more persistent than any public opinion can be, that have no awe and no sentiment for legislation, that are prepared to disregard it or evade it whenever they can. and these aggregations are taking on immortality and declining to disintegrate when their founders die. the astor property, the jay gould property, the marshall field property, for example, do not break up, become undying centres for the concentration of wealth, and it is doubtful if there is any power to hinder such a development of perpetual fortunes. in england when thelussen left his investments to accumulate, a simple little act of parliament set his will aside. but congress is not sovereign, there is no national sovereign power in america, and property in america, it would seem, is absolutely free to do these things. so you have president roosevelt in a recent oration attacking the man with the muck rake (who gathered vile dross for the love of it), and threatening the limitation of inheritance. but he too, quite as much as mr. bryan, assures the public that he is a fervent individualist. so in this american community, whose distinctive conception is its emphatic assertion of the freedom of individual property, whose very symbol is that spike-crowned liberty gripping a torch in new york harbor, there has been and is going on a successive repudiation of that freedom in almost every department of ownable things by considerable masses of thinking people, a denial of the soundness of individual property in land, an organized attempt against the accumulation of gold and credit, by a systematic watering of the currency, a revolt against the aggregatory outcome of untrammelled business competition, a systematic interference with the freedom of railways and carriers to do business as they please, and a protest from the most representative of americans against hereditary wealth.... that, in general terms, is the economic and social process as one sees it in america now, a process of systematically concentrating wealth on the part of an energetic minority, and of a great insurgence of alarm, of waves of indignation and protest and threat on the part of that vague indefinite public that mr. roosevelt calls the "nation." and this goes on side by side with a process of material progress that partly masks its quality, that keeps the standard of life from falling and prevents any sense of impoverishment among the mass of the losers in the economic struggle. through this material progress there is a constant substitution of larger, cleaner, more efficient possibilities, and more and more wholesale and far-sighted methods of organization for the dark, confused, untidy individualistic expedients of the victorian time. an epoch which was coaly and mechanical, commercial and adventurous after the earlier fashion is giving place, almost automatically, to one that will be electrical and scientific, artistic and creative. the material progress due to a secular increase in knowledge, and the economic progress interfere and combine with and complicate one another, the former constantly changes the forms and appliances of the latter, changes the weapons and conditions, and may ultimately change the spirit and conceptions of the struggle. the latter now clogs and arrests the former. so in its broad features, as a conflict between the birth strength of a splendid civilization and a hampering commercialism, i see america. chapter vi some aspects of american wealth i the spenders it is obvious that in a community that has disavowed aristocracy or rule and subordination or service, which has granted unparalleled freedoms to property and despised and distrusted the state, the chief business of life will consist in getting or attempting to get. but the chief aspect of american life that impinges first upon the european is not this, but the behavior of a certain overflow at the top, of people who have largely and triumphantly got, and with hand, pockets, safe-deposit vaults full of dollars, are proceeding to realize victory. before i came to america it was in his capacity of spender that i chiefly knew the american; as a person who had demoralized regent street and the rue de rivoli, who had taught the london cabman to demand "arf a dollar" for a shilling fare, who bought old books and old castles, and had driven the prices of old furniture to incredible altitudes, and was slowly transferring our incubus of artistic achievement to american soil. one of my friends in london is mr. x, who owns those two houses full of fine "pieces" near the british museum and keeps his honor unsullied in the most deleterious of trades. "they come to me," he said, "and ask me to buy for them. it's just buying. one of them wants to beat the silver of another, doesn't care what he pays. another clamors for tapestry. they trust me as they trust a doctor. there's no understanding--no feeling. it's hard to treat them well." and there is the story of y, who is wise about pictures. "if you want a botticelli that size, mr. record, i can't find it," he said; "you'll have to have it made for you." these american spenders have got the whole world "beat" at the foolish game of collecting, and in all the peculiar delights of shopping they excel. and they are the crown and glory of hotel managers throughout the world. there is something naïve, something childishly expectant and acquisitive, about this aspect of american riches. there appears no aristocracy in their tradition, no sense of permanence and great responsibility, there appears no sense of subordination and service; from the individualistic business struggle they have emerged triumphant, and what is there to do now but spend and have a good time? they swarm in the pleasant places of the riviera, they pervade paris and rome, they occupy scotch castles and english estates, their motor-cars are terrible and wonderful. and the london savoy hotel still flaunts its memory of one splendid american night. the court-yard was flooded with water tinted an artistic blue--to the great discomfort of the practically inevitable gold-fish, and on this floated a dream of a gondola. and in the gondola the table was spread and served by the savoy staff, mysteriously disguised in appropriate fancy costume. the whole thing--there's only two words for it--was "perfectly lovely." "the illusion"--whatever that was--we are assured, was complete. it wasn't a nursery treat, you know. the guests, i am told, were important grown-up people. this sort of childishness, of course, has nothing distinctively american in it. any people of sluggish and uneducated imagination who find themselves profusely wealthy, and are too stupid to understand the huge moral burden, the burden of splendid possibilities it carries, may do things of this sort. it was not americans but a party of south-african millionaires who achieved the kindred triumph of the shirt-and-belt dinner under a tent in a london hotel dining-room. the glittering procession of carriages and motor-carriages which i watched driving down fifth avenue, new york, apparently for the pleasure of driving up again, is to be paralleled on the pincio, in naples, in paris, and anywhere where irresponsible pleasure-seekers gather together. after the naïve joy of buying things comes the joy of wearing them publicly, the simple pleasure of the promenade. these things are universals. but nowhere has this spending struck me as being so solid and substantial, so nearly twenty-two carats fine, as here. the shops have an air of solid worth, are in the key of butlers, bishops, opera-boxes, high-class florists, powdered footmen, roman beadles, motor-broughams, to an extent that altogether outshines either paris or london. [illustration: plump and pretty pupils of extravagance] and in such great hotels as the waldorf-astoria, one finds the new arrivals, the wives and daughters from the west and the south, in new, bright hats, and splendors of costume, clubbed together, under the discreetest management, for this and that, learning how to spend collectively, reaching out to assemblies, to dinners. from an observant tea-table beneath the fronds of a palm, i surveyed a fine array of these plump and pretty pupils of extravagance. they were for the most part quite brilliantly as well as newly dressed, and with an artless and pleasing unconsciousness of the living from inside. smart innocents! i found all that gathering most contagiously interested and happy and fresh. and i watched spending, too, as one sees it in the various incompatible houses of upper fifth avenue and along the border of central park. that, too, suggests a shop, a shop where country houses are sold and stored; there is the tiffany house, a most expensive-looking article, on the shelf, and the carnegie house. there had been no pretence on the part of the architects that any house belonged in any sense to any other, that any sort of community held them together. the link is just spending. you come to new york and spend; you go away again. to some of these palaces people came and went; others had their blinds down and conveyed a curious effect of a sunlit child excursionist in a train who falls asleep and droops against his neighbor. one of the vanderbilt houses was frankly and brutally boarded up. newport, i am told, takes up and carries on the same note of magnificent irresponsibility, and there one admires the richest forms of simplicity, triumphs of villa architecture in thatch, and bathing bungalows in marble.... there exists already, of these irresponsible american rich, a splendid group of portraits, done without extenuation and without malice, in the later work of that great master of english fiction, mr. henry james. there one sees them at their best, their refinement, their large wealthiness, their incredible unreality. i think of _the ambassadors_ and that mysterious source of the income of the newcomes, a mystery that, with infinite artistic tact, was never explained; but more i think of _the golden bowl_, most spacious and serene of novels. in that splendid and luminous bubble, the prince amerigo and maggie verver, mr. verver, that assiduous collector, and the adventurous charlotte stant float far above a world of toil and anxiety, spending with a large refinement, with a perfected assurance and precision. they spend as flowers open. but this is the quintessence, the sublimation, the idealization of the rich american. few have the restraint for this. for the rest, when one has shopped and shopped, and collected and bought everything, and promenaded on foot, in motor-car and motor-brougham and motor-boat, in yacht and special train; when one has a fine house here and a fine house there, and photography and the special article have exhausted admiration, there remains chiefly that one broader and more presumptuous pleasure--spending to give. american givers give most generously, and some of them, it must be admitted, give well. but they give individually, incoherently, each pursuing a personal ideal. there are unsuccessful givers.... american cities are being littered with a disorder of unsystematized foundations and picturesque legacies, much as i find my nursery floor littered with abandoned toys and battles and buildings when the children are in bed after a long, wet day. yet some of the gifts are very splendid things. there is, for example, the leland stanford junior university in california, a vast monument of parental affection and richardsonian architecture, with professors, and teaching going on in its interstices; and there is mrs. gardner's delightful fenway court, a venetian palace, brought almost bodily from italy and full of finely gathered treasures.... all this giving is, in its aggregate effect, as confused as industrial chicago. it presents no clear scheme of the future, promises no growth; it is due to the impulsive generosity of a mob of wealthy persons, with no broad common conceptions, with no collective dream, with little to hold them together but imitation and the burning possession of money; the gifts overlap, they lie at any angle, one with another. some are needless, some mischievous. there are great gaps of unfulfilled need between. and through the multitude of lesser, though still mighty, givers, comes that colossus of property, mr. andrew carnegie, the jubilee plunger of beneficence, that rosy, gray-haired, nimble little figure, going to and fro between two continents, scattering library buildings as if he sowed wild oats, buildings that may or may not have some educational value, if presently they are reorganized and properly stocked with books. anon he appals the thrifty burgesses of dunfermline with vast and uncongenial responsibilities of expenditure; anon he precipitates the library of the late lord acton upon our embarrassed mr. morley; anon he pauperizes the students of scotland. he diffuses his monument throughout the english-speaking lands, amid circumstances of the most flagrant publicity; the receptive learned, the philanthropic noble, bow in expectant swaths before him. he is the american fable come true; nothing seems too wild to believe of him, and he fills the european imagination with an altogether erroneous conception of the self-dissipating quality in american wealth. ii the astor fortune because, now, as a matter of fact, dissipation is by no means the characteristic quality of american getting. the good american will indeed tell you solemnly that in america it is three generations "from shirt-sleeves to shirt-sleeves"; but this has about as much truth in it as that remarkable absence of any pure-bred londoners of the third generation, dear to the british imagination. amid the vast yeasty tumult of american business, of the getting and losing which are the main life of this community, nothing could be clearer than the steady accumulation of great masses of property that show no signs of disintegrating again. the very rich people display an indisposition to divide their estates; the marshall field estate in chicago, for example, accumulates; the jay gould inheritance survives great strains. and when first i heard that "shirt-sleeves to shirt-sleeves" proverb, which is so fortifying a consolation to the older school of americans, my mind flew back to the thames embankment, as one sees it from the steamboat on the river. there, just eastward of the tall red education offices of the london county council, stands a quite graceful and decorative little building of gray stone, that jars not at all with the fine traditions of the adjacent temple, but catches the eye, nevertheless, with its very big, very gilded vane in the form of a ship. this is the handsome strong-box to which new york pays gigantic yearly tribute, the office in which mr. w.w. astor conducts his affairs. they are not his private and individual affairs, but the affairs of the estate of the late j.j. astor--still undivided, and still growing year by year. mr. astor seems to me to be a much more representative figure of american wealth than any of the conspicuous spenders who strike so vividly upon the european imagination. his is the most retiring of personalities. in this picturesque stone casket he works; his staff works under his cognizance, and administers, i know not to what ends nor to what extent, revenues that exceed those of many sovereign states. he himself is impressed by it, and, without arrogance, he makes a visit to his offices, with a view of its storage vaults, its halls of disciplined clerks, a novel and characteristic form of entertainment. for the rest, mr. astor leads a life of modest affluence, and recreates himself with the genealogy of his family, short stories about treasure lost and found, and such like literary work. now here you have wealth with, as it were, the minimum of ownership, as indeed owning its possessor. nobody seems to be spending that huge income the crowded enormity of new york squeezes out. the "estate of the late j.j. astor" must be accumulating more wealth and still more; under careful and systematic management must be rolling up like a golden snowball under that golden weather-vane. in the most accidental relation to its undistinguished, harmless, arithmetical proprietor! your anarchist orator or your crude socialist is always talking of the rich as blood-suckers, robbers, robber-barons, _grafters_ and so on. it really is nonsense to talk like that. in the presence of mr. w.w. astor these preposterous accusations answer themselves. the thing is a logical outcome of the assumptions about private property on which our contemporary civilization is based, and mr. astor, for all that he draws gold from new york as effectually as a ferret draws blood from a rabbit, is indeed the most innocent of men. he finds himself in a certain position, and he sits down very congenially and adds and adds and adds, and relieves the tedium of his leisure in literary composition. had he been born at the level of a dry-goods clerk he would probably have done the same sort of thing on a smaller scale, and it would have been the little poddlecombe literary society, and not the _pall mall magazine_, that would have been the richer for his compositions. it is just the scale of the circumstances that differs.... iii the chief getters the lavish spending of fifth avenue and paris and rome and mayfair is but the flower, the often brilliant, the sometimes gaudy flower of the american economic process; and such slow and patient accumulators as mr. astor the rounding and ripening fruit. one need be only a little while in america to realize this, and to discern the branch and leaf, and at last even the aggressive insatiable spreading root of aggregating property, that was liberated so effectually when america declared herself free. the group of people that attracts the largest amount of attention in press and talk, that most obsesses the american imagination, and that is indeed the most significant at the present time, is the little group--a few score men perhaps altogether--who are emerging distinctly as winners in that great struggle to get, into which this commercial industrialism has naturally resolved itself. central among them are the men of the standard oil group, the "octopus" which spreads its ramifying tentacles through the whole system of american business, absorbing and absorbing, grasping and growing. the extraordinarily able investigations of such writers as miss tarbell and ray stannard baker, the rhetorical exposures of mr. t.w. lawson, have brought out the methods and quality of this group of persons with a particularity that has been reserved heretofore for great statesmen and crowned heads, and with an unflattering lucidity altogether unprecedented. not only is every hair on their heads numbered, but the number is published. they are known to their pettiest weaknesses and to their most accidental associations. and in this astonishing blaze of illumination they continue steadfastly to get. these men, who are creating the greatest system of correlated private properties in the world, who are wealthy beyond all precedent, seem for the most part to be men with no ulterior dream or aim. they are not voluptuaries, they are neither artists nor any sort of creators, and they betray no high political ambitions. had they anything of the sort they would not be what they are, they would be more than that and less. they want and they get, they are inspired by the brute will in their wealth to have more wealth and more, to a systematic ardor. they are men of a competing, patient, enterprising, acquisitive enthusiasm. they have found in america the perfectly favorable environment for their temperaments. in no other country and in no other age could they have risen to such eminence. america is still, by virtue of its great puritan tradition and in the older sense of the word, an intensely moral land. most lusts here are strongly curbed, by public opinion, by training and tradition. but the lust of acquisition has not been curbed but glorified.... these financial leaders are accused by the press of every sort of crime in the development of their great organizations and their fight against competitors, but i feel impelled myself to acquit them of anything so heroic as a general scheme of criminality, as a systematic organization of power. they are men with a good deal of contempt for legislation and state interference, but that is no distinction, it has unhappily been part of the training of the average american citizen, and they have no doubt exceeded the letter if not the spirit of the laws of business competition. they have played to win and not for style, and if they personally had not done so somebody else would; they fill a position which from the nature of things, somebody is bound to fill. they have, no doubt, carried sharpness to the very edge of dishonesty, but what else was to be expected from the american conditions? only by doing so and taking risks is pre-eminent success in getting to be attained. they have developed an enormous system of espionage, but on his smaller scale every retail grocer, every employer of servants does something in that way. they have secret agents, false names, concealed bargains,--what else could one expect? people have committed suicide through their operations--but in a game which is bound to bring the losers to despair it is childish to charge the winners with murder. it's the game that is criminal. it is ridiculous, i say, to write of these men as though they were unparalleled villains, intellectual overmen, conscienceless conquerors of the world. mr. j.d. rockefeller's mild, thin-lipped, pleasant face gives the lie to all such melodramatic nonsense. i must confess to a sneaking liking for this much-reviled man. one thinks of miss tarbell's description of him, displaying his first boyish account-book, his ledger a, to a sympathetic gathering of the baptist young, telling how he earned fifty dollars in the first three months of his clerking in a chicago warehouse, and how savingly he dealt with it. hear his words: "you could not get that book from me for all the modern ledgers in new york, nor for all that they would bring. it almost brings tears to my eyes when i read over this little book, and it fills me with a sense of gratitude i cannot express.... "i know some people, ... especially some young men, find it difficult to keep a little money in their pocket-book. i learned to keep money, and, as we have a way of saying, it did not burn a hole in my pocket. i was taught that it was the thing to keep the money and take care of it. among the early experiences that were helpful to me that i recollect with pleasure, was one of working a few days for a neighbor digging potatoes--an enterprising and thrifty farmer who could dig a great many potatoes. i was a boy perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, and he kept me busy from morning until night. it was a ten-hour day.... "and as i was saving these little sums, i soon learned i could get as much interest for fifty dollars loaned at seven per cent.--the legal rate in the state of new york at that time for a year--as i could earn by digging potatoes ten days. the impression was gaining ground with me that it was a good thing to let money be my slave and not make myself a slave to money. i have tried to remember that in every sense." this is not the voice of any sort of contemptuous trampler of his species. this is the voice of an industrious, acquisitive, commonplace, pious man, as honestly and simply proud of his acquisitiveness as a stamp-collector might be. at times, in his acquisitions, the strength of his passion may have driven him to lengths beyond the severe moral code, but the same has been true of stamp-collectors. he is a man who has taken up with great natural aptitude an ignoble tradition which links economy and earning with piety and honor. his teachers were to blame, that baptist community that is now so ashamed of its son that it refuses his gifts. to a large extent he is the creature of opportunity; he has been flung to the topmost pinnacle of human envy, partly by accident, partly by that peculiarity of american conditions that has subordinated, in the name of liberty, all the grave and ennobling affairs of statecraft to a middle-class freedom of commercial enterprise. quarrel with that if you like. it is unfair and ridiculous to quarrel with him. chapter vii certain workers i those who do not get let us now look a little at another aspect of this process of individualistic competition which is the economic process in america, and which is giving us on its upper side the spenders of fifth avenue, the slow accumulators of the astor type, and the great getters of the giant business organizations, the trusts and acquisitive finance. we have concluded that this process of free and open competition in business which, clearly, the framers of the american constitution imagined to be immortal, does as a matter of fact tend to kill itself through the advantage property gives in the acquisition of more property. but before we can go on to estimate the further future of this process we must experiment with another question. what is happening to those who have not got and who are not getting wealth, who are, in fact, falling back in the competition? now there can be little doubt to any one who goes to and fro in america that in spite of the huge accumulation of property in a few hands that is now in progress, there is still no general effect of impoverishment. to me, coming from london to new york, the effect of the crowd in the trolley-cars and subways and streets was one of exceptional prosperity. new york has no doubt its effects of noise, disorder, discomfort, and a sort of brutality, but to begin with one sees nothing of the underfed people, the numerous dingily clad and grayly housed people who catch the eye in london. even in the congested arteries, the filthy back streets of the east side i found myself saying, as a thing remarkable, "these people have money to spend." in london one travels long distances for two cents, and great regiments of people walk; in new york the universal fare is five cents and everybody rides. common people are better gloved and better booted in america than in any european country i know, in spite of the higher prices for clothing here, the men wear ready-made suits, it is true, to a much greater extent, but they are newer and brighter than the london clerk's carefully brushed, tailor-made garments. wages translated from dollars into shillings seem enormous. and there is no perceptible fall in wages going on. on the whole wages tend to rise. for almost all sorts of men, for working women who are not "refined," there is a limitless field of employment. the fact that a growing proportion of the wealth of the community is passing into the hands of a small minority of successful getters, is masked to superficial observation by the enormous increase of the total wealth. the growth process overrides the economic process and may continue to do so for many years. so that the great mass of the population is not consciously defeated in the economic game. it is only failing to get a large share in the increment of wealth. the european reader must dismiss from his mind any conception of the general american population as a mass of people undergoing impoverishment through the enrichment of the few. he must substitute for that figure a mass of people, very busy, roughly prosperous, generally self-satisfied, but ever and again stirred to bouts of irascibility and suspicion, inundated by a constantly swelling flood of prosperity that pours through it and over it and passes by it, without changing or enriching it at all. ever and again it is irritated by some rise in price, an advance in coal, for example, or meat or rent, that swallows up some anticipated gain, but that is an entirely different thing from want or distress, from the fireless hungering poverty of europe. [illustration: new york's crowded, littered east side] nevertheless, the sense of losing develops and spreads in the mass of the american people. privations are not needed to create a sense of economic disadvantage; thwarted hopes suffice. the speed and pressure of work here is much greater than in europe, the impatience for realization intenser. the average american comes into life prepared to "get on," and ready to subordinate most things in life to that. he encounters a rising standard of living. he finds it more difficult to get on than his father did before him. he is perplexed and irritated by the spectacle of lavish spending and the report of gigantic accumulations that outshine his utmost possibilities of enjoyment or success. he is a busy and industrious man, greatly preoccupied by the struggle, but when he stops to think and talk at all, there can be little doubt that his outlook is a disillusioned one, more and more tinged with a deepening discontent. ii the little messenger-boy but the state of mind of the average american we have to consider later. that is the central problem of this horoscope we contemplate. before we come to that we have to sketch out all the broad aspects of the situation with which that mind has to deal. now in the preceding chapter i tried to convey my impression of the spending and wealth-getting of this vast community; i tried to convey how irresponsible it was, how unpremeditated. the american rich have, as it were, floated up out of a confused struggle of equal individuals. that individualistic commercial struggle has not only flung up these rich to their own and the world's amazement, it is also, with an equal blindness, crushing and maiming great multitudes of souls. but this is a fact that does not smite upon one's attention at the outset. the english visitor to the great towns sees the spending, sees the general prosperity, the universal air of confident pride; he must go out of his way to find the under side to these things. one little thing set me questioning. i had been one sunday night down-town, supping and talking with mr. abraham cahan about the "east side," that strange city within a city which has a drama of its own and a literature and a press, and about russia and her problem, and i was returning on the subway about two o'clock in the morning. i became aware of a little lad sitting opposite me, a childish-faced delicate little creature of eleven years old or so, wearing the uniform of a messenger-boy. he drooped with fatigue, roused himself with a start, edged off his seat with a sigh, stepped off the car, and was vanishing up-stairs into the electric glare of astor place as the train ran out of the station. "what on earth," said i, "is that baby doing abroad at this time of night?" for me this weary little wretch became the irritant centre of a painful region of inquiry. "how many hours a day may a child work in new york," i began to ask people, "and when may a boy leave school?" i had blundered, i found, upon the weakest spot in america's fine front of national well-being. my eyes were opened to the childish newsboys who sold me papers, and the little bootblacks at the street corners. nocturnal child employment is a social abomination. i gathered stories of juvenile vice, of lads of nine and ten suffering from terrible diseases, of the contingent sent by these messengers to the hospitals and jails. i began to realize another aspect of that great theory of the liberty of property and the subordination of the state to business, upon which american institutions are based. that theory has no regard for children. indeed, it is a theory that disregards women and children, the cardinal facts of life altogether. they are private things.... it is curious how little we, who live in the dawning light of a new time, question the intellectual assumptions of the social order about us. we find ourselves in a life of huge confusions and many cruelties, we plan this and that to remedy and improve, but very few of us go down to the ideas that begot these ugly conditions, the laws, the usages and liberties that are now in their detailed expansion so perplexing, intricate, and overwhelming. yet the life of man is altogether made up of will cast into the mould of ideas, and only by correcting ideas, changing ideas and replacing ideas are any ameliorations and advances to be achieved in human destiny. all other things are subordinate to that. now the theory of liberty upon which the liberalism of great britain, the constitution of the united states, and the bourgeois republic of france rests, assumes that all men are free and equal. they are all tacitly supposed to be adult and immortal, they are sovereign over their property and over their wives and children, and everything is framed with a view to insuring them security in the enjoyment of their rights. no doubt this was a better theory than that of the divine right of kings, against which it did triumphant battle, but it does, as one sees it to-day, fall most extraordinarily short of the truth, and only a few logical fanatics have ever tried to carry it out to its complete consequences. for example, it ignored the facts that more than half of the adult people in a country are women, and that all the men and women of a country taken together are hardly as numerous and far less important to the welfare of that country than the individuals under age. it regarded living as just living, a stupid dead level of egotistical effort and enjoyment; it was blind to the fact that living is part growing, part learning, part dying to make way and altogether service and sacrifice. it asserted that the care and education of children, and business bargains affecting the employment and welfare of women and children, are private affairs. it resisted the compulsory education of children and factory legislation, therefore, with extraordinary persistence and bitterness. the commonsense of the three great progressive nations concerned has been stronger than their theory, but to this day enormous social evils are to be traced to that passionate jealousy of state intervention between a man and his wife, his children, and other property, which is the distinctive unprecedented feature of the originally middle-class modern organization of society upon commercial and industrial conceptions in which we are all (and america most deeply) living. i began with a drowsy little messenger-boy in the new york subway. before i had done with the question i had come upon amazing things. just think of it! this richest, greatest country the world has ever seen has over , , children under fifteen years of age toiling in fields, factories, mines, and workshops. and robert hunter--whose _poverty_, if i were autocrat, should be compulsory reading for every prosperous adult in the united states, tells me of "not less than eighty thousand children, most of whom are little girls, at present employed in the textile mills of this country. in the south there are now six times as many children at work as there were twenty years ago. child labor is increasing yearly in that section of the country. each year more little ones are brought in from the fields and hills to live in the degrading atmosphere of the mill towns."... children are deliberately imported by the italians. i gathered from commissioner watchorn at ellis island that the proportion of little nephews and nieces, friends' sons, and so forth, brought in by them is peculiarly high, and i heard him try and condemn a doubtful case. it was a particularly unattractive italian in charge of a dull-eyed little boy of no ascertainable relationship.... in the worst days of cotton-milling in england the conditions were hardly worse than those now existing in the south. children, the tiniest and frailest, of five and six years of age, rise in the morning and, like old men and women, go to the mills to do their day's labor; and when they return home, "wearily fling themselves on their beds, too tired to take off their clothes." many children work all night--"in the maddening racket of the machinery, in an atmosphere unsanitary and clouded with humidity and lint." "it will be long," adds mr. hunter, in his description, "before i forget the face of a little boy of six years, with his hands stretched forward to rearrange a bit of machinery, his pallid face and spare form already showing the physical effects of labor. this child, six years of age, was working twelve hours a day." from mr. spargo's _bitter cry of the children_ i learn this much of the joys of certain among the youth of pennsylvania: [illustration: breaker boys at a pennsylvania colliery] "for ten or eleven hours a day children of ten and eleven stoop over the chute and pick out the slate and other impurities from the coal as it moves past them. the air is black with coal-dust, and the roar of the crushers, screens, and rushing mill-race of coal is deafening. sometimes one of the children falls into the machinery and is terribly mangled, or slips into the chute and is smothered to death. many children are killed in this way. many others, after a time, contract coal-miners' asthma and consumption, which gradually undermine their health. breathing continually day after day the clouds of coal-dust, their lungs become black and choked with small particles of anthracite."... in massachusetts, at fall river, the hon. j.f. carey tells us how little naked boys, free americans, work for mr. borden, the new york millionaire, packing cloth into bleaching vats in a bath of chemicals that bleaches their little bodies like the bodies of lepers.... well, we english have no right to condemn the americans for these things. the history of our own industrial development is black with the blood of tortured and murdered children. america still has the factory serfs. new jersey sends her pauper children south to-day into worse than slavery, but, as cottle tells in his reminiscences of southey and coleridge, that is precisely the same wretched export bristol packed off to feed the mills of manchester in late georgian times. we got ahead with factory legislation by no peculiar virtue in our statecraft, it was just the revenge the landlords took upon the manufacturers for reform and free trade in corn and food. in america the manufacturers have had things to themselves. and america has difficulties to encounter of which we know nothing. in the matter of labor legislation each state legislature is supreme; in each separate state the forces of light and progress must fight the battle of the children and the future over again against interests, lies, prejudice and stupidity. each state pleads the bad example of another state, and there is always the threat that capital will withdraw. no national minimum is possible under existing conditions. and when the laws have passed there is still the universal contempt for state control to reckon with, the impossibilities of enforcement. illinois, for instance, scandalized at the spectacle of children in those filthy stock-yards, ankle-deep in blood, cleaning intestines and trimming meat, recently passed a child-labor law that raised the minimum age for such employment to sixteen, but evasion, they told me in chicago, was simple and easy. new york, too, can show by its statute-books that my drowsy nocturnal messenger-boy was illegal and impossible.... this is the bottomest end of the scale that at the top has all the lavish spending of fifth avenue, the joyous wanton giving of mr. andrew carnegie. equally with these things it is an unpremeditated consequence of an inadequate theory of freedom. the foolish extravagances of the rich, the architectural pathos of newport, the dingy, noisy, economic jumble of central and south chicago, the standard oil offices in broadway, the darkened streets beneath new york's elevated railroad, the littered ugliness of niagara's banks, and the lower-most hell of child suffering are all so many accordant aspects and inexorable consequences of the same undisciplined way of living. let each man push for himself--it comes to these things.... so far as our purpose of casting a horoscope goes we have particularly to note this as affecting the future; these working children cannot be learning to read--though they will presently be having votes--they cannot grow up fit to bear arms, to be in any sense but a vile computing sweater's sense, men. so miserably they will avenge themselves by supplying the stuff for vice, for crime, for yet more criminal and political manipulations. one million seven hundred children, practically uneducated, are toiling over here, and growing up, darkened, marred, and dangerous, into the american future i am seeking to forecast. chapter viii corruption i the problem of the nation so, it seems to me, in this new crude continental commonwealth, there is going on the same economic process, on a grander scale, indeed, than has gone so far in our own island. there is a great concentration of wealth above, and below, deep and growing is the abyss, that sunken multitude on the margin of subsistence which is a characteristic and necessary feature of competitive industrialism, that teeming abyss where children have no chance, where men and women dream neither of leisure nor of self-respect. and between this efflorescence of wealth above and spreading degradation below, comes the great mass of the population, perhaps fifty millions and more of healthy and active men, women and children (i leave out of count altogether the colored people and the special trouble of the south until a later chapter) who are neither irresponsibly free nor hopelessly bound, who are the living determining substance of america. collectively they constitute what mr. roosevelt calls the "nation," what an older school of americans used to write of as the people. the nation is neither rich nor poor, neither capitalist nor laborer, neither republican nor democrat; it is a great diversified multitude including all these things. it is a comprehensive abstraction; it is the ultimate reality. you may seek for it in america and you cannot find it, as one seeks in vain for the forest among the trees. it has no clear voice; the confused and local utterances of a dispersed innumerable press, of thousands of public speakers, of books and preachers, evoke fragmentary responses or drop rejected into oblivion. i have been told by countless people where i shall find the typical american; one says in maine, one in the alleghenies, one "farther west," one in kansas, one in cleveland. he is indeed nowhere and everywhere. he is an english-speaking person, with extraordinarily english traits still, in spite of much good german and scandinavian and irish blood he has assimilated. he has a distrust of lucid theories, and logic, and he talks unwillingly of ideas. he is preoccupied, he is busy with his individual affairs, but he is--i can feel it in the air--thinking. how widely and practically he is thinking that curious product of the last few years, the ten-cent magazine, will show. in england our sixpenny magazines seem all written for boys and careless people; they are nothing but stories and jests and pictures. the weekly ones achieve an extraordinarily agreeable emptiness. their american equivalents are full of the studied and remarkably well-written discussion of grave public questions. i pick up one magazine and find a masterly exposition of the public aspect of railway rebates, another and a trust is analyzed. then here are some titles of books that all across this continent are being multitudinously read: parson's _heart of the railway problem_, steffens's _shame of the cities_, lawson's _frenzied finance_, miss tarbell's _story of standard oil_, abbott's _industrial problem_, spargo's _bitter cry of the children_, hunter's _poverty_, and, pioneer of them all, lloyd's _wealth against commonwealth_. these are titles quoted almost at hap-hazard. within a remarkably brief space of time the american nation has turned away from all the heady self-satisfaction of the nineteenth century and commenced a process of heart searching quite unparalleled in history. its egotistical interest in its own past is over and done. while mr. upton sinclair, the youngest, most distinctive of recent american novelists, achieved but a secondary success with his admirably conceived romance of the civil war, _manassas, the jungle_, his book about the beef trust and the soul of the immigrant, the most unflattering picture of america that any one has yet dared to draw, has fired the country. the american nation, which a few years ago seemed invincibly wedded to an extreme individualism, seemed resolved, as it were, to sit on the safety valves of the economic process and go on to the ultimate catastrophe, displays itself now alert and questioning. it has roused itself to a grave and extensive consideration of the intricate economic and political problems that close like a net about its future. the essential question for america, as for europe, is the rescue of her land, her public service, and the whole of her great economic process from the anarchic and irresponsible control of private owners--how dangerous and horrible that control may become the railway and beef trust investigations have shown--and the organization of her social life upon the broad, clean, humane conceptions of modern science. in every country, however, this huge problem of reconstruction which is the alternative to a plutocratic decadence, is enormously complicated by irrelevant and special difficulties. in great britain, for example, the ever-pressing problem of holding the empire, and the fact that one legislative body is composed almost entirely of private land-owners, hampers every step towards a better order. upon every country in europe weighs the armor of war. in america the complications are distinctive and peculiar. she is free, indeed, now to a large extent from the possibility of any grave military stresses, her one overseas investment in the philippines she is evidently resolved to forget and be rid of at as early a date as possible. but, on the other hand, she is confronted by a system of legal entanglements of extraordinary difficulty and perplexity, she has the most powerful tradition of individualism in the world, and a degraded political system, and she has in the presence of a vast and increasing proportion of unassimilable aliens in her substance--negroes, south european peasants, russian jews and the like--an ever-intensifying complication. ii graft now what is called corruption in america is a thing not confined to politics; it is a defect of moral method found in every department of american life. i find in big print in every paper i open, "graft." all through my journey in america i have been trying to gauge the quality of this corruption, i have been talking to all kinds of people about it, i have had long conversations about it with president eliot of harvard, with district-attorney jerome, with one leading insurance president, with a number of the city club people in chicago, with several east-siders in new york, with men engaged in public work in every city i have visited, with senators at washington, with a chicago saloon-keeper and his friend, a shepherd of votes, and with a varied and casual assortment of americans upon trains and boats; i read my ostrogorsky, my otünsterberg, and my roosevelt before i came to america, and i find myself going through any american newspaper that comes to hand always with an eye to this. it is to me a most vital issue in the horoscope i contemplate. all depends upon the answer to this question: is the average citizen fundamentally dishonest? is he a rascal and humbug in grain? if he is, the future can needs be no more than a monstrous social disorganization in the face of divine opportunities. or is he fundamentally honest, but a little confused ethically?... the latter, i think, is the truer alternative, but i will confess i have ranged through all the scale between a buoyant optimism and despair. it is extraordinarily difficult to move among the crowded contrasts of this perplexing country and emerge with any satisfactory generalization. but there is one word i find all too frequently in the american papers, and that is "stealing." they come near calling any profitable, rather unfair bargain with the public a "steal." it's the common journalistic vice here always to overstate. every land has its criminals, no doubt, but the american, i am convinced, is the last man in the world to steal. nor does he tell you lies to your face, except in the way of business. he's not that sort of man. nor does he sneak bad money into your confiding hand. nor ask a higher price than he means to accept. nor cheat on exchange. for all the frequency of "graft" and "stealing" in the press head-lines, i feel the american is pretty distinctly less "mean" than many europeans in these respects, and much more disposed to be ashamed of meanness. but he certainly has an ethical system of a highly commercial type. if he isn't dishonest he's commercialized. he lives to get, to come out of every transaction with more than he gave. in the highly imaginative theory that underlies the realities of an individualistic society there is such a thing as honest trading. in practice i don't believe there is. exchangeable things are supposed to have a fixed quality called their value, and honest trading is, i am told, the exchange of things of equal value. nobody gains or loses by honest trading, and therefore nobody can grow rich by it. and nobody would do business except to subsist by a profit and attempt to grow rich. the honest merchant in the individualist's dream is a worthy and urbane person who intervenes between the seller here and the buyer there, fetches from one to another, stores a surplus of goods, takes risks, and indemnifies himself by charging the seller and the buyer a small fee for his waiting and his carrying and his speculative hawking about. he would be sick and ashamed to undervalue a purchase or overcharge a customer, and it scarcely requires a competitor to reduce his fee to a minimum. he draws a line between customers with whom he deals and competitors with whom he wouldn't dream of dealing. and though it seems a little incredible, he grows rich and beautiful in these practices and endows art, science, and literature. such is the commercial life in a world of economic angels, magic justice and the individualist's utopia. in reality flesh and blood cannot resist a bargain, and people trade to get. in reality value is a dream, and the commercial ideal is to buy from the needy, sell to the urgent need, and get all that can possibly be got out of every transaction. to do anything else isn't business--it's some other sort of game. let us look squarely into the pretences of trading. the plain fact of the case is that in trading for profit there is no natural line at which legitimate bargaining ends and cheating begins. the seller wants to get above the value and the buyer below it. the seller seeks to appreciate, the buyer to depreciate; and where is there room for truth in that contest? in bargaining, overvaluing and undervaluing are not only permissible but inevitable, attempts to increase the desire to buy and willingness to sell. who can invent a rule to determine what expedients are permissible and what not? you may draw an arbitrary boundary--the law does here and there, a little discontinuously--but that is all. for example, consider these questions that follow: nothing is perfect in this world; all goods are defective. are you bound to inform your customer of every defect? suppose you are, then are you bound to examine your goods minutely for defects? grant that. then if you intrust that duty to an employee ought you to dismiss him for selling defective goods for you? the customer will buy your goods anyhow. are you bound to spend more upon cleaning and packing them than he demands?--to wrap them in gold-foil gratuitously, for example? how are you going to answer these questions? let me suppose that your one dream in life is to grow rich. suppose you want to grow very rich and found a noble university, let us say? you answer them in the roman spirit, with _caveat emptor_. then can you decently join in the outcry against the chicago butchers? then turn again to the group of problems the standard oil history raises. you want the customer to buy your goods and not your competitor's. naturally you do everything to get your goods to him, to make them seem best to him, to reduce the influx of the other man's stuff. you don't lend your competitor your shop-window anyhow. if there's a hoarding you don't restrict your advertisements because otherwise there won't be room for him. and if you happen to have a paramount interest in the carrying line that bears your goods and his, why shouldn't you see that your own goods arrive first? and at a cheaper rate?... [illustration: interior of a new york office building] you see one has to admit there is always this element of overreaching, of outwitting, of fore-stalling, in all systematic trade. it may be refined, it may be dignified, but it is there. it differs in degree and not in quality from cheating. a very scrupulous man stops at one point, a less scrupulous man at another, an eager, ambitious man may find himself carried by his own impetus very far. too often the least scrupulous wins. in all ages, among all races, this taint in trade has been felt. modern western europe, led by england, and america have denied it stoutly, have glorified the trader, called him a "merchant prince," wrapped him in the purple of the word "financier," bowed down before him. the trader remains a trader, a hand that clutches, an uncreative brain that lays snares. occasionally, no doubt, he exceeds his function and is better than his occupations. but it is not he but the maker who must be the power and ruler of the great and luminous social order that must surely come, that new order i have persuaded myself i find in glimmering evasive promises amid the congestions of new york, the sheds and defilements of niagara, and the chicago reek and grime.... the american, i feel assured, can be a bold and splendid maker. he is not, like the uncreative parsee or jew or armenian, a trader by blood and nature. the architecture i have seen, the finely planned, internally beautiful, and admirably organized office buildings (to step into them from the street is to step up fifty years in the scale of civilization), the business organizations, the industrial skill--i visited a trap and chain factory at oneida, right in the heart of new york state, that was like the interior of a well-made clock--above all, the plans for reconstructing his cities show that. those others make nothing. but nevertheless, since he, more than any man, has subserved the full development of eighteenth and nineteenth century conceptions, he has acquired some of the very worst habits of the trader. too often he is a gambler. ever and again i have had glimpses of preoccupied groups of men at green tables in little rooms, playing that dreary game poker, wherein there is no skill, no variety except in the sum at hazard, no orderly development, only a sort of expressionless lying called "bluffing." indeed, poker isn't so much a game as a bad habit. yet the american sits for long hours at it, dispersing and accumulating dollars, and he carries its great conception of "bluff" and a certain experience of kinetic physiognomy back with him to his office.... and americans talk dollars to an astonishing extent.... now this is the reality of american corruption, a huge exclusive preoccupation with dollar-getting. what is called corruption by the press is really no more than the acute expression in individual cases of this general fault. where everybody is getting it is idle to expect a romantic standard of honesty between employers and employed. the official who buys rails for the big railway company that is professedly squeezing every penny it can out of the public for its shareholders as its highest aim, is not likely to display any religious self-abnegation of a share for himself in this great work. the director finds it hard to distinguish between getting for himself and getting for his company, and the duty to one-self of a discreet use of opportunity taints the whole staff from manager to messenger-boy. the politicians who protect the interests of the same railway in the house of commons or the senate, as the case may be, are not going to do it for love either. nobody will have any mercy for their wives or children if they die poor. the policeman who stands between the property of the company and the irregular enterprise of robbers feels his vigilance merits a special recognition. a position of trust is a position of advantage, and deserves a percentage. everywhere, as every one knows, in all the modern states, quite as much as in china, there are commissions, there are tips, there are extortions and secret profits, there is, in a word, "graft." it's no american specialty. things are very much the same in this matter in great britain as in america, but americans talk more and louder than we do. and indeed all this is no more than an inevitable development of the idea of trading in the mind, that every transaction must leave something behind for the agent. it's not stealing, but nevertheless, the automatic cash-register becomes more and more of a necessity in this thickening atmosphere of private enterprise. iii political dishonesty it seems to me that the political corruption that still plays so large a part in the american problem is a natural and necessary underside to a purely middle-class organization of society for business. nobody is left over to watch the politician. and the evil is enormously aggravated by the complexities of the political machinery, by the methods of the presidential election that practically prescribes a ticket method of voting, and by the absence of any second ballots. moreover, the passion of the simpler minded americans for aggressive legislation controlling private morality has made the control of the police a main source of party revenue, and dragged the saloon and brothel, essentially retiring though these institutions are, into politics. the constitution ties up political reform in the most extraordinary way, it was planned by devout republicans equally afraid of a dictatorship and the people; it does not so much distribute power as disperse it, the machinery falls readily into the hands of professional politicians with no end to secure but their immediate profit, and is almost inaccessible to poor men who cannot make their incomes in its working. an increasing number of wealthy young men have followed president roosevelt into political life--one thinks of such figures as senator colby of new jersey, but they are but incidental mitigations of a generally vicious scheme. before the nation, so busy with its diversified private affairs, lies the devious and difficult problem of a great reconstruction of its political methods, as a preliminary to any broad change of its social organization.... how vicious things are i have had some inkling in a dozen whispered stories of votes, of ballot-boxes rifled, of votes destroyed, of the violent personation of cowed and ill-treated men. and in chicago i saw a little of the physical aspect of the system. i made the acquaintance of alderman kenna, who is better known, i found, throughout the states as "hinky-dink," saw his two saloons and something of the chinese quarter about him. he is a compact, upright little man, with iron-gray hair, a clear blue eye, and a dry manner. he wore a bowler hat through all our experiences in common, and kept his hands in his jacket-pockets. he filled me with a ridiculous idea, for which i apologize, that had it fallen to the lot of mr. j.m. barrie to miss a university education, and keep a saloon in chicago and organize voters, he would have looked own brother to mr. kenna. we commenced in the first saloon, a fine, handsome place, with mirrors and tables and decorations and a consumption of mitigated mineral waters and beer in bottles; then i was taken over to see the other saloon, the one across the way. we went behind the counter, and while i professed a comparative interest in english and american beer-engines, and the alderman exchanged commonplaces with two or three of the shirt-sleeved barmen, i was able to survey the assembled customers. it struck me as a pretty tough gathering. the first thing that met the eye were the schooners of beer. there is nothing quite like the american beer-schooner in england. it would appeal strongly to an unstinted appetite for beer, and i should be curious to try it upon a british agricultural laborer and see how many he could hold. he would, i am convinced, have to be entirely hollowed out to hold two. those i saw impressed me as being about the size of small fish-globes set upon stems, and each was filled with a very substantial-looking beer indeed. they stood in a careless row all along the length of the saloon counter. below them, in attitudes of negligent proprietorship, lounged the "crowd" in a haze of smoke and conversation. for the most part i should think they were americanized immigrants. i looked across the counter at them, met their eyes, got the quality of their faces--and it seemed to me i was a very flimsy and unsubstantial intellectual thing indeed. it struck me that i would as soon go to live in a pen in a stock-yard as into american politics. that was my momentary impression. but that line of base and coarse faces seen through the reek was only one sample of the great saloon stratum of the american population in which resides political power. they have no ideas and they have votes; they are capable, if need be, of meeting violence by violence, and that is the sort of thing american methods demand.... now alderman kenna is a straight man, the sort of man one likes and trusts at sight, and he did not invent his profession. he follows his own ideas of right and wrong, and compared with my ideas of right and wrong, they seem tough, compact, decided things. he is very kind to all his crowd. he helps them when they are in trouble, even if it is trouble with the police; he helps them find employment when they are down on their luck; he stands between them and the impacts of an unsympathetic and altogether too-careless social structure in a sturdy and almost parental way. i can quite believe what i was told, that in the lives of many of these rough undesirables he's almost the only decent influence. he gets wives well treated, and he has an open heart for children. and he tells them how to vote, a duty of citizenship they might otherwise neglect, and sees that they do it properly. and whenever you want to do things in chicago you must reckon carefully with him.... there you have a chip, a hand specimen, from the basement structure upon which american politics rest. that is the remarkable alternative to private enterprise as things are at present. it is america's only other way. if public services are to be taken out of the hands of such associations of financiers as the standard oil group they have to be put into the hands of politicians resting at last upon this sort of basis. therein resides the impossibility of socialism in america--as the case for socialism is put at present. the third course is the far more complex, difficult and heroic one of creating imaginatively and bringing into being a new state--a feat no people in the world has yet achieved, but a feat that any people which aspires to lead the future is bound, i think, to attempt. chapter ix the immigrant i the flood my picture of america assumes now a certain definite form. i have tried to convey the effect of a great and energetic english-speaking population strewn across a continent so vast as to make it seem small and thin; i have tried to show this population caught by the upward sweep of that great increase in knowledge that is everywhere enlarging the power and scope of human effort, exhilarated by it, and active and hopeful beyond any population the world has ever seen, and i have tried to show how the members of this population struggle and differentiate among themselves in a universal commercial competition that must, in the end, if it is not modified, divide them into two permanent classes of rich and poor. i have ventured to hint at a certain emptiness in the resulting wealthy, and to note some of the uglinesses and miseries inseparable from this competition. i have tried to give my impressions of the vague, yet widely diffused, will in the nation to resist this differentiation, and of a dim, large movement of thought towards a change of national method. i have glanced at the debasement of politics that bars any immediate hope of such reconstruction. and now it is time to introduce a new element of obstruction and difficulty into this complicating problem--the immigrants. into the lower levels of the american community there pours perpetually a vast torrent of strangers, speaking alien tongues, inspired by alien traditions, for the most part illiterate peasants and working-people. they come in at the bottom: that must be insisted upon. an enormous and ever-increasing proportion of the laboring classes, of all the lower class in america, is of recent european origin, is either of foreign birth or foreign parentage. the older american population is being floated up on the top of this influx, a sterile aristocracy above a racially different and astonishingly fecund proletariat. (for it grows rankly in this new soil. one section of immigrants, the hungarians, have here a birth-rate of forty-six in the thousand, the highest of any civilized people in the world.) few people grasp the true dimensions of this invasion. figures carry so little. the influx has clambered from half a million to , , to , ; this year the swelling figures roll up as if they mean to go far over the million mark. the flood swells to overtake the total birth-rate; it has already over-topped the total of births of children to native-american parents. i have already told something of the effect of ellis island. i have told how i watched the long procession of simple-looking, hopeful, sunburned country folk from russia, from the carpathians, from southern italy and turkey and syria, filing through the wickets, bringing their young wives for the mills of paterson and fall river, their children for the pennsylvania coal-breakers and the cotton-mills of the south. yet there are moments when i could have imagined there were no immigrants at all. all the time, except for one distinctive evening, i seem to have been talking to english-speaking men, now and then to the irishman, now and then, but less frequently, to an americanized german. in the clubs there are no immigrants. there are not even jews, as there are in london clubs. one goes about the wide streets of boston, one meets all sorts of boston people, one visits the state-house; it's all the authentic english-speaking america. fifth avenue, too, is america without a touch of foreign-born; and washington. you go a hundred yards south of the pretty boston common and, behold! you are in a polyglot slum! you go a block or so east of fifth avenue and you are in a vaster, more yiddish whitechapel. you cross from new york to staten island, attracted by its distant picturesque suggestion of scattered homes among the trees, and you discover black-tressed, bold-eyed women on those pleasant verandas, half-clad brats, and ambiguous washing, where once the native american held his simple state. you ask the way of a young man who has just emerged from a ramshackle factory, and you are answered in some totally incomprehensible tongue. you come up again after such a dive below, to dine with the original americans again, talk with them, go about with them and forget.... in boston, one sunday afternoon, this fact of immigration struck upon mr. henry james: "there went forward across the cop of the hill a continuous passage of men and women, in couples and talkative companies, who struck me as laboring wage-earners of the simpler sort arrayed in their sunday best and decently enjoying their leisure ... no sound of english in a single instance escaped their lips; the greater number spoke a rude form of italian, the others some outland dialect unknown to me--though i waited and waited to catch an echo of antique refrains." that's one of a series of recurrent, uneasy observations of this great replacement i find in mr. james's book. the immigrant does not clamor for attention. he is, indeed, almost entirely inaudible, inarticulate, and underneath. he is in origin a peasant, inarticulate, and underneath by habit and tradition. mr. james has, as it were, to put his ear to earth, to catch the murmuring of strange tongues. the incomer is of diverse nationality and diverse tongues, and that "breaks him up" politically and socially. he drops into american clothes, and then he does not catch the careless eye. he goes into special regions and works there. where americans talk or think or have leisure to observe, he does not intrude. the bulk of the americans don't get as yet any real sense of his portentous multitude at all. he does not read very much, and so he produces no effect upon the book trade or magazines. you can go through such a periodical as _harper's magazine_, for example, from cover to cover, and unless there is some article or story bearing specifically upon the subject you might doubt if there was an immigrant in the country. on the liner coming over, at ellis island, and sometimes on the railroads one saw him--him and his womankind,--in some picturesque east-european garb, very respectful, very polite, adventurous, and a little scared. then he became less visible. he had got into cheap american clothes, resorted to what naturalists call "protective mimicry," even perhaps acquired a collar. also his bearing had changed, become charged with a certain aggression. he had got a pocket-handkerchief, and had learned to move fast and work fast, and to chew and spit with the proper meditative expression. one detected him by his diminishing accent, and by a few persistent traits--rings in his ears, perhaps, or the like adornment. in the next stage these also had gone; he had become ashamed of the music of his native tongue, and talked even to his wife, on the trolley-car and other public places, at least, in brief remarkable american. before that he had become ripe for a vote. the next stage of americanization, i suppose, is this dingy quick-eyed citizen with his schooner of beer in my chicago saloon--if it is not that crumpled thing i saw lying so still in the sunlight under the trestle bridge on my way to washington.... ii in defence of immigration every american above forty, and most of those below that limit, seem to be enthusiastic advocates of unrestricted immigration. i could not make them understand the apprehension with which this huge dilution of the american people with profoundly ignorant foreign peasants filled me. i rode out on an automobile into the pretty new york country beyond yonkers with that finely typical american, mr. z.--he wanted to show me the pleasantness of the land,--and he sang the song of american confidence, i think, more clearly and loudly than any. he told me how everybody had hope, how everybody had incentive, how magnificently it was all going on. he told me--what is, i am afraid, a widely spread delusion--that elementary education stands on a higher level of efficiency in the states than in england. he had no doubt whatever of the national powers of assimilation. "let them all come," he said, cheerfully. "the chinese?" said i. "we can do with them all."... he was exceptional in that extension. most americans stop at the ural mountains, and refuse the "asiatic." it was not a matter for discussion with him, but a question of belief. he had ceased to reason about immigration long ago. he was a man in the fine autumn of life, abounding in honors, wrapped in furs, and we drove swiftly in his automobile, through the spring sunshine. ("by jove!" thought i, "you talk like pippa's rich uncle.") by some half-brother of a coincidence we happened first upon this monument commemorating a memorable incident of the war of independence, and then upon that. he recalled details of that great campaign as washington was fought out of manhattan northward. i remember one stone among the shooting trees that indicated where in the hudson river near by a british sloop had fired the first salute in honor of the american flag. that salute was vividly present still to him; it echoed among the woods, it filled him with a sense of personal triumph; it seemed half-way back to agincourt to me. all that bright morning the stars and stripes made an almost luminous visible presence about us. open-handed hospitality and confidence in god so swayed me that it is indeed only now, as i put this book together, i see this shining buoyancy, this bunting patriotism, in its direct relation to the italian babies in the cotton-mills, to the sinister crowd that stands in the saloon smoking and drinking beer, an accumulating reserve of unintelligent force behind the manoeuvres of the professional politicians.... i tried my views upon commissioner watchorn as we leaned together over the gallery railing and surveyed that bundle-carrying crowd creeping step by step through the wire filter of the central hall of ellis island--into america. "you don't think they'll swamp you?" i said. "now look here," said the commissioner, "i'm english born--derbyshire. i came into america when i was a lad. i had fifteen dollars. and here i am! well, do you expect me, now i'm here, to shut the door on any other poor chaps who want a start--a start with hope in it, in the new world?" a pleasant-mannered, a fair-haired young man, speaking excellent english, had joined us as we went round, and nodded approval. i asked him for his opinion, and gathered he was from milwaukee, and the son of a scandinavian immigrant. he, too, was for "fair-play" and an open door for every one. "except," he added, "asiatics." so also, i remember, was a very new england lady i met at hull house, who wasn't, as a matter of fact, a new-englander at all, but the daughter of a german settler in the middle west. they all seemed to think that i was inspired by hostility to the immigrant in breathing any doubt about the desirability of this immense process.... i tried in each case to point out that this idea of not being churlishly exclusive did not exhaust the subject, that the present immigration is a different thing entirely from the immigration of half a century ago, that in the interest of the immigrant and his offspring more than any one, is the protest to be made. fifty years ago more than half of the torrent was english speaking, and the rest mostly from the teutonic and scandinavian northwest of europe, an influx of people closely akin to the native americans in temperament and social tradition. they were able to hold their own and mix perfectly. even then the quantity of illiterate irish produced a marked degradation of political life. the earlier immigration was an influx of energetic people who wanted to come, and who had to put themselves to considerable exertion to get here; it was higher in character and in social quality than the present flood. the immigration of to-day is largely the result of energetic canvassing by the steamship companies; it is, in the main, an importation of laborers and not of economically independent settlers, and it is increasingly alien to the native tradition. the bulk of it is now italian, russian jewish, russian, hungarian, croatian, roumanian, and eastern european generally. "the children learn english, and become more american and better patriots than the americans," commissioner watchorn--echoing everybody in that--told me.... (in boston one optimistic lady looked to the calabrian and sicilian peasants to introduce an artistic element into the population--no doubt because they come from the same peninsula that produced the florentines.) iii assimilation will the reader please remember that i've been just a few weeks in the states altogether, and value my impressions at that! and will he, nevertheless, read of doubts that won't diminish. i doubt very much if america is going to assimilate all that she is taking in now; much more do i doubt that she will assimilate the still greater inflow of the coming years. i believe she is going to find infinite difficulties in that task. by "assimilate" i mean make intelligently co-operative citizens of these people. she will, i have no doubt whatever, impose upon them a bare use of the english language, and give them votes and certain patriotic persuasions, but i believe that if things go on as they are going the great mass of them will remain a very low lower class--will remain largely illiterate industrialized peasants. they are decent-minded peasant people, orderly, industrious people, rather dirty in their habits, and with a low standard of life. wherever they accumulate in numbers they present to my eye a social phase far below the level of either england, france, north italy, or switzerland. and, frankly, i do not find the american nation has either in its schools--which are as backward in some states as they are forward in others--in its press, in its religious bodies or its general tone, any organized means or effectual influences for raising these huge masses of humanity to the requirements of an ideal modern civilization. they are, to my mind, "biting off more than they can chaw" in this matter. i got some very interesting figures from dr. hart, of the children's home and aid society, chicago, in this matter. he was pleading for the immigrant against my scepticisms. he pointed out to me that the generally received opinion that the european immigrants are exceptionally criminal is quite wrong. the census report collapsed after a magnificent beginning, and its figures are not available, but from the earlier records there can be no doubt that the percentage of criminals among the "foreign-born" is higher than that among the native-born. this, however, is entirely due to the high criminal record of the french canadians in the northeast, and the mexicans in arizona, who are not overseas immigrants at all. the criminal statistics of the french canadians in the states should furnish useful matter for the educational controversy in great britain. allowing for their activities--which appear to be based on an education of peculiar religious virtue--the figures bring the criminal percentage among the foreigners far below that of the native-born. but dr. hart's figures also showed very clearly something further: as between the offspring of native and foreign parents the preponderance of crime is enormously on the side of the latter. that, at any rate, falls in with my own preconceptions and roving observations. bear in mind always that this is just one questioning individual's impression. it seems to me that the immigrant arrives an artless, rather uncivilized, pious, good-hearted peasant, with a disposition towards submissive industry and rude effectual moral habits. america, it is alleged, makes a man of him. it seems to me that all too often she makes an infuriated toiler of him, tempts him with dollars and speeds him up with competition, hardens him, coarsens his manners, and, worst crime of all, lures and forces him to sell his children into toil. the home of the immigrant in america looks to me worse than the home he came from in italy. it is just as dirty, it is far less simple and beautiful, the food is no more wholesome, the moral atmosphere far less wholesome; and, as a consequence, the child of the immigrant is a worse man than his father. i am fully aware of the generosity, the nobility of sentiment which underlies the american objection to any hindrance to immigration. but either that general sentiment should be carried out to a logical completeness and a gigantic and costly machinery organized to educate and civilize these people as they come in, or it should be chastened to restrict the inflow to numbers assimilable under existing conditions. at present, if we disregard sentiment, if we deny the alleged need of gross flattery whenever one writes of america for americans, and state the bare facts of the case, they amount to this: that america, in the urgent process of individualistic industrial development, in its feverish haste to get through with its material possibilities, is importing a large portion of the peasantry of central and eastern europe, and converting it into a practically illiterate industrial proletariat. in doing this it is doing a something that, however different in spirit, differs from the slave trade of its early history only in the narrower gap between employer and laborer. in the "colored" population america has already ten million descendants of unassimilated and perhaps unassimilable labor immigrants. these people are not only half civilized and ignorant, but they have infected the white population about them with a kindred ignorance. for there can be no doubt that if an englishman or scotchman of the year were to return to earth and seek his most retrograde and decivilized descendants, he would find them at last among the white and colored population south of washington. and i have a foreboding that in this mixed flood of workers that pours into america by the million to-day, in this torrent of ignorance, against which that heroic being, the schoolmarm, battles at present all unaided by men, there is to be found the possibility of another dreadful separation of class and kind, a separation perhaps not so profound but far more universal. one sees the possibility of a rich industrial and mercantile aristocracy of western european origin, dominating a darker-haired, darker-eyed, uneducated proletariat from central and eastern europe. the immigrants are being given votes, i know, but that does not free them, it only enslaves the country. the negroes were given votes. that is the quality of the danger as i see it. but before this indigestion of immigrants becomes an incurable sickness of the states many things may happen. there is every sign, as i have said, that a great awakening, a great disillusionment, is going on in the american mind. the americans have become suddenly self-critical, are hot with an unwonted fever for reform and constructive effort. this swamping of the country may yet be checked. they may make a strenuous effort to emancipate children below fifteen from labor, and so destroy one of the chief inducements of immigration. once convince them that their belief in the superiority of their public schools to those of england and germany is an illusion, or at least that their schools are inadequate to the task before them, and it may be they will perform some swift american miracle of educational organization and finance. for all the very heavy special educational charges that are needed if the immigrant is really to be assimilated, it seems a reasonable proposal that immigration should pay. suppose the new-comer were presently to be taxed on arrival for his own training and that of any children he had with him, that again would check the inrush very greatly. or the steamship company might be taxed, and left to settle the trouble with the immigrant by raising his fare. and finally, it may be that if the line is drawn, as it seems highly probable it will be, at "asiatics," then there may even be a drying up of the torrent at its source. the european countries are not unlimited reservoirs of offspring. as they pass from their old conditions into more and more completely organized modern industrial states, they develop a new internal equilibrium and cease to secrete an excess of population. england no longer supplies any great quantity of americans; scotland barely any; france is exhausted; ireland, germany, scandinavia have, it seems, disgorged nearly all their surplus load, and now run dry.... these are all mitigations of the outlook, but still the dark shadow of disastrous possibility remains. the immigrant comes in to weaken and confuse the counsels of labor, to serve the purposes of corruption, to complicate any economic and social development, above all to retard enormously the development of that national consciousness and will on which the hope of the future depends. iv the educational alliance i told these doubts of mine to a pleasant young lady of new york, who seems to find much health and a sustaining happiness in settlement work on the east side. she scorned my doubts. "children make better citizens than the old americans," she said, like one who quotes a classic, and took me with her forthwith to see the central school of the educational alliance, that fine imposing building in east broadway. it's a thing i'm glad not to have missed. i recall a large cool room with a sloping floor, tier rising above tier of seats and desks, and a big class of bright-eyed jewish children, boys and girls, each waving two little american flags to the measure of the song they sang, singing to the accompaniment of the piano on the platform beside us. "god bless our native land," they sang--with a considerable variety of accent and distinctness, but with a very real emotion. some of them had been in america a month, some much longer, but here they were--under the auspices of the wealthy hebrews of new york and mr. blaustein's enthusiastic direction--being americanized. they sang of america--"sweet land of liberty"; they stood up and drilled with the little bright pretty flags; swish they crossed and swish they waved back, a waving froth of flags and flushed children's faces; and they stood up and repeated the oath of allegiance, and at the end filed tramping by me and out of the hall. the oath they take is finely worded. it runs: [illustration: where immigrant children are americanized] "flag our great republic, inspirer in battle, guardian of our homes, whose stars and stripes stand for bravery, purity, truth, and union, we salute thee! we, the natives of distant lands, who find rest under thy folds, do pledge our hearts, our lives, and our sacred honor to love and protect thee, our country, and the liberty of the american people forever." i may have been fanciful, but as i stood aside and watched them going proudly past, it seemed to me that eyes met mine, triumphant and victorious eyes--for was i not one of these british from whom freedom was won? but that was an ignoble suspicion. they had been but a few weeks in america, and that light in their eyes was just a brotherly challenge to one they supposed a fellow-citizen who stood unduly thoughtful amid their rhythmic exaltation. they tramped out and past with their flags and guidons. "it is touching!" whispered my guide, and i saw she had caught a faint reflection of that glow that lit the children. i told her it was the most touching thing i had seen in america. and so it remains. think of the immense promise in it! think of the flower of belief and effort that may spring from this warm sowing! we passed out of this fluttering multiplication of the most beautiful flag in the world, into streets abominable with offal and indescribable filth, and dark and horrible under the thunderous girders of the elevated railroad, to our other quest for that morning, a typical new york tenement. for i wanted to see one, with practically windowless bedrooms.... the educational alliance is of course not a public institution; it was organized by hebrews, and conducted for hebrews, chiefly for the benefit of the hebrew immigrant. it is practically the only organized attempt to americanize the immigrant child. after the children have mastered sufficient english and acquired the simpler elements of patriotism--which is practically no more than an emotional attitude towards the flag--they pass on into the ordinary public schools. "yes," i told my friend, "i know how these children feel. that, less articulate perhaps, but no less sincere, is the thing--something between pride and a passionate desire--that fills three-quarters of the people at ellis island now. they come ready to love and worship, ready to bow down and kiss the folds of your flag. they give themselves--they want to give. do you know i, too, have come near feeling that at times for america."... we were separated for a while by a long hole in the middle of the street and a heap of builder's refuse. before we came within talking distance again i was in reaction against the gleam of satisfaction my last confession had evoked. "in the end," i said, "you americans won't be able to resist it." "resist what?" "you'll respect your country," i said. "what do you mean?" in those crowded noisy east side streets one has to shout, and shout compact things. "_this!_" i said to the barbaric disorder about us. "lynching! child labor! graft!" then we were separated by a heap of decaying fish that some hawker had dumped in the gutter. my companion shouted something i did not catch. "_we'll_ tackle it!" she repeated. i looked at her, bright and courageous and youthful, a little overconfident, i thought, but extremely reassuring, going valiantly through a disorderly world of obstacles, and for the moment--i suppose that waving bunting and the children's voices had got into my head a little--i forgot all sorts of things.... i could have imagined her the spirit of america incarnate rather than a philanthropic young lady of new york. chapter x state-blindness i sense of the state in what i have written so far, i have tried to get the effect of the american outlook, the american task, the american problem as a whole, as it has presented itself to me. clearly, as i see it, it is a mental and moral issue. there seems to me an economic process going on that tends to concentrate first wealth and then power in the hands of a small number of adventurous individuals of no very high intellectual type, a huge importation of alien and unassimilable workers, and a sustained disorder of local and political administration. correlated with this is a great increase in personal luxury and need. in all these respects there is a strong parallelism between the present condition of the united states and the roman republic in the time of the early cæsars; and arguing from these alone one might venture to forecast the steady development of an exploiting and devastating plutocracy, leading perhaps to cæsarism, and a progressive decline in civilization and social solidarity. but there are forces of recuperation and construction in america such as the earlier instance did not display. there is infinitely more original and originating thought in the state, there are the organized forces of science, a habit of progress, clearer and wider knowledge among the general mass of the people. these promise, and must, indeed, inevitably make, some synthetic effort of greater or less homogeneity and force. it is upon that synthetic effort that the distinctive destiny of america depends. i propose to go on now to discuss the mental quality of america as i have been able to focus it. (remember always that i am an undiplomatic tourist of no special knowledge or authority, who came, moreover, to america with certain prepossessions.) and first, and chiefly, i have to convey what seems to me the most significant and pregnant thing of all. it is a matter of something wanting, that the american shares with the great mass of prosperous middle-class people in england. i think it is best indicated by saying that the typical american has no "sense of the state." i do not mean that he is not passionately and vigorously patriotic. but i mean that he has no perception that his business activities, his private employments, are constituents in a large collective process; that they affect other people and the world forever, and cannot, as he imagines, begin and end with him. he sees the world in fragments; it is to him a multitudinous collection of individual "stories"--as the newspapers put it. if one studies an american newspaper, one discovers it is all individuality, all a matter of personal doings, of what so and so said and how so and so felt. and all these individualities are unfused. not a touch of abstraction or generalization, no thinnest atmosphere of reflection, mitigates these harsh, emphatic, isolated happenings. the american, it seems to me, has yet to achieve what is, after all, the product of education and thought, the conception of a whole to which all individual acts and happenings are subordinate and contributory. when i say this much, i do not mean to insinuate that any other nation in the world has any superiority in this matter. but i do want to urge that the american problem is pre-eminently one that must be met by broad ways of thinking, by creative, synthetic, and merging ideas, and that a great number of americans seem to lack these altogether. ii a sample american let me by way of illustration give a specimen american mind. it is not the mind of a writer or philosopher, it is just a plain successful business-man who exposes himself, and makes it clear that this want of any sense of the state of any large duty of constructive loyalty, is not an idiosyncrasy, but the quality of all his circle, his friends, his religious teacher.... i found my specimen in a book called _with john bull and jonathan_. it contains the rather rambling reminiscences of mr. j. morgan richards, the wealthy and successful london agent of a great number of well-advertised american proprietary articles, and i read it first, i will confess, chiefly in search of such delightful phrases as the one "mammoth in character" i have already quoted. but there were few to equal that first moment's bright discovery. what i got from it finally wasn't so much that sort of thing as this realization of mr. richards's peculiar quality, this acute sense of all that he hadn't got. mr. richards told of advertising enterprises, of contracts and journeyings, of his great friendship with the late dr. parker, of his domestic affairs, and all the changes in the world that had struck him, and of a remarkable dining club, called (paradoxically) the _sphinx_, in which the giants (or are they the mammoths?) of the world of advertisement foregather. he gave his portrait, and the end-paper presented him playfully as the jolly president of the sphinx club, champagne-bottle crowned, but else an egyptian monarch; and on the cover are two gilt hands clasped across a gilt ripple of sea ("hands across the sea"), under intertwining english and american flags. from the book one got an effect, garrulous perhaps, but on the whole not unpleasing, of an elderly but still active business personality quite satisfied by his achievements, and representative of i know not what proportion, but at any rate a considerable proportion, of his fellow-countrymen. and one got an effect of a being not simply indifferent to the health and vigor and growth of the community of which he was a part, but unaware of its existence. he displays this irresponsibility of the commercial mind so illuminatingly because he does in a way attempt to tell something more than his personal story. he notes the changes in the world about him, how this has improved and that progressed, which contrasts between england and america struck upon his mind. that he himself is responsible amid these changes never seems to dawn upon him. his freedom from any sense of duty to the world as a whole, of any subordination of trading to great ideas, is naïve and fundamental. he tells of how he arranged with the authorities in charge of the independence day celebrations on boston common to display "three large pieces" containing the name of a certain "bitters," which they did, and how this no doubt very desirable commodity was first largely advertised throughout the united states in the fall of , and rapidly became the success of the day, because of the enormous amount of placarding given to the cabalistic characters 's-t- -x.' those strange letters and figures stared upon people from wall and fence and tree, in every leading town throughout the united states. they were painted on the rocks of the hudson river to such an extent that the attention of the legislature was drawn to the fact, and a law was passed to prevent the further disfigurement of river scenery. he calls this "cute." he tells, too, of his educational work upon the english press, how he won it over to "display" advertisements, and devised "the first sixteen-sheet double-demy poster ever seen in england in connection with a proprietary article." he introduced the smoking of cigarettes into england against great opposition. mr. richards finds no incongruity, but apparently a very delightful association, in the fact that this great victory for the adolescent's cigarette was won on the site of strudwick's house, wherein john bunyan died, and hard by the path of the smithfield martyrs to their fiery sacrifice. both they and mr. richards "lit such a candle in england--" well, my business is not to tell of the feats by which mr. richards grew wealthy and important as a tree may grow and flourish amid the masonry it helps to disintegrate. my business is purely with his insensibility to the state as an aspect of his personal life. it is insensibility--not disregard or hostility. one gets an impression from this book that if mr. richards had lived in a different culture, he would have been a generous giver of himself. in spite of his curious incapacity to appreciate any issues larger than large enterprises in selling, he is very evidently a religious man. he sat under the late dr. parker of the rich and prosperous city temple, and that reverend gentleman's leonine visage adorns the book. its really the light one gets on dr. parker and his teaching that appeals to me most in this volume. for this gentleman mr. richards seems to have entertained a feeling approaching reverence. he notes such details as: "at the conclusion of an invocation or prayer, his habit always was to make a pause of a few seconds before pronouncing 'amen.' this was most impressive.... "he spoke such words as 'god,' 'jesus christ,' 'no,' 'yes,' 'nothing,' in a way to give more value to each word than any speaker i have ever heard." they became great friends, rarely a week passed without their meeting, and, says mr. richards, he "was pleased, in the course of time, to honor me with his confidence in a marked degree, as though he recognized in me some quality which satisfied his judgment, that i could be trusted in business questions quite apart from those relating to his church. he was not only a born preacher, but possessed a marvellous grasp of sound, practical knowledge upon the affairs of the day. i often consulted with him regarding my own affairs, always getting the most practical help." when dr. parker came to america, the two friends corresponded warmly, and several of the letters are quoted. even "£ a year easily made" could not tempt him from london and the modest opulence of the city temple.... but my business now is not to dwell on these characteristic details, but to point out that mr. richards does not stand alone in the entire detachment, not only of his worldly achievements, but of his spiritual life, from any creative solicitude for the state. if he was merely an isolated "character" i should have no concern with him. his association with dr. parker shows most luminously that he presents a whole cult of english and american rich traders, who in america "sat under" such men as the rev. henry ward beecher, for example, who evidently stand for much more in america than in england, and who, so far as the state and political and social work go, are scarcely of more use, are probably more hindrance, than any organization of selfish voluptuaries of equal wealth and numbers. it is a cult, it has its teachers and its books. i have had a glimpse of one of its manuals. i find mr. richards quoting with approval dr. parker's "ten general commandments for men of business," commandments which strike me as not only state-blind, but utterly god-blind, which are, indeed, no more than shrewd counsels for "getting on." it is really quite horrible stuff morally. "thou shalt not hobnob with idle persons," parodies dr. parker in commandment v., so glossing richly upon the teachings of him who ate with publicans and sinners, and (no doubt to instil the advisability of keeping one's more delicate business procedure in one's own hands), "thou shalt not forget that a servant who can tell lies _for_ thee, may one day tell lies _to_ thee."... i am not throwing any doubt upon the sincerity of dr. parker and mr. richards. i believe that nothing could exceed the transparent honesty that ends this record which tells of a certain bitters pushed at the sacrifice of beautiful scenery, of a successful propaganda of cigarette-smoking, and of all sorts of proprietary articles landed well home in their gastric target of a whole life lost, indeed, in commercial self-seeking, with "what shall i render unto the lord for all his benefits?" "the now is an atom of sand, and the near is a perishing clod, but afar is a fairyland, and beyond is the bosom of god." what i have to insist upon now is that this is a sample, and, so far as i can tell, a fair sample, of the quality and trend of the mind-stuff and the breadth and height of the tradition of a large and i know not how influential mass of prosperous middle-class english, and of a much more prosperous and influential and important section of americans. they represent much energy, they represent much property, they are a factor to reckon with. they present a powerful opposing force to anything that will suppress their disgusting notice-boards or analyze their ambiguous "proprietary articles," or tax their gettings for any decent public purpose. and here i find them selling poisons as pain-killers, and alcohol as tonics, and fighting ably and boldly to silence adverse discussion. in the face of the great needs that lie before america their active trivality of soul, their energy and often unscrupulous activity, and their quantitative importance become, to my mind, adverse and threatening, a stumbling-block for hope. for the impression i have got by going to and fro in america is that mr. richards is a fair sample of at least the older type of american. so far as i can learn, mr. j.d. rockefeller is just another product of the same cult. you meet these older types everywhere, they range from fervent piety and temperance to a hearty drinking, "story"-telling, poker-playing type, but they have in common a sharp, shrewd, narrow, business habit of mind that ignores the future and the state altogether. but i do not find the younger men are following in their lines. some are. but just how many and to what extent, i do not know. it is very hard for a literary man to estimate the quantity and importance of ideas in a community. the people he meets naturally all entertain ideas, or they would not come in his way. the people who have new ideas talk; those who have not, go about their business. but i hazard an opinion that young america now presents an altogether different type from the young men of enterprise and sound baptist and business principles who were the backbone of the irresponsible commercial america of yesterday, the america that rebuilt chicago on "floating foundations," covered the world with advertisement boards, gave the great cities the elevated railroads, and organized the trusts. iii oneida i spent a curious day amid the memories of that strangely interesting social experiment, the oneida community, and met a most significant contemporary, "live american" of the newer school, in the son of the founder and the present head of "oneida limited." there are moments when that visit i paid to oneida seems to me to stand for all america. the place, you know, was once the seat of a perfectionist community; the large red community buildings stand now among green lawns and ripening trees, and i dined in the communal dining-room, and visited the library, and saw the chain and trap factory, and the silk-spinning factory and something of all its industries. i talked to old and middle-aged people who told me all sorts of interesting things of "community days," looked through curious old-fashioned albums of photographs, showing the women in their bloomers and cropped hair, and the men in the ill-fitting frock-coats of the respectable mediocre person in early victorian times. i think that some of the reminiscences i awakened had been voiceless for some time. at moments it was like hearing the story of a flattened, dry, and colorless flower between the pages of a book, of a verse written in faded ink, or of some daguerreotype spotted and faint beyond recognition. it was extraordinarily new england in its quality as i looked back at it all. they claimed a quiet perfection of soul, they searched one another marvellously for spiritual chastening, they defied custom and opinion, they followed their reasoning and their theology to the inmost amazing abnegations--and they kept themselves solvent by the manufacture of steel traps that catch the legs of beasts in their strong and pitiless jaws.... but this book is not about the things that concerned oneida in community days, and i mention them here only because of the curious developments of the present time. years ago, when the founder, john humphrey noyes, grew old and unable to control the new dissensions that arose out of the sceptical attitude of the younger generation towards his ingenious theology, and such-like stresses, communism was abandoned, the religious life and services discontinued, the concern turned into a joint-stock company, and the members made shareholders on strictly commercial lines. for some years its prosperity declined. many of the members went away. but a nucleus remained as residents in the old buildings, and after a time there were returns. i was told that in the early days of the new period there was a violent reaction against communistic methods, a jealous inexperienced insistence upon property. "it was difficult to borrow a hammer," said one of my informants. then, as the new generation began to feel its feet, came a fresh development of vitality. the oneida company began to set up new machinery, to seek wider markets, to advertise and fight competitors. this mr. p.b. noyes was the leader into the new paths. he possesses all the force of character, the constructive passion, the imaginative power of his progenitor, and it has all gone into business competition. i have heard much talk of the romance of business, chiefly from people i heartily despised, but in mr. noyes i found business indeed romantic. it had get hold of him, it possessed him like a passion. he has inspired all his half-brothers and cousins and younger fellow-members of the community with his own imaginative motive. they, too, are enthusiasts for business. mr. noyes is a tall man, who looks down when he talks to one. he showed me over the associated factories, told me how the trap trade of all north america is in oneida's hands, told me of how they fight and win against the british traps in south america and burmah. he showed me photographs of panthers in traps, tigers in traps, bears snarling at death, unfortunate deer, foxes caught by the paws.... i did my best to forget those photographs at once in the interest of his admirable machinery, which busied itself with chain-making as though it had eyes and hands. i went beside him, full of that respect that a literary man must needs feel when a creative business controller displays his quality. "but the old religion of oneida?" i would interpolate. "each one of us is free to follow his own religion. here is a new sort of chain we are making for hanging-lamps. hitherto--" presently i would try again. "are the workers here in any way members of the community?" "oh no! many of them are italian immigrants. we think of building a school for them.... no, we get no labor troubles. we pay always above the trade-union rates, and so we get the pick of the workmen. our class of work can't be sweated."... yes, he was an astonishing personality, so immensely concentrated on these efficient manufacturing and trading developments, so evidently careless of theology, philosophy, social speculation, beauty. "your father was a philosopher," i said. "i think in ten years' time i may give up the control here," he threw out, "and write something." "i've thought of the publishing trade myself," i said, "when my wits are old and stiff."... i never met a man before so firmly gripped by the romantic constructive and adventurous element of business, so little concerned about personal riches or the accumulation of wealth. he illuminated much that had been dark to me in the american character. i think better of business by reason of him. and time after time i tried him upon politics. it came to nothing. making a new world was, he thought, a rhetorical flourish about futile and troublesome activities, and politicians merely a disreputable sort of parasite upon honorable people who made chains and plated spoons. all his constructive instincts, all his devotion, were for oneida and its enterprises. america was just the impartial space, the large liberty, in which oneida grew, the stars and stripes a wide sanction akin to the impartial irresponsible harboring sky overhead. sense of the state had never grown in him--can now, i felt convinced, never grow.... but some day, i like to imagine, the world state, and not oneida corporations, and a nobler trade than traps, will command such services as his. chapter xi two studies in disappointment i the riddle of intolerance in considering the quality of the american mind (upon which, as i believe, the ultimate destiny of america entirely depends), it has been necessary to point out that, considered as one whole, it still seems lacking in any of that living sense of the state out of which constructive effort must arise, and that, consequently, enormous amounts of energy go to waste in anarchistic and chaotically competitive private enterprise. i believe there are powerful forces at work in the trend of modern thought, science, and method, in the direction of bringing order, control, and design into this confused gigantic conflict, and the discussion of these constructive forces must necessarily form the crown of my forecast of america's future. but before i come to that i must deal with certain american traits that puzzle me, that i cannot completely explain to myself, that dash my large expectations with an obstinate shadow of foreboding. essentially these are disintegrating influences, in the nature of a fierce intolerance, that lead to conflicts and destroy co-operation. one makes one's criticism with compunction. one moves through the american world, meeting constantly with kindness and hospitality, with a familiar helpfulness that is delightful, with sympathetic enterprise and energetic imagination, and then suddenly there flashes out a quality of harshness.... i will explain in a few minutes what i mean by this flash of harshness. let me confess here that i cannot determine whether it is a necessary consequence of american conditions, the scar upon the soul of too strenuous business competition, or whether it is something deeper, some subtle, unavoidable infection perhaps in this soil that was once the red indian's battle-ground, some poison, it may be, mingled with this clear exhilarating air. and going with this harshness there seems also something else, a contempt for abstract justice that one does not find in any european intelligence--not even among the english. this contempt may be a correlative of the intense practicality begotten by a scruple-destroying commercial training. that, at any rate, is my own prepossession. conceivably i am over-disposed to make that tall lady in new york harbor stand as a symbol for the liberty of property, and to trace the indisputable hastiness of life here--it is haste sometimes rather than speed,--its scorn of æsthetic and abstract issues, this frequent quality of harshness, and a certain public disorder, whatever indeed mars the splendid promise and youth of america, to that. i think it is an accident of the commercial phase that presses men beyond dignity, patience, and magnanimity. i am loath to believe it is something fundamentally american. i have very clearly in my memory the figure of young macqueen, in his gray prison clothes in trenton jail, and how i talked with him. he and mr. booker t. washington and maxim gorky stand for me as figures in the shadow--symbolical men. i think of america as pride and promise, as large growth and large courage, all set with beautiful fluttering bunting, and then my vision of these three men comes back to me; they return presences inseparable from my american effect, unlit and uncomplaining on the sunless side of her, implying rather than voicing certain accusations. america can be hasty, can be obstinately thoughtless and unjust.... well, let me set down as shortly as i can how i saw them, and then go on again with my main thesis. ii macqueen macqueen is one of those young men england is now making by the thousand in her elementary schools--a man of that active, intelligent, mentally hungry, self-educating sort that is giving us our elementary teachers, our labor members, able journalists, authors, civil servants, and some of the most public-spirited and efficient of our municipal administrators. he is the sort of man an englishman grows prouder of as he sees america and something of her politicians and labor leaders. after his board-school days macqueen went to work as a painter and grainer, and gave his spare energy to self-education. he mastered german, and read widely and freely. he corresponded with william morris, devoured tolstoy and bernard shaw, followed the _clarion_ week by week, discussed social questions, wrote to the newspapers, debated, made speeches. the english reader will begin to recognize the type. jail had worn him when i saw him, but i should think he was always physically delicate; he wears spectacles, he warms emotionally as he talks. and he decided, after much excogitation, that the ideal state is one of so fine a quality of moral training that people will not need coercion and repressive laws. he calls himself an anarchist--of the early christian, tolstoyan, non-resisting school. such an anarchist was emerson, among other dead americans whose names are better treasured than their thoughts. that sort of anarchist has as much connection with embittered bomb-throwers and assassins as miss florence nightingale has with the woman hartmann, who put on a nurse's uniform to poison and rob.... well, macqueen led an active life in england, married, made a decent living, and took an honorable part in the local affairs of leeds until he was twenty-six. then he conceived a desire for wider opportunity than england offers men of his class. in january, , he crossed the atlantic, and, no doubt, he came very much aglow with the american idea. he felt that he was exchanging a decadent country of dwarfing social and political traditions for a land of limitless outlook. he became a proof-reader in new york, and began to seek around him for opportunities of speaking and forwarding social progress. he tried to float a newspaper. the new york labor-unions found him a useful speaker, and, among others, the german silk-workers of new york became aware of him. in june they asked him to go to paterson to speak in german to the weavers in that place. the silk-dyers were on strike in paterson, but the weavers were weaving "scab-silk," dyed by dyers elsewhere, and it was believed that the dyers' strike would fail unless they struck also. they had to be called out. they were chiefly italians, some hungarians. it was felt by the new york german silk-workers that perhaps macqueen's german learned in england might meet the linguistic difficulties of the case. he went. i hope he will forgive me if i say that his was an extremely futile expedition. he did very little. he wrote an entirely harmless article or so in english for _la questione sociale_, and he declined with horror and publicity to appear upon the same platform with a mischievous and violent lady anarchist called emma goldman. on june , , he went to paterson again, and spoke to his own undoing. there is no evidence that he said anything illegal or inflammatory, there is clear evidence that he bored his audience. they shouted him down, and called for a prominent local speaker named galiano. macqueen subsided into the background, and galiano spoke for an hour in italian. he aroused great enthusiasm, and the proceedings terminated with a destructive riot. eight witnesses testify to the ineffectual efforts on the part of macqueen to combat the violence in progress.... that finishes the story of macqueen's activities in america, for which he is now in durance at trenton. he, in common with a large crowd and in common, too, with nearly all the witnesses against him, did commit one offence against the law--he did not go home when destruction began. he was arrested next day. from that time forth his fate was out of his hands, and in the control of a number of people who wanted to "make an example" of the paterson strikers. the press took up macqueen. they began to clothe the bare bones of this simple little history i have told in fluent, unmitigated lying. they blackened him, one might think, out of sheer artistic pleasure in the operation. they called this rather nervous, educated, nobly meaning if ill-advised young man a "notorious anarchist"; his head-line title became "anarchistic macqueen"; they wrote his "story" in a vein of imaginative fervor; they invented "an unsavory police record" for him in england; and enlarged upon the marvellous secret organization for crime of which he was representative and leader. in a little while macqueen had ceased to be a credible human being; he might have been invented by mr. william le queux. he was arrested--galiano went scot-free--and released on bail. it was discovered that his pleasant, decent yorkshire wife and three children were coming out to america to him, and she became "the woman nellie barton"--her maiden name--and "a socialist of the emma goldman stripe." this, one gathers, is the most horrible stripe known to american journalism. had there been a worse one, mrs. macqueen would have been the _ex officio_. and now here is an extraordinary thing--public officials began to join in the process. this is what perplexes me most in this affair. i am told that assistant-secretary-of-the-treasury h.a. taylor, without a fact to go upon, subscribed to the "unsavory record" legend and assistant-secretary c.h. keep fell in with it. they must have seen what it was they were indorsing. in a letter from mr. keep to the reverend a.w. wishart, of trenton (who throughout has fought most gallantly for justice in this case), i find mr. keep distinguishes himself by the artistic device of putting "william macqueen's" name in inverted commas. so, very delicately, he conveys out of the void the insinuation that the name is an alias. meanwhile the commissioner of immigration prepared to take a hand in the game of breaking up macqueen. he stopped mrs. macqueen at the threshold of liberty, imprisoned her in ellis island, and sent her back to europe. macqueen, still on bail, was not informed of this action, and waited on the pier for some hours before he understood. his wife had come second class to america, but she was returned first class, and the steamship company seized her goods for the return fare.... that was more than macqueen could stand. he had been tried, convicted, sentenced to five years' imprisonment, and he was now out on bail pending an appeal. anxiety about his wife and children was too much for him. he slipped off to england after them ("escape of the anarchist macqueen"), made what provision and arrangements he could for them, and returned in time to save his bondsman's money ("capture of the escaped anarchist macqueen"). several members of the leeds city council ("criminal associates in europe") saw him off. that was in . his appeal had been refused on a technical point. he went into trenton jail, and there he is to this day. there i saw him. trenton jail did not impress me as an agreeable place. the building is fairly old, and there is no nonsense about the food. the cells hold, some of them, four criminals, some of them two, but latterly macqueen has had spells in the infirmary, and has managed to get a cell to himself. many of the criminals are negroes and half-breeds, imprisoned for unspeakable offences. in the exercising-yard macqueen likes to keep apart. "when i first came i used to get in a corner," he said.... now this case of macqueen has exercised my mind enormously. it was painful to go out of the gray jail again after i had talked to him--of shaw and morris, of the fabian society and the british labor members--into sunlight and freedom, and ever and again, as i went about new york having the best of times among the most agreeable people, the figure of him would come back to me quite vividly, in his gray dress, sitting on the edge of an unaccustomed chair, hands on his knees, speaking a little nervously and jerkily, and very glad indeed to see me. he is younger than myself, but much my sort of man, and we talked of books and education and his case like brothers. there can be no doubt to any sensible person who will look into the story of his conviction, who will even go and see him, that there has been a serious miscarriage of justice. there has been a serious miscarriage of justice, such as (unhappily) might happen in any country. that is nothing distinctive of america. but what does impress me as remarkable and perplexing is the immense difficulty--the perhaps unsurmountable difficulty--of getting this man released. the governor of the state of new jersey knows he is innocent, the judges of the court of pardons know he is innocent. three of them i was able to button-hole at trenton, and hear their point of view. two are of the minority and for release, one was doubtful in attitude but hostile in spirit. they hold, the man, he thinks, on the score of public policy. they put it that paterson is a "hotbed" of crime and violence; that once macqueen is released every anarchist in the country will be emboldened to crime, and so on and so on. i admit paterson festers, but if we are to punish anybody instead of reforming the system, it's the masters who ought to be in jail for that. "what will the property-owners in paterson say to us if this man is released?" one of the judges admitted frankly. "but he hadn't anything to do with the violence," i said, and argued the case over again--quite missing the point of that objection. whenever i had a chance in new york, in boston, in washington, even amid the conversation of a washington dinner-table, i dragged up the case of macqueen. nobody seemed indignant. one lady admitted the sentence was heavy, "he might have been given six months to cool off in," she said. i protested he ought not to have been given a day. "why did he go there?" said a supreme court judge in washington, a lawyer in new york, and several other people. "wasn't he making trouble?" i was asked. at last that reached my sluggish intelligence. yet i still hesitate to accept the new interpretations. galiano, who preached blind violence and made the riot, got off scot-free; macqueen, who wanted a legitimate strike on british lines, went to jail. so long as the social injustice, the sweated disorder of paterson's industrialism, vents its cries in italian in _la questione sociale_, so long as it remains an inaudible misery so far as the great public is concerned, making vehement yet impotent appeals to mere force, and so losing its last chances of popular sympathy, american property, i gather, is content. the masters and the immigrants can deal with one another on those lines. but to have outsiders coming in! there is an active press campaign against the release of "the anarchist macqueen," and i do not believe that mr. wishart will succeed in his endeavors. i think macqueen will serve out his five years. the plain truth is that no one pretends he is in jail on his merits; he is in jail as an example and lesson to any one who proposes to come between master and immigrant worker in paterson. he has attacked the system. the people who profit by the system, the people who think things are "all right as they are," have hit back in the most effectual way they can, according to their lights. that, i think, accounts for the sustained quality of the lying in this case, and, indeed, for the whole situation. he is in jail on principle and without personal animus, just as they used to tar and feather the stray abolitionist on principle in carolina. the policy of stringent discouragement is a reasonable one--scoundrelly, no doubt, but understandable. and i think i can put myself sufficiently into the place of the paterson masters, of the trenton judges, of those journalists, of those subordinate officials at washington even, to understand their motives and inducements. i indulge in no self-righteous pride. simply, i thank heaven i have not had their peculiar temptations. but my riddle lies in the attitude of the public--of the american nation, which hasn't, it seems, a spark of moral indignation for this sort of thing, which indeed joins in quite cheerfully against the victim. it is ill served by its press, no doubt, but surely it understands.... iii maxim gorky then i assisted at the coming of maxim gorky, and witnessed many intimate details of what professor giddings, that courageous publicist, has called his "lynching." here, again, is a case i fail altogether to understand. the surface values of that affair have a touch of the preposterous. i set them down in infinite perplexity. my first week in new york was in the period of gorky's advent. expectation was at a high pitch, and one might have foretold a stupendous, a history-making campaign. the american nation seemed concentrated upon one great and ennobling idea, the freedom of russia, and upon gorky as the embodiment of that idea. a protest was to be made against cruelty and violence and massacre. that great figure of liberty with the torch was to make it flare visibly half-way round the world, reproving tyranny. gorky arrived, and the _éclat_ was immense. we dined him, we lunched him, we were photographed in his company by flash-light. i very gladly shared that honor, for gorky is not only a great master of the art i practise, but a splendid personality. he is one of those people to whom the camera does no justice, whose work, as i know it in an english translation, forceful as it is, fails very largely to convey his peculiar quality. his is a big, quiet figure; there is a curious power of appeal in his face, a large simplicity in his voice and gesture. he was dressed, when i met him, in peasant clothing, in a belted blue shirt, trousers of some shiny black material, and boots; and save for a few common greetings he has no other language than russian. so it was necessary that he should bring with him some one he could trust to interpret him to the world. and having, too, much of the practical helplessness of his type of genius, he could not come without his right hand, that brave and honorable lady, madame andreieva, who has been now for years in everything but the severest legal sense his wife. russia has no dakota; and although his legal wife has long since found another companion, the orthodox church in russia has no divorce facilities for men in the revolutionary camp. so madame andreieva stands to him as george eliot stood to george lewes, and i suppose the two of them had almost forgotten the technical illegality of their tie, until it burst upon them and the american public in a monstrous storm of exposure. it was like a summer thunder-storm. at one moment gorky was in an immense sunshine, a plenipotentiary from oppression to liberty, at the next he was being almost literally pelted through the streets. i do not know what motive actuated a certain section of the american press to initiate this pelting of maxim gorky. a passion for moral purity may perhaps have prompted it, but certainly no passion for purity ever before begot so brazen and abundant a torrent of lies. it was precisely the sort of campaign that damned poor macqueen, but this time on an altogether imperial scale. the irregularity of madame andreieva's position was a mere point of departure. the journalists went on to invent a deserted wife and children, they declared madame andreieva was an "actress," and loaded her with all the unpleasant implications of that unfortunate word; they spoke of her generally as "the woman andreieva"; they called upon the commissioner of immigration to deport her as a "female of bad character"; quite influential people wrote to him to that effect; they published the name of the hotel that sheltered her, and organized a boycott. whoever dared to countenance the victims was denounced. professor dewar of columbia had given them a reception; "dewar must go," said the head-lines. mark twain, who had assisted in the great welcome, was invited to recant and contribute unfriendly comments. the gorkys were pursued with insult from hotel to hotel. hotel after hotel turned them out. they found themselves at last, after midnight, in the streets of new york city with every door closed against them. infected persons could not have been treated more abominably in a town smitten with a panic of plague. this change happened in the course of twenty-four hours. on one day gorky was at the zenith, on the next he had been swept from the world. to me it was astounding--it was terrifying. i wanted to talk to gorky about it, to find out the hidden springs of this amazing change. i spent a sunday evening looking for him with an ever-deepening respect for the power of the american press. i had a quaint conversation with the clerk of the hotel in fifth avenue from which he had first been driven. europeans can scarcely hope to imagine the moral altitudes at which american hotels are conducted.... i went thence to seek mr. abraham cahan in the east side, and thence to other people i knew, but in vain. gorky was obliterated. i thought this affair was a whirlwind of foolish misunderstanding, such as may happen in any capital, and that presently his entirely tolerable relationship would be explained. but for all the rest of my time in new york this insensate campaign went on. there was no attempt of any importance to stem the tide, and to this day large sections of the american public must be under the impression that this great writer is a depraved man of pleasure accompanied by a favorite cocotte. the writers of paragraphs racked their brains to invent new and smart ways of insulting madame andreieva. the chaste entertainers of the music-halls of the tenderloin district introduced allusions. and amid this riot of personalities russia was forgotten. the massacres, the chaos of cruelty and blundering, the tyranny, the women outraged, the children tortured and slain--all that was forgotten. in boston, in chicago, it was the same. at the bare suggestion of gorky's coming the same outbreak occurred, the same display of imbecile gross lying, the same absolute disregard of the tragic cause he had come to plead. one gleam of comedy in this remarkable outbreak i recall. some one in ineffectual protest had asked what americans would have said if benjamin franklin had encountered such ignominies on his similar mission of appeal to paris before the war of independence. "benjamin franklin," retorted one bright young chicago journalist, "was a man of very different moral character from gorky," and proceeded to explain how chicago was prepared to defend the purity of her homes against the invader. benjamin franklin, it is true, _was_ a person of very different morals from gorky--but i don't think that bright young man in chicago had a very sound idea of where the difference lay. i spent my last evening on american soil in the hospitable home in staten island that sheltered gorky and madame andreieva. after dinner we sat together in the deepening twilight upon a broad veranda that looks out upon one of the most beautiful views in the world, upon serene large spaces of land and sea, upon slopes of pleasant, window-lit, tree-set wooden houses, upon the glittering clusters of lights, and the black and luminous shipping that comes and goes about the narrows and the upper bay. half masked by a hill contour to the left was the light of the torch of liberty.... gorky's big form fell into shadow, madame andreieva sat at his feet, translating methodically, sentence by sentence, into clear french whatever he said, translating our speeches into russian. he told us stories--of the soul of the russian, of russian religious sects, of kindnesses and cruelties, of his great despair. ever and again, in the pauses, my eyes would go to where new york far away glittered like a brighter and more numerous pleiades. i gauged something of the real magnitude of this one man's disappointment, the immense expectation of his arrival, the impossible dream of his mission. he had come--the russian peasant in person, out of a terrific confusion of bloodshed, squalor, injustice--to tell america, the land of light and achieved freedom, of all these evil things. she would receive him, help him, understand truly what he meant with his "rossia." i could imagine how he had felt as he came in the big steamer to her, up that large converging display of space and teeming energy. there she glowed to-night across the water, a queen among cities, as if indeed she was the light of the world. nothing, i think, can ever rob that splendid harbor approach of its invincible quality of promise.... and to him she had shown herself no more than the luminous hive of multitudes of base and busy, greedy and childish little men. macqueen in jail, gorky with his reputation wantonly bludgeoned and flung aside; they are just two chance specimens of the myriads who have come up this great waterway bearing hope and gifts. chapter xii the tragedy of color i harsh judgments i seem to find the same hastiness and something of the same note of harshness that strike me in the cases of macqueen and gorky in america's treatment of her colored population. i am aware how intricate, how multitudinous, the aspects of this enormous question have become, but looking at it in the broad and transitory manner i have proposed for myself in these papers, it does seem to present many parallel elements. there is the same disposition towards an indiscriminating verdict, the same disregard of proportion as between small evils and great ones, the same indifference to the fact that the question does not stand alone, but is a part, and this time a by no means small part, in the working out of america's destinies. in regard to the colored population, just as in regard to the great and growing accumulations of unassimilated and increasingly unpopular jews, and to the great and growing multitudes of roman catholics whose special education contradicts at so many points those conceptions of individual judgment and responsibility upon which america relies, i have attempted time after time to get some answer from the americans i have met to what is to me the most obvious of questions. "your grandchildren and the grandchildren of these people will have to live in this country side by side; do you propose, do you believe it possible, that under the increasing pressure of population and competition they should be living then in just the same relations that you and these people are living now; if you do not, then what relations do you propose shall exist between them?" it is not too much to say that i have never once had the beginnings of an answer to this question. usually one is told with great gravity that the problem of color is one of the most difficult that we have to consider, and the conversation then breaks up into discursive anecdotes and statements about black people. one man will dwell upon the uncontrollable violence of a black man's evil passions (in jamaica and barbadoes colored people form an overwhelming proportion of the population, and they have behaved in an exemplary fashion for the last thirty years); another will dilate upon the incredible stupidity of the full-blooded negro (during my stay in new york the prize for oratory at columbia university, oratory which was the one redeeming charm of daniel webster, was awarded to a zulu of unmitigated blackness); a third will speak of his physical offensiveness, his peculiar smell which necessitates his social isolation (most well-to-do southerners are brought up by negro "mammies"); others, again, will enter upon the painful history of the years that followed the war, though it seems a foolish thing to let those wrongs of the past dominate the outlook for the future. and one charming southern lady expressed the attitude of mind of a whole class very completely, i think, when she said, "you have to be one of us to feel this question at all as it ought to be felt." there, i think, i got something tangible. these emotions are a cult. my globe-trotting impudence will seem, no doubt, to mount to its zenith when i declare that hardly any americans at all seem to be in possession of the elementary facts in relation to this question. these broad facts are not taught, as of course they ought to be taught, in school; and what each man knows is picked up by the accidents of his own untrained observation, by conversation always tinctured by personal prejudice, by hastily read newspapers and magazine articles and the like. the quality of this discussion is very variable, but on the whole pretty low. while i was in new york opinion was greatly swayed by an article in, if i remember rightly, the _century magazine_, by a gentleman who had deduced from a few weeks' observation in the slums of khartoum the entire incapacity of the negro to establish a civilization of his own. he never had, therefore he never could; a discouraging ratiocination. we english, a century or so ago, said all these things of the native irish. if there is any trend of opinion at all in this matter at present, it lies in the direction of a generous decision on the part of the north and west to leave the black more and more to the judgment and mercy of the white people with whom he is locally associated. this judgment and mercy points, on the whole, to an accentuation of the colored man's natural inferiority, to the cessation of any other educational attempts than those that increase his industrial usefulness (it is already illegal in louisiana to educate him above a contemptible level), to his industrial exploitation through usury and legal chicanery, and to a systematic strengthening of the social barriers between colored people of whatever shade and the whites. meanwhile, in this state of general confusion, in the absence of any determining rules or assumptions, all sorts of things are happening--according to the accidents of local feeling. in massachusetts you have people with, i am afraid, an increasing sense of sacrifice to principle, lunching and dining with people of color. they do it less than they did, i was told. massachusetts stands, i believe, at the top of the scale of tolerant humanity. one seems to reach the bottom at springfield, missouri, which is a county seat with a college, an academy, a high school, and a zoological garden. there the exemplary method reaches the nadir. last april three unfortunate negroes were burned to death, apparently because they were negroes, and as a general corrective of impertinence. they seem to have been innocent of any particular offence. it was a sort of racial sacrament. the edified sunday-school children hurried from their gospel-teaching to search for souvenirs among the ashes, and competed with great spirit for a fragment of charred skull. it is true that in this latter case governor folk acted with vigor and justice, and that the better element of springfield society was evidently shocked when it was found that quite innocent negroes had been used in these instructive pyrotechnics; but the fact remains that a large and numerically important section of the american public does think that fierce and cruel reprisals are a necessary part of the system of relationships between white and colored man. in our dispersed british community we have almost exactly the same range between our better attitudes and our worse--i'm making no claim of national superiority. in london, perhaps, we out-do massachusetts in liberality; in the national liberal club or the reform a black man meets all the courtesies of humanity--as though there was no such thing as color. but, on the other hand, the cape won't bear looking into for a moment. the same conditions give the same results; a half-educated white population of british or dutch or german ingredients greedy for gain, ill controlled and feebly influenced, in contact with a black population, is bound to reproduce the same brutal and stupid aggressions, the same half-honest prejudices to justify those aggressions, the same ugly, mean excuses. "things are better in jamaica and barbadoes," said i, in a moment of patriotic weakness, to mr. booker t. washington. "eh!" said he, and thought in that long silent way he has.... "they're worse in south africa--much. here we've got a sort of light. we know generally what we've got to stand. _there_--" his words sent my memory back to some conversations i had quite recently with a man from a dry-goods store in johannesburg. he gave me clearly enough the attitude of the common white out there; the dull prejudice; the readiness to take advantage of the "boy"; the utter disrespect for colored womankind; the savage, intolerant resentment, dashed dangerously with fear, which the native arouses in him. (think of all that must have happened in wrongful practice and wrongful law and neglected educational possibilities before our zulus in natal were goaded to face massacre, spear against rifle!) the rare and culminating result of education and experience is to enable men to grasp facts, to balance justly among their fluctuating and innumerable aspects, and only a small minority in our world is educated to that pitch. ignorant people can think only in types and abstractions, can achieve only emphatic absolute decisions, and when the commonplace american or the commonplace colonial briton sets to work to "think over" the negro problem, he instantly banishes most of the material evidence from his mind--clears for action, as it were. he forgets the genial carriage of the ordinary colored man, his beaming face, his kindly eye, his rich, jolly voice, his touching and trusted friendliness, his amiable, unprejudiced readiness to serve and follow a white man who seems to know what he is doing. he forgets--perhaps he has never seen--the dear humanity of these people, their slightly exaggerated vanity, their innocent and delightful love of color and song, their immense capacity for affection, the warm romantic touch in their imaginations. he ignores the real fineness of the indolence that despises servile toil, of the carelessness that disdains the watchful aggressive economies, day by day, now a wretched little gain here and now a wretched little gain there, that make the dirty fortune of the russian jews who prey upon color in the carolinas. no; in the place of all these tolerable every-day experiences he lets his imagination go to work upon a monster, the "real nigger." "ah! you don't know the _real_ nigger," said one american to me when i praised the colored people i had seen. "you should see the buck nigger down south, congo brand. then you'd understand, sir." his voice, his face had a gleam of passionate animosity. one could see he had been brooding himself out of all relations to reality in this matter. he was a man beyond reason or pity. he was obsessed. hatred of that imaginary diabolical "buck nigger" blackened his soul. it was no good to talk to him of the "buck american, packingtown brand," or the "buck englishman, suburban race-meeting type," and to ask him if these intensely disagreeable persons justified outrages on senator lodge, let us say, or mrs. longworth. no reply would have come from him. "you don't understand the question," he would have answered. "you don't know how we southerners feel." well, one can make a tolerable guess. ii the white strain i certainly did not begin to realize one most important aspect of this question until i reached america. i thought of those eight millions as of men, black as ink. but when i met mr. booker t. washington, for example, i met a man certainly as white in appearance as our admiral fisher, who is, as a matter of fact, quite white. a very large proportion of these colored people, indeed, is more than half white. one hears a good deal about the high social origins of the southern planters, very many derive indisputably from the first families of england. it is the same blood flows in these mixed colored people's veins. just think of the sublime absurdity, therefore, of the ban. there are gentlemen of education and refinement, qualified lawyers and doctors, whose ancestors assisted in the norman conquest, and they dare not enter a car marked "white" and intrude upon the dignity of the rising loan-monger from esthonia. for them the "jim crow" car.... one tries to put that aspect to the american in vain. "these people," you say, "are nearer your blood, nearer your temper, than any of those bright-eyed, ringleted immigrants on the east side. are you ashamed of your poor relations? even if you don't like the half, or the quarter of negro blood, you might deal civilly with the three-quarters white. it doesn't say much for your faith in your own racial prepotency, anyhow."... the answer to that is usually in terms of mania. "let me tell you a little story just to illustrate," said one deponent to me in an impressive undertone--"just to illustrate, you know.... a few years ago a young fellow came to boston from new orleans. looked all right. dark--but he explained that by an italian grandmother. touch of french in him, too. popular. well, he made advances to a boston girl--good family. gave a fairly straight account of himself. married." he paused. "course of time--offspring. little son." his eye made me feel what was coming. "was it by any chance very, very black?" i whispered. "yes, _sir_. black! black as your hat. absolutely negroid. projecting jaw, thick lips, frizzy hair, flat nose--everything.... "but consider the mother's feelings, sir, consider that! a pure-minded, pure white woman!" what can one say to a story of this sort, when the taint in the blood surges up so powerfully as to blacken the child at birth beyond even the habit of the pure-blooded negro? what can you do with a public opinion made of this class of ingredient? and this story of the lamentable results of intermarriage was used, not as an argument against intermarriage, but as an argument against the extension of quite rudimentary civilities to the men of color. "if you eat with them, you've got to marry them," he said, an entirely fabulous post-prandial responsibility. it is to the tainted whites my sympathies go out. the black or mainly black people seem to be fairly content with their inferiority; one sees them all about the states as waiters, cab-drivers, railway porters, car attendants, laborers of various sorts, a pleasant, smiling, acquiescent folk. but consider the case of a man with a broader brain than such small uses need, conscious, perhaps, of exceptional gifts, capable of wide interests and sustained attempts, who is perhaps as english as you or i, with just a touch of color in his eyes, in his lips, in his fingernails, and in his imagination. think of the accumulating sense of injustice he must bear with him through life, the perpetual slight and insult he must undergo from all that is vulgar and brutal among the whites! something of that one may read in the sorrowful pages of du bois's _the souls of black folk_. they would have made alexandre dumas travel in the jim crow car if he had come to virginia. but i can imagine some sort of protest on the part of that admirable but extravagant man.... they even talk of "jim crow elevators" now in southern hotels. at hull house, in chicago, i was present at a conference of colored people--miss jane addams efficiently in control--to consider the coming of a vexatious play, "the clansman," which seems to have been written and produced entirely to exacerbate racial feeling. both men and women were present, business people, professional men, and their wives; the speaking was clear, temperate, and wonderfully to the point, high above the level of any british town council i have ever attended. one lady would have stood out as capable and charming in any sort of public discussion in england--though we are not wanting in good women speakers--and she was at least three-quarters black.... and while i was in chicago, too, i went to the peking theatre--a "coon" music-hall--and saw something of a lower level of colored life. the common white, i must explain, delights in calling colored people "coons," and the negro, so far as i could learn, uses no retaliatory word. it was a "variety" entertainment, with one turn, at least, of quite distinguished merit, good-humored and brisk throughout. i watched keenly, and i could detect nothing of that trail of base suggestion one would find as a matter of course in a music-hall in such english towns as brighton and portsmouth. what one heard of kissing and love-making was quite artless and simple indeed. the negro, it seemed to me, did this sort of thing with a better grace and a better temper than a londoner, and shows, i think, a finer self-respect. he thinks more of deportment, he bears himself more elegantly by far than the white at the same social level. the audience reminded me of the sort of gathering one would find in a theatre in camden town or hoxton. there were a number of family groups, the girls brightly dressed, and young couples quite of the london music-hall type. clothing ran "smart," but not smarter than it would be among fairly prosperous north london jews. there was no gallery--socially--no collection of orange-eating, interrupting hooligans at all. nobody seemed cross, nobody seemed present for vicious purposes, and everybody was sober. indeed, there and elsewhere i took and confirmed a mighty liking to these gentle, human, dark-skinned people. iii mr. booker t. washington but whatever aspect i recall of this great taboo that shows no signs of lifting, of this great problem of the future that america in her haste, her indiscriminating prejudice, her lack of any sustained study and teaching of the broad issues she must decide, complicates and intensifies, and makes threatening, there presently comes back to mind the browned face of mr. booker t. washington, as he talked to me over our lunch in boston. he has a face rather irish in type, and the soft slow negro voice. he met my regard with the brown sorrowful eyes of his race. he wanted very much that i should hear him make a speech, because then his words came better; he talked, he implied, with a certain difficulty. but i preferred to have his talking, and get not the orator--every one tells me he is an altogether great orator in this country where oratory is still esteemed--but the man. he answered my questions meditatively. i wanted to know with an active pertinacity. what struck me most was the way in which his sense of the overpowering forces of race prejudice weighs upon him. it is a thing he accepts; in our time and conditions it is not to be fought about. he makes one feel with an exaggerated intensity (though i could not even draw him to admit) its monstrous injustice. he makes no accusations. he is for taking it as a part of the present fate of his "people," and for doing all that can be done for them within the limit it sets. therein he differs from du bois, the other great spokesman color has found in our time. du bois, is more of the artist, less of the statesman; he conceals his passionate resentment all too thinly. he batters himself into rhetoric against these walls. he will not repudiate the clear right of the black man to every educational facility, to equal citizenship, and equal respect. but mr. washington has statecraft. he looks before and after, and plans and keeps his counsel with the scope and range of a statesman. i use "statesman" in its highest sense; his is a mind that can grasp the situation and destinies of a people. after i had talked to him i went back to my club, and found there an english newspaper with a report of the opening debate upon mr. birrell's education bill. it was like turning from the discussion of life and death to a dispute about the dregs in the bottom of a tea-cup somebody had neglected to wash up in victorian times. i argued strongly against the view he seems to hold that black and white might live without mingling and without injustice, side by side. that i do not believe. racial differences seem to me always to exasperate intercourse unless people have been elaborately trained to ignore them. uneducated men are as bad as cattle in persecuting all that is different among themselves. the most miserable and disorderly countries of the world are the countries where two races, two inadequate cultures, keep a jarring, continuous separation. "you must repudiate separation," i said. "no peoples have ever yet endured the tension of intermingled distinctness." "may we not become a peculiar people--like the jews?" he suggested. "isn't that possible?" but there i could not agree with him. i thought of the dreadful history of the jews and armenians. and the negro cannot do what the jews and armenians have done. the colored people of america are of a different quality from the jew altogether, more genial, more careless, more sympathetic, franker, less intellectual, less acquisitive, less wary and restrained--in a word, more occidental. they have no common religion and culture, no conceit of race to hold them together. the jews make a ghetto for themselves wherever they go; no law but their own solidarity has given america the east side. the colored people are ready to disperse and inter-breed, are not a community at all in the jewish sense, but outcasts from a community. they are the victims of a prejudice that has to be destroyed. these things i urged, but it was, i think, empty speech to my hearer. i could talk lightly of destroying that prejudice, but he knew better. it is the central fact of his life, a law of his being. he has shaped all his projects and policy upon that. exclusion is inevitable. so he dreams of a colored race of decent and inaggressive men silently giving the lie to all the legend of their degradation. they will have their own doctors, their own lawyers, their own capitalists, their own banks--because the whites desire it so. but will the uneducated whites endure even so submissive a vindication as that? will they suffer the horrid spectacle of free and self-satisfied negroes in decent clothing on any terms without resentment? he explained how at the tuskegee institute they make useful men, skilled engineers, skilled agriculturalists, men to live down the charge of practical incompetence, of ignorant and slovenly farming and house management.... "i wish you would tell me," i said, abruptly, "just what you think of the attitude of white america towards you. do you think it is generous?" he regarded me for a moment. "no end of people help us," he said. "yes," i said; "but the ordinary man. is he fair?" "some things are not fair," he said, leaving the general question alone. "it isn't fair to refuse a colored man a berth on a sleeping-car. i?--i happen to be a privileged person, they make an exception for me; but the ordinary educated colored man isn't admitted to a sleeping-car at all. if he has to go a long journey, he has to sit up all night. his white competitor sleeps. then in some places, in the hotels and restaurants--it's all right here in boston--but southwardly he can't get proper refreshments. all that's a handicap.... "the remedy lies in education," he said; "ours--_and theirs_. "the real thing," he told me, "isn't to be done by talking and agitation. it's a matter of lives. the only answer to it all is for colored men to be patient, to make themselves competent, to do good work, to live well, to give no occasion against us. we feel that. in a way it's an inspiration.... "there is a man here in boston, a negro, who owns and runs some big stores, employs all sorts of people, deals justly. that man has done more good for our people than all the eloquence or argument in the world.... that is what we have to do--it is all we _can_ do."... whatever america has to show in heroic living to-day, i doubt if she can show anything finer than the quality of the resolve, the steadfast effort hundreds of black and colored men are making to-day to live blamelessly, honorably, and patiently, getting for themselves what scraps of refinement, learning, and beauty they may, keeping their hold on a civilization they are grudged and denied. they do it not for themselves only, but for all their race. each educated colored man is an ambassador to civilization. they know they have a handicap, that they are not exceptionally brilliant nor clever people. yet every such man stands, one likes to think, aware of his representative and vicarious character, fighting against foul imaginations, misrepresentations, injustice, insult, and the naïve unspeakable meannesses of base antagonists. every one of them who keeps decent and honorable does a little to beat that opposition down. but the patience the negro needs! he may not even look contempt. he must admit superiority in those whose daily conduct to him is the clearest evidence of moral inferiority. we sympathetic whites, indeed, may claim honor for him; if he is wise he will be silent under our advocacy. he must go to and fro self-controlled, bereft of all the equalities that the great flag of america proclaims--that flag for whose united empire his people fought and died, giving place and precedence to the strangers who pour in to share its beneficence, strangers ignorant even of its tongue. that he must do--and wait. the welsh, the irish, the poles, the white south, the indefatigable jews may cherish grievances and rail aloud. he must keep still. they may be hysterical, revengeful, threatening, and perverse; their wrongs excuse them. for him there is no excuse. and of all the races upon earth, which has suffered such wrongs as this negro blood that is still imputed to him as a sin? these people who disdain him, who have no sense of reparation towards him, have sinned against him beyond all measure.... no, i can't help idealizing the dark submissive figure of the negro in this spectacle of america. he, too, seems to me to sit waiting--and waiting with a marvellous and simple-minded patience--for finer understandings and a nobler time. chapter xiii the mind of a modern state i recapitulatory i do not know if i am conveying to any extent the picture of america as i see it, the vast rich various continent, the gigantic energetic process of development, the acquisitive successes, the striving failures, the multitudes of those rising and falling who come between, all set in a texture of spacious countryside, animate with pleasant timber homes, of clangorous towns that bristle to the skies, of great exploitation districts and crowded factories, of wide deserts and mine-torn mountains, and huge half-tamed rivers. i have tried to make the note of immigration grow slowly to a dominating significance in this panorama, and with that, to make more and more evident my sense of the need of a creative assimilation, the cry for synthetic effort, lest all this great being, this splendid promise of a new world, should decay into a vast unprogressive stagnation of unhappiness and disorder. i have hinted at failures and cruelties, i have put into the accumulating details of my vision, children america blights, men she crushes, fine hopes she disappoints and destroys. i have found a place for the questioning figure of the south, the sorrowful interrogation of the outcast colored people. these are but the marginal shadows of a process in its totality magnificent, but they exist, they go on to mingle in her destinies. then i have tried to show, too, the conception i have formed of the great skein of industrial competition that has been tightening and becoming more and more involved through all this century-long age, the age of blind growth, that draws now towards its end; until the process threatens to throttle individual freedom and individual enterprise altogether. and of a great mental uneasiness and discontent, unprecedented in the history of the american mind, that promises in the near future some general and conscious endeavor to arrest this unanticipated strangulation of freedom and free living, some widespread struggle, of i know not what constructive power, with the stains and disorders and indignities that oppress and grow larger in the national consciousness. i perceive more and more that in coming to america i have chanced upon a time of peculiar significance. the note of disillusionment sounds everywhere. america, for the first time in her history, is taking thought about herself, and ridding herself of long-cherished illusions. i have already mentioned (in chapter viii.) the memorable literature of self-examination that has come into being during the last decade. hitherto american thought has been extraordinarily localized; there has been no national press, in the sense that the press of london or paris is national. americans knew of america as a whole, mainly as the flag. beneath the flag america is lost among constituent states and cities. all her newspapers have been, by english standards, "local" papers, preoccupied by local affairs, and taking an intensely localized point of view. a national newspaper for america would be altogether too immense an enterprise. only since , and in the form of weekly and monthly ten-cent magazines, have the rudiments of a national medium of expression appeared, and appeared to voice strange pregnant doubts. i had an interesting talk with mr. brisben walker upon this new development. to him the first ten-cent magazine, _the cosmopolitan_, was due, and he was naturally glad to tell me of the growth of this vehicle. to-day there is an aggregate circulation of ten millions of these magazines; they supply fiction, no doubt, and much of light interesting ephemeral matter, but not one of them is without its element of grave public discussion. i do not wish to make too much of this particular development, but regard it as a sign of new interests, of keen curiosities. now i must confess when i consider this ocean of readers i find the fears i have expressed of some analogical development of american affairs towards the stagnant commercialism of china, or towards a plutocratic imperialism and decadence of the roman type, look singularly flimsy. upon its present lines, and supposing there were no new sources of mental supply and energy, i do firmly believe that america might conceivably come more and more under the control of a tacitly organized and exhausting plutocracy, be swamped by a swelling tide of ignorant and unassimilable labor immigrants, decline towards violence and social misery, fall behind europe in education and intelligence, and cease to lead civilization. in such a decay cæsarism would be a most probable and natural phase, cæsarism and a splitting into contending cæsarisms. come but a little sinking from intelligence towards coarseness and passion, and the south will yet endeavor to impose servitude anew upon its colored people, or secede--that trouble is not yet over. a little darkening and impoverishment of outlook and new york would split from new england, and colorado from the east. an illiterate, short-sighted america would be america doomed. but america is not illiterate; there are these great unprecedented reservoirs of intelligence and understanding, these millions of people who follow the process with an increasing comprehension. it is these millions of readers who make the american problem, and the problem of europe and the world to-day, unique and incalculable, who provide a cohesive and reasonable and pacifying medium the old world did not know. ii birth struggles of a common mind you see, my hero in the confused drama of human life is intelligence; intelligence inspired by constructive passion. there is a demi-god imprisoned in mankind. all human history presents itself to me as the unconscious or half-unconscious struggle of human thought to emerge from the sightless interplay of instinct, individual passion, prejudice, and ignorance. one sees this diviner element groping after law and order and fine arrangement, like a thing blind and half-buried, in ancient egypt, in ancient judæa, in ancient greece. it embodies its purpose in religions, invents the disciplines of morality, the reminders of ritual. it loses itself and becomes confused. it wearies and rests. in plato, for the first time, one discovers it conscious and open-eyed, trying, indeed, to take hold of life and control it. then it goes under, and becomes again a convulsive struggle, an inco-ordinated gripping and leaving, a muttering of literature and art, until the coming of our own times. most painful and blundering of demi-gods it seems through all that space of years, with closed eyes and feverish effort. and now again it is clear to the minds of many men that they may lay hold upon and control the destiny of their kind.... it is strange, it is often grotesque to mark how the reviving racial consciousness finds expression to-day. now it startles itself into a new phase of self-knowledge by striking a note from this art, and now by striking one from that. it breaks out in fiction that is ostensibly written only to amuse, it creeps into after-dinner discussions, and invades a press which is economically no more than a system of advertisement sheets proclaiming the price of the thing that is. presently it is on the stage; the music-hall even is not safe from it. youths walk in the streets to-day, talking together of things that were once the ultimate speculation of philosophy. i am no contemner of the present. to me it appears a time of immense and wonderful beginnings. new ideas are organizing themselves out of the little limited efforts of innumerable men. never was there an age so intellectually prolific and abundant as this in the aggregate is. it is true, indeed, that we who write and think and investigate to-day, present nothing to compare with the magnificent reputations and intensely individualized achievements of the impressive personalities of the past. none the less is it true that taken all together we signify infinitely more. we no longer pose ourselves for admiration, high priests and princes of letters in a world of finite achievement; we admit ourselves no more than pages bearing the train of a queen--but a queen of limitless power. the knowledge we co-ordinate, the ideas we build together, the growing blaze in which we are willingly consumed, are wider and higher and richer in promise than anything the world has had before.... when one takes count of the forces of intelligence upon which we may rely in the great conflict against matter, brute instinct, and individualistic disorder, to make the new social state, when we consider the organizing forms that emerge already from the general vague confusion, we find apparent in every modern state three chief series of developments. there is first the thinking and investigatory elements that grow constantly more important in our university life, the enlarging recognition of the need of a systematic issue of university publications, books, periodicals, and of sustained and fertilizing discussion. then there is the greater, cruder, and bolder sea of mental activities outside academic limits, the amateurs, the free lances of thought and inquiry, the writers and artists, the innumerable ill-disciplined, untrained, but interested and well-meaning people who write and talk. they find their medium in contemporary literature, in journalism, in organizations for the propaganda of opinion. and, thirdly, there is the immense, nearly universally diffused system of education which, inadequately enough, serves to spread the new ideas as they are elaborated, which does, at any rate by its preparatory work, render them accessible. all these new manifestations of mind embody themselves in material forms, in class-rooms and laboratories, in libraries, and a vast machinery of book and newspaper production and distribution. consider the new universities that spring up all over america. almost imperceptibly throughout the past century, little by little, the conception of a university has changed, until now it is nearly altogether changed. the old-time university was a collection of learned men; it believed that all the generalizations had been made, all the fundamental things said; it had no vistas towards the future; it existed for teaching and exercises, and more than half implied what dr. johnson, for example, believed, that secular degeneration was the rule of human life. all that, you know, has gone; every university, even oxford (though, poor pretentious dear, she still professes to read and think metaphysics in "the original" greek) admits the conception of a philosophy that progresses, that broadens and intensifies, age by age. but to come to america is to come to a country far more alive to the thinking and knowledge-making function of universities than great britain. one splendidly endowed foundation, the johns hopkins university, baltimore, exists only for research, and that was the first intention of chicago university also. in sociology, in pedagogics, in social psychology, these vital sciences for the modern state, america is producing an amount of work which, however trivial in proportion to the task before her, is at any rate immense in comparison with our own british output.... iii columbia university i did my amateurish and transitory best to see something of the american universities. there was columbia. thither i went with a letter to professor giddings, whose sociological writings are world famous. i found him busy with a secretary in a businesslike little room, stowed away somewhere under the dome of the magnificent building of the university library. he took me round the opulent spaces, the fine buildings of columbia.... i suppose it is inevitable that a visitor should see the constituents of a university out of proportion, but i came away with an impression overwhelmingly architectural. the library dome, i confess, was fine, and the desks below well filled with students, the books were abundant, well arranged, and well tended. but i recall marble staircases, i recall great wastes of marble steps, i recall, in particular, students' baths of extraordinary splendor, and i do not recall anything like an equivalent effect of large leisure and dignity for intellectual men. professor giddings seemed driven and busy, the few men i met there appeared all to have a lot of immediate work to do. it occurred to me in columbia, as it occurred to me later in the university of chicago, that the disposition of the university founder is altogether too much towards buildings and memorial inscriptions, and all too little towards the more difficult and far more valuable end of putting men of pre-eminent ability into positions of stimulated leisure. this is not a distinctly american effect. in oxford, just as much as in columbia, nay, far more! you find stone and student lording it over the creative mental thing; the dons go about like some sort of little short-coated parasite, pointing respectfully to tower and façade, which have, in truth, no reason for existing except to shelter them. columbia is almost as badly off for means of publication as oxford, and quite as poor in inducements towards creative work. professors talk in an altogether british way of getting work done in the vacation. moreover, there was an effect of remoteness about columbia. it may have been the quality of a blue still morning of sunshine that invaded my impression. i came up out of the crowded tumult of new york to it, with a sense of the hooting, hurrying traffics of the wide harbor, the teeming east side, the glitter of spending, the rush of finance, the whole headlong process of america, behind me. i came out of the subway station into wide still streets. it was very spacious, very dignified, very quiet. well, i want the universities of the modern state to be more aggressive. i want to think of a columbia university of a less detached appearance, even if she is less splendidly clad. i want to think of her as sitting up there, cheek on hand, with knitted brows, brooding upon the millions below. i want to think of all the best minds conceivable going to and fro--thoughts and purposes in her organized mind. and when she speaks that busy world should listen.... as a matter of fact, much of that busy world still regards a professor as something between a dealer in scientific magic and a crank, and a university as an institution every good american should be honestly proud of and avoid. iv harvard harvard, too, is detached, though not quite with the same immediacy of contrast. harvard reminded me very much of my first impressions of oxford. one was taken about in the same way to see this or that point of view. much of harvard is georgian red brick, that must have seemed very ripe and venerable until a year or so ago one bitter winter killed all the english ivy. there are students' clubs, after the fashion of the oxford union, but finer and better equipped; there is an amazing germanic museum, the gift of the present emperor, that does, in a concentrated form, present all that is flamboyant of germany; there are noble museums and libraries, and very many fine and dignified aspects and spaces, and an abundant intellectual life. harvard is happily free from the collegiate politics that absorb most of the surplus mental energy of oxford and cambridge, and the professors can and do meet and talk. at harvard men count. i was condoled with on all hands in my disappointment that i could not meet professor william james--he was still in california--and i had the good fortune to meet and talk to president eliot, who is, indeed, a very considerable voice in american affairs. to me he talked quite readily and frankly of a very living subject, the integrity of the press in relation to the systematic and successful efforts of the advertising chemists and druggists to stifle exposures of noxious proprietary articles. he saw the problem as the subtle play of group psychology it is; there was none of that feeble horror of these troubles as "modern and vulgar" that one would expect in an english university leader. i fell into a great respect for his lean fine face and figure, his deliberate voice, his open, balanced, and constructive mind. he was the first man i had met who had any suggestion of a force and quality that might stand up to and prevail against the forces of acquisition and brute trading. he bore himself as though some sure power were behind him, unlike many other men i met who criticised abuses abusively, or in the key of facetious despair. he had very much of that fine aristocratic quality one finds cropping up so frequently among americans of old tradition, an aristocratic quality that is free from either privilege or pretension.... [illustrations: harvard hall and the johnson gate, cambridge] at harvard, too, i met professor münsterberg, one of the few writers of standing who have attempted a general review of the american situation. he is a tall fair german, but newly annexed to america, with a certain diplomatic quality in his personality, standing almost consciously, as it were, for germany in america, and for america in germany. he has written a book for either people, because hitherto they have seen each other too much through english media ("von englischen linseln retouchiert"), and he has done much to spread the conception of a common quality and sympathy between germany and america. "blood," he says in this connection, "is thicker than water, but ... printer's ink is thicker than blood." england is too aristocratic, france too shockingly immoral, russia too absolutist to be the sympathetic and similar friend of america, and so, by a process of exhaustion, germany remains the one power on earth capable of an "inner understanding." (also he has drawn an alluring parallel between president roosevelt and the emperor william to complete the approximation of "die beiden edelnationen"). i had read all this, and was interested to encounter him therefore at a harvard table in a circle of his colleagues, agreeable and courteous, and still scarcely more assimilated than the brightly new white germanic museum among the red brick traditions of kirkland and cambridge streets.... harvard impresses me altogether as a very living factor in the present american outlook, not only when i was in cambridge, but in the way the place _tells_ in new york, in chicago, in washington. it has a living and contemporary attitude, and it is becoming more and more audible. harvard opinion influences the magazines and affects the press, at least in the east, to an increasing extent. it may, in the near future, become still more rapidly audible. professor eliot is now full of years and honor, and i found in new york, in boston, in washington, that his successor was being discussed. in all these cities i met people disposed to believe that if president roosevelt does not become president of the united states for a further term, he may succeed president eliot. now that i have seen president roosevelt it seems to me that this might have a most extraordinary effect in accelerating the reaction upon the people of america of the best and least mercenary of their national thought. already he is exerting an immense influence in the advertisement of new ideas and ideals. but of president roosevelt i shall write more fully later.... v chicago university chicago university, too, is a splendid place of fine buildings and green spaces and trees, with a great going to and fro of students, a wonderful contrast to the dark congestions of the mercantile city to the north. to all the disorganization of that it is even physically antagonistic, and i could think as i went about it that already this new organization has produced such writing as veblen's admirable ironies (_the theory of business enterprise_, for example), and such sociological work as that of zueblin and albion small. i went through the vigorous and admirably equipped pedagogic department, which is evidently a centre of thought and stimulus for the whole teaching profession of illinois; i saw a library of sociology and economics beyond anything that london can boast; i came upon little groups of students working amid piles of books in a businesslike manner, and if at times in other sections this suggestion was still insistent that thought was as yet only "moving in" and, as it were, getting the carpets down, it was equally clear that thought was going to live freely and spaciously, to an unprecedented extent, so soon as things were in order. [illustration: a bit of princeton university] i visited only these three great foundations, each in its materially embodiment already larger, wealthier, and more hopeful than any contemporary british institution, and it required an effort to realize that they were but a portion of the embattled universities of america, that i had not seen yale nor princeton nor cornell nor leland stanford nor any western state university, not a tithe, indeed, of america's drilling levies in the coming war of thought against chaos. i am in no way equipped to estimate the value of the drilling; i have been unable to get any conception how far these tens of thousands of students in these institutions are really _alive_ intellectually, are really inquiring, discussing, reading, and criticising; i have no doubt the great numbers of them spend many hours after the fashion of one roomful i saw intent upon a blackboard covered with greek; but allowing the utmost for indolence, games, distractions, and waste of time and energy upon unfruitful and obsolete studies, the fact of this great increasing proportion of minds at least a little trained in things immaterial, a little exercised in the critical habit, remains a fact to put over against that million and a half child workers who can barely have learned to read--the other side, the redeeming side of the american prospect. vi a voice from cornell i am impressed by the evident consciousness of the american universities of the rôle they have to play in america's future. they seem to me pervaded by the constructive spirit. they are intelligently antagonistic to lethargic and self-indulgent traditions, to disorder, and disorderly institutions. it is from the universities that the deliberate invasion of the political machine by independent men of honor and position--of whom president roosevelt is the type and chief--proceeds. mr. george iles has called my attention to a remarkable address made so long ago as the year before the yale alumni, by president andrew d. white (the first president), of cornell, who was afterwards american ambassador at st. petersburg and berlin. president white was a member of the class of ' , and he addressed himself particularly to the men of that year. his title was "the message of the nineteenth century to the twentieth," and it is full of a spirit that grows and spreads throughout american life, that may ultimately spread throughout the life of the whole nation, a spirit of criticism and constructive effort, of a scope and quality the world has never seen before. the new class of ' are the messengers. "to a few tottering old men of our dear class of ' it will be granted to look with straining eyes over the boundary into the twentieth century; but even these can do little to make themselves heard then. most of us shall not see it. but before us and around us; nay, in our own families are the men who shall see it. the men who go forth from these dear shades to-morrow are girding themselves for it. often as i have stood in the presence of such bands of youthful messengers i have never been able to resist a feeling of awe, as in my boyhood when i stood before men who were soon to see palestine and the far east, or the golden gates of the west, and the islands of the pacific. the old story of st. fillipo neri at rome comes back to me, who, in the days of the elizabethan persecutions, made men bring him out into the open air and set him opposite the door of the papal college of rome, that he might look into the faces of the english students, destined to go forth to triumph or to martyrdom for the faith in far-off, heretic england." i cannot forbear from quoting further from this address; it is all so congenial to my own beliefs. indeed, i like to think of that gathering of young men and old as if it were still existing, as though the old fellows of ' were still sitting, listening and looking up responsive to this appeal that comes down to us. i fancy president white on the platform before them, a little figure in the perspective of a quarter of a century, but still quite clearly audible, delivering his periods to that now indistinguishable audience: "what, then, is to be done? mercantilism, necessitated at first by our circumstances and position, has been in the main a great blessing. it has been so under a simple law of history. how shall it be prevented from becoming in obedience to a similar inexorable law, a curse? "here, in the answer to this question, it seems to me, is the most important message from this century to the next. "for the great thing to be done is neither more nor less than to develop _other_ great elements of civilization now held in check, which shall take their rightful place in the united states, which shall modify the mercantile spirit, ... which shall make the history of our country something greater and broader than anything we have reached, or ever can reach, under the sway of mercantilism alone. "what shall be those counter elements of civilization? monarchy, aristocracy, militarism we could not have if we would, we would not have if we could. what shall we have? "i answer simply that we must do all that we can to rear greater fabrics of religious, philosophic thought, literary thought, scientific, artistic, political thought to summon young men more and more into these fields, not as a matter of taste or social opportunity, but as a patriotic duty; to hold before them not the incentive of mere gain or of mere pleasure or of mere reputation, but the ideal of a new and higher civilization. the greatest work which the coming century has to do in this country is to build up an aristocracy of thought and feeling which shall hold its own against the aristocracy of mercantilism. i would have more and more the appeal made to every young man who feels within him the ability to do good or great things in any of these higher fields, to devote his powers to them as a sacred duty, no matter how strongly the mercantile or business spirit may draw him. i would have the idea preached early and late.... "and as the guardian of such a movement, ... i would strengthen at every point this venerable university, and others like it throughout the country. remiss, indeed, have the graduates and friends of our own honored yale been in their treatment of her. she has never had the means to do a tithe of what she might do. she ought to be made strong enough, with more departments, more professors, more fellowships, to become one of a series of great rallying points or fortresses, and to hold always concentrated here a strong army, ever active against mercantilism, materialism, and philistinism.... "but, after all, the effort to create these new counterpoising, modifying elements of a greater civilization must be begun in the individual man, and especially in the youth who feels within himself the power to think, the power to write, the power to carve the marble, to paint, to leave something behind him better than dollars. in the individual minds and hearts and souls of the messengers who are preparing for the next century is a source of regeneration. they must form an ideal of religion higher than that of a life devoted to grasping and grinding and griping, with a whine for mercy at the end of it. they must form an ideal of science higher than that of increasing the production of iron or cotton. they must form an ideal of literature and of art higher than that of pandering to the latest prejudice or whimsey. and they must form an ideal of man himself worthy of that century into which are to be poured the accumulations of this. so shall material elements be brought to their proper place, made stronger for good, made harmless for evil. so shall we have that development of new and greater elements, that balance of principles which shall make this republic greater than anything of which we now can dream." chapter xiv culture i the boston enchantment yet even as i write of the universities as the central intellectual organ of a modern state, as i sit implying salvation by schools, there comes into my mind a mass of qualification. the devil in the american world drama may be mercantilism, ensnaring, tempting, battling against my hero, the creative mind of man, but mercantilism is not the only antagonist. in fifth avenue or paterson one may find nothing but the zenith and nadir of the dollar hunt, at a harvard table one may encounter nothing but living minds, but in boston--i mean not only beacon street and commonwealth avenue, but that boston of the mind and heart that pervades american refinement and goes about the world--one finds the human mind not base, nor brutal, nor stupid, nor ignorant, but mysteriously enchanting and ineffectual, so that having eyes it yet does not see, having powers it achieves nothing.... i remember boston as a quiet effect, as something a little withdrawn, as a place standing aside from the throbbing interchange of east and west. when i hear the word boston now it is that quality returns. i do not think of the spreading parkways of mr. woodbury and mr. olmstead nor of the crowded harbor; the congested tenement-house regions, full of those aliens whose tongues struck so strangely on the ears of mr. henry james, come not to mind. but i think of rows of well-built, brown and ruddy homes, each with a certain sound architectural distinction, each with its two squares of neatly trimmed grass between itself and the broad, quiet street, and each with its family of cultured people within. i am reminded of deferential but unostentatious servants, and of being ushered into large, dignified entrance-halls. i think of spacious stairways, curtained archways, and rooms of agreeable, receptive persons. i recall the finished informality of the high tea. all the people of my impression have been taught to speak english with a quite admirable intonation; some of the men and most of the women are proficient in two or three languages; they have travelled in italy, they have all the recognized classics of european literature in their minds, and apt quotations at command. and i think of the constant presence of treasured associations with the titanic and now mellowing literary reputations of victorian times, with emerson (who called poe "that jingle man"), and with longfellow, whose house is now sacred, its view towards the charles river and the stadium--it is a real, correct stadium--secured by the purchase of the sward before it forever.... at the mention of boston i think, too, of autotypes and then of plaster casts. i do not think i shall ever see an autotype again without thinking of boston. i think of autotypes of the supreme masterpieces of sculpture and painting, and particularly of the fluttering garments of the "nike of samothrace." (that i saw, also, in little casts and big, and photographed from every conceivable point of view.) it is incredible how many people in boston have selected her for their æsthetic symbol and expression. always that lady was in evidence about me, unobtrusively persistent, until at last her frozen stride pursued me into my dreams. that frozen stride became the visible spirit of boston in my imagination, a sort of blind, headless, and unprogressive fine resolution that took no heed of any contemporary thing. next to that i recall, as inseparably bostonian, the dreaming grace of botticelli's "prima vera." all bostonians admire botticelli, and have a feeling for the roof of the sistine chapel--to so casual and adventurous a person as myself, indeed, boston presents a terrible, a terrifying unanimity of æsthetic discriminations. i was nearly brought back to my childhood's persuasion that, after all, there is a right and wrong in these things. and boston clearly thought the less of mr. bernard shaw when i told her he had induced me to buy a pianola, not that boston ever did set much store by so contemporary a person as mr. bernard shaw. the books she reads are toned and seasoned books--preferably in the old or else in limited editions, and by authors who may be lectured upon without decorum.... boston has in her symphony concerts the best music in america, and here her tastes are severely orthodox and classic. i heard beethoven's fifth symphony extraordinarily well done, the familiar pinnacled fifth symphony, and now, whenever i grind that out upon the convenient mechanism beside my desk at home, mentally i shall be transferred to boston again, shall hear its magnificent aggressive thumpings transfigured into exquisite orchestration, and sit again among that audience of pleased and pleasant ladies in chaste, high-necked, expensive dresses, and refined, attentive, appreciative, bald, or iron-gray men.... ii boston's antiquity then boston has historical associations that impressed me like iron-moulded, leather-bound, eighteenth-century books. the war of independence, that to us in england seems half-way back to the days of elizabeth, is a thing of yesterday in boston. "here," your host will say and pause, "came marching" so-and-so, "with his troops to relieve" so-and-so. and you will find he is the great-grandson of so-and-so, and still keeps that ancient colonial's sword. and these things happened before they dug the hythe military canal, before sandgate, except for a decrepit castle, existed; before the days when bonaparte gathered his army at boulogne--in the days of muskets and pigtails--and erected that column my telescope at home can reach for me on a clear day. all that is ancient history in england and in boston the decade before those distant alarums and excursions is yesterday. a year or so ago they restored the british arms to the old state-house. "feeling," my informant witnessed, "was dying down." but there were protests, nevertheless.... if there is one note of incongruity in boston, it is in the gilt dome of the massachusetts state-house at night. they illuminate it with electric light. that shocked me as an anachronism. it shocked me--much as it would have shocked me to see one of the colonial portraits, or even one of the endless autotypes of the belvidere apollo replaced, let us say, by one of mr. alvin coburn's wonderfully beautiful photographs of modern new york. that electric glitter breaks the spell; it is the admission of the present, of the twentieth century. it is just as if the quirinal and vatican took to an exchange of badinage with search-lights, or the king mounted an illuminated e.r. on the round tower at windsor. save for that one discord there broods over the real boston an immense effect of finality. one feels in boston, as one feels in no other part of the states, that the intellectual movement has ceased. boston is now producing no literature except a little criticism. contemporary boston art is imitative art, its writers are correct and imitative writers the central figure of its literary world is that charming old lady of eighty-eight, mrs. julia ward howe. one meets her and colonel higginson in the midst of an authors' society that is not so much composed of minor stars as a chorus of indistinguishable culture. there are an admirable library and a museum in boston, and the library is italianate, and decorated within like an ancient missal. in the less ornamental spaces of this place there are books and readers. there is particularly a charming large room for children, full of pigmy chairs and tables, in which quite little tots sit reading. i regret now i did not ascertain precisely what they were reading, but i have no doubt it was classical matter. i do not know why the full sensing of what is ripe and good in the past should carry with it this quality of discriminating against the present and the future. the fact remains that it does so almost oppressively. i found myself by some accident of hospitality one evening in the company of a number of boston gentlemen who constituted a book-collecting club. they had dined, and they were listening to a paper on bibles printed in america. it was a scholarly, valuable, and exhaustive piece of research. the surviving copies of each edition were traced, and when some rare specimen was mentioned as the property of any member of the club there was decorously warm applause. i had been seeing boston, drinking in the boston atmosphere all day.... i know it will seem an ungracious and ungrateful thing to confess (yet the necessities of my picture of america compel me), but as i sat at the large and beautifully ordered table, with these fine, rich men about me, and listened to the steady progress of the reader's ever unrhetorical sentences, and the little bursts of approval, it came to me with a horrible quality of conviction that the mind of the world was dead, and that this was a distribution of souvenirs. indeed, so strongly did this grip me that presently, upon some slight occasion, i excused myself and went out into the night. i wandered about boston for some hours, trying to shake off this unfortunate idea. i felt that all the books had been written, all the pictures painted, all the thoughts said--or at least that nobody would ever believe this wasn't so. i felt it was dreadful nonsense to go on writing books. nothing remained but to collect them in the richest, finest manner one could. somewhere about midnight i came to a publisher's window, and stood in the dim moonlight peering enviously at piled copies of izaak walton and omar khayyam, and all the happy immortals who got in before the gates were shut. and then in the corner i discovered a thin, small book. for a time i could scarcely believe my eyes. i lit a match to be the surer. and it was _a modern symposium_, by lowes dickinson, beyond all disputing. it was strangely comforting to see it there--a leaf of olive from the world of thought i had imagined drowned forever. that was just one night's mood. i do not wish to accuse boston of any wilful, deliberate repudiation of the present and the future. but i think that boston--when i say boston let the reader always understand i mean that intellectual and spiritual boston that goes about the world, that traffics in book-shops in rome and piccadilly, that i have dined with and wrangled with in my friend w.'s house in blackheath, dear w., who, i believe, has never seen america--i think, i say, that boston commits the scholastic error and tries to remember too much, to treasure too much, and has refined and studied and collected herself into a state of hopeless intellectual and æsthetic repletion in consequence. in these matters there are limits. the finality of boston is a quantitive consequence. the capacity of boston, it would seem, was just sufficient but no more than sufficient, to comprehend the whole achievement of the human intellect up, let us say, to the year a.d. then an equilibrium was established. at or about that year boston filled up. iii about wellesley it is the peculiarity of boston's intellectual quality that she cannot unload again. she treasures longfellow in quantity. she treasures his works, she treasures associations, she treasures his cambridge home. now, really, to be perfectly frank about him, longfellow is not good enough for that amount of intellectual house room. he cumbers boston. and when i went out to wellesley to see that delightful girls' college everybody told me i should be reminded of the "princess." for the life of me i could not remember what "princess." much of my time in boston was darkened by the constant strain of concealing the frightful gaps in my intellectual baggage, this absence of things i might reasonably be supposed, as a cultivated person, to have, but which, as a matter of fact, i'd either left behind, never possessed, or deliberately thrown away. i felt instinctively that boston could never possibly understand the light travelling of a philosophical carpet-bagger. but i hid--in full view of the tree-set wellesley lake, ay, with the skiffs of "sweet girl graduates"--own up. "i say," i said, "i wish you wouldn't all be so allusive. _what_ princess?" it was, of course, that thing of tennyson's. it is a long, frequently happy and elegant, and always meritorious narrative poem, in which a chaste victorian amorousness struggles with the early formulæ of the feminist movement. i had read it when i was a boy, i was delighted to be able to claim, and had honorably forgotten the incident. but in boston they treat it as a living classic, and expect you to remember constantly and with appreciation this passage and that. i think that quite typical of the bostonian weakness. it is the error of the clever high-school girl, it is the mistake of the scholastic mind all the world over, to learn too thoroughly and to carry too much. they want to know and remember longfellow and tennyson--just as in art they want to know and remember raphael and all the elegant inanity of the sacrifice at lystra, or the miraculous draught of fishes; just as in history they keep all the picturesque legends of the war of independence--looking up the dates and minor names, one imagines, ever and again. some years ago i met two boston ladies in rome. each day they sallied forth from our hotel to see and appreciate; each evening, after dinner, they revised and underlined in baedeker what they had seen. _they meant to miss nothing in rome._ it's fine in its way--this receptive eagerness, this learners' avidity. only people who can go about in this spirit need, if their minds are to remain mobile, not so much heads as _cephalic pantechnicon vans_.... iv the wellesley cabinets i find this appetite to have all the mellow and refined and beautiful things in life to the exclusion of all thought for the present and the future even in the sweet, free air of wellesley's broad park, that most delightful, that almost incredible girls' university, with its class-rooms, its halls of residence, its club-houses and gathering-places among the glades and trees. i have very vivid in my mind a sunlit room in which girls were copying the detail in the photographs of masterpieces, and all around this room were cabinets of drawers, and in each drawer photographs. there must be in that room photographs of every picture of the slightest importance in italy, and detailed studies of many. i suppose, too, there are photographs of all the sculpture and buildings in italy that are by any standard considerable. there is, indeed, a great civilization, stretching over centuries and embodying the thought and devotion, the scepticism and levities, the ambition, the pretensions, the passions, and desires of innumerable sinful and world-used men--_canned_, as it were, in this one room, and freed from any deleterious ingredients. the young ladies, under the direction of competent instructors, go through it, no doubt, industriously, and emerge--capable of browning. i was taken into two or three charming club-houses that dot this beautiful domain. there was a shakespeare club-house, with a delightful theatre, elizabethan in style, and all set about with shakespearean things; there was the club-house of the girls who are fitting themselves for their share in the great american problem by the study of greek. groups of pleasant girls in each, grave with the fine gravity of youth, entertained the reluctantly critical visitor, and were unmistakably delighted and relaxed when one made it clear that one was not in the great teacher line of business, when one confided that one was there on false pretences, and insisting on seeing the pantry. they have jolly little pantries, and they make excellent tea. i returned to boston at last in a state of mighty doubting, provided with a wellesley college calendar to study at my leisure. i cannot, for the life of me, determine how far wellesley is an aspect of what i have called boston; how far it is a part of that wide forward movement of the universities upon which i lavish hope and blessings. those drawings of photographed madonnas and holy families and annunciations, the sustained study of greek, the class in the french drama of the seventeenth century, the study of the topography of rome fill me with misgivings, seeing the world is in torment for the want of living thought about its present affairs. but, on the other hand, there are courses upon socialism--though the text-book is still _das kapital_ of marx--and upon the industrial history of england and america. i didn't discover a debating society, but there is a large accessible library. how far, i wonder still, are these girls thinking and feeding mentally for themselves? what do they discuss one with another? how far do they suffer under that plight of feminine education--notetaking from lectures?... but, after all, this about wellesley is a digression into which i fell by way of boston's autotypes. my main thesis was that culture, as it is conceived in boston, is no contribution to the future of america, that cultivated people may be, in effect, as state-blind as--mr. morgan richards. it matters little in the mind of the world whether any one is concentrated upon mediæval poetry, florentine pictures, or the propagation of pills. the common, significant fact in all these cases is this, a blindness to the crude splendor of the possibilities of america now, to the tragic greatness of the unheeded issues that blunder towards solution. frankly, i grieve over boston--boston throughout the world--as a great waste of leisure and energy, as a frittering away of moral and intellectual possibilities. we give too much to the past. new york is not simply more interesting than rome, but more significant, more stimulating, and far more beautiful, and the idea that to be concerned about the latter in preference to the former is a mark of a finer mental quality is one of the most mischievous and foolish ideas that ever invaded the mind of man. we are obsessed by the scholastic prestige of mere knowledge and genteel remoteness. over against unthinking ignorance is scholarly refinement, the spirit of boston; between that scylla and this charybdis the creative mind of man steers its precarious way. chapter xv at washington i washington as anti-climax i came to washington full of expectations and curiosities. here, i felt, so far as it could exist visibly and palpably anywhere, was the head and mind of this colossal america over which my observant curiosities had wandered. in this place i should find, among other things, perhaps as many as ten thousand men who would not be concerned in trade. there would be all the senators and representatives, their secretaries and officials, and four thousand and more scientific and literary men of washington's institutions and libraries, the diplomatic corps, the educational centres, the civil service, the writers and thinking men who must inevitably be drawn to this predestined centre. i promised myself arduous intercourse with a teeming intellectual life. here i should find questions answered, discover missing clues, get hold of the last connections in my inquiry. i should complete at washington my vision of america; my forecast would follow. i don't precisely remember how this vision departed. i know only that after a day or so in washington an entirely different conception was established, a conception of washington as architecture and avenues, as a place of picture post-cards and excursions, with sightseers instead of thoughts going to and fro. i had imagined that in washington i should find such mentally vigorous discussion-centres as the new york x club on a quite magnificent scale. instead, i found the chief scientific gathering-place has, like so many messes in the british army before the boer war, a rule against talking "shop." in all washington there is no clearing-house of thought at all; washington has no literary journals, no magazines, no publications other than those of the official specialist--there does not seem to be a living for a single firm of publishers in this magnificent empty city. i went about the place in a state of ridiculous and deepening concern. i went through the splendid botanical gardens, through the spacious and beautiful capitol, and so to the magnificently equipped library of congress. there in an upper chamber that commands an altogether beautiful view of long vistas of avenue and garden to that stupendous unmeaning obelisk (the work of the women of america) that dominates all washington, i found at last a little group of men who could talk. it was like a small raft upon a limitless empty sea. i lunched with them at their round table, and afterwards mr. putnam showed me the rotunda, quite the most gracious reading-room dome the world possesses, and explained the wonderful mechanical organization that brings almost every volume in that immense collection within a minute of one's hand. "with all this," i asked him, "why doesn't the place _think_?" he seemed, discreetly, to consider it did. [illustration: in the congressional library] it was in the vein of washington's detached deadness that i should find professor langley (whose flying experiments i have followed for some years with close interest) was dead, and i went through the long galleries of archæological specimens and stuffed animals in the smithsonian institution to inflict my questions upon his temporary successor, dr. cyrus adler. he had no adequate excuses. he found a kind of explanation in the want of enterprise of american publishers, so that none of them come to washington to tap its latent resources of knowledge and intellectual capacity; but that does not account for the absence of any traffic in ideas. it is perhaps near the truth to say that this dearth of any general and comprehensive intellectual activity is due to intellectual specialization. the four thousand scientific men in washington are all too energetically busy with ethnographic details, electrical computations, or herbaria to talk about common and universal things. they ought not to be so busy, and a science so specialized sinks half-way down the scale of sciences. science is one of those things that cannot hustle; if it does, it loses its connections. in washington some men, i gathered, hustle, others play bridge, and general questions are left, a little contemptuously, as being of the nature of "gas," to the newspapers and magazines. philosophy, which correlates the sciences and keeps them subservient to the universals of life, has no seat there. my anticipated synthesis of ten thousand minds refused, under examination, to synthesize at all; it remained disintegrated, a mob, individually active and collectively futile, of specialists and politicians. ii the city of conversation but that is only one side of washington life, the side east and south of the white house. northwestward i found, i confess, the most agreeable social atmosphere in america. it is a region of large fine houses, of dignified and ample-minded people, people not given over to "smartness" nor redolent of dollars, unhurried and reflective, not altogether lost to the wider aspects of life. in washington i met again that peculiarly aristocratic quality i had found in harvard--in the person of president eliot, for example--an aristocratic quality that is all the finer for the absence of rank, that has integral in it--books, thought, and responsibility. and yet i could have wished these fine people more alive to present and future things, a little less established upon completed and mellowing foundations, a little less final in their admirable finish.... there was, i found, a little breeze of satisfaction fluttering the washington atmosphere in this region. mr. henry james came through the states last year distributing epithets among their cities with the justest aptitude. washington was the "city of conversation"; and she was pleasantly conscious that she merited this friendly coronation. washington, indeed, converses well, without awkwardness, without chatterings, kindly, watchful, agreeably witty. she lulled and tamed my purpose to ask about primary things, to discuss large questions. only once, and that was in an after-dinner duologue, did i get at all into a question in washington. for the rest, washington remarked and alluded and made her point and got away. iii mount vernon and washington, with a remarkable unanimity and in the most charming manner, assured me that if i came to see and understand america i must on no account miss mount vernon. to have passed indifferently by concord was bad enough, i was told, but to ignore the home of the first president, to turn my back upon that ripe monument of colonial simplicity, would be quite criminal neglect. to me it was a revelation how sincerely insistent they were upon this. it reminded me of an effect i had already appreciated very keenly in boston--and even before boston, when mr. z took me across spuyten duyvil into the country of sleepy hollow, and spoke of cornwallis as though he had died yesterday--and that is the longer historical perspectives of america. america is an older country than any european one, for she has not rejuvenesced for a hundred and thirty years. in endless ways america fails to be contemporary. in many respects, no doubt, she is decades in front of europe, in mechanism, for example, and productive organization, but in very many other and more fundamental ones she is decades behind. go but a little way back and you will find the european's perspectives close up; they close at ' , at ' , down a vista of reform bills, at waterloo and the treaty of paris, at the irish union, at the coming of victor emanuel; great britain, for example, in the last hundred years has reconstructed politically and socially, created half her present peerage, evolved the empire of india, developed australia, new zealand, south africa, fought fifty considerable wars. mount vernon, on the other hand, goes back with unbroken continuity, a broad band of mellow tradition, to the war of independence. well, i got all that in conversation at washington, and so i didn't need to go to mount vernon, after all. i got all that about , and i failed altogether to get anything of any value whatever about --which is the year of greater interest to me. about the direction and destinies of that great american process that echoes so remotely through washington's cool gracefulness of architecture and her umbrageous parks, this cultivated society seemed to me to be terribly incurious and indifferent. it was alive to political personalities, no doubt, its sons and husbands were senators, judges, ambassadors, and the like; it was concerned with their speeches and prospects, but as to the trend of the whole thing washington does not picture it, does not want to picture it. i found myself presently excusing myself for mount vernon on the ground that i was not a retrospective american, but a go-ahead englishman, and so apologizing for my want of reverence for venerable things. "we are a young people," i maintained. "we are a new generation." iv in the senate-house i went to see the senate debating the railway-rate bill, and from the senatorial gallery i had pointed out to me tillman and platt, foraker and lodge, and all the varied personalities of the assembly. the chamber is a circular one, with enormously capacious galleries. the members speak from their desks, other members write letters, read (and rustle) newspapers, sit among accumulations of torn paper, or stand round the apartment in audibly conversational groups. a number of messenger-boys--they wear no uniform--share the floor of the house with the representatives, and are called by clapping the hands. they go to and fro, or sit at the feet of the vice-president. behind and above the vice-president the newspaper men sit in a state of partial attention, occasionally making notes for the vivid descriptions that have long since superseded verbatim reports in america. the public galleries contain hundreds of intermittently talkative spectators. for the most part these did not seem to me to represent, as the little strangers' gallery in the house of commons represents, interests affected. they were rather spectators seeing washington, taking the senate _en route_ for the obelisk top and mount vernon. they made little attempt to hear the speeches. in a large distinguished emptiness among these galleries is the space devoted to diplomatic representatives, and there i saw, sitting in a meritorious solitude, the british _charge d'affaires_ and his wife following the debate below. i found it altogether too submerged for me to follow. the countless spectators, the senators, the boy messengers, the comings and goings kept up a perpetual confusing babblement. one saw men walking carelessly between the speaker and the vice-president, and at one time two gentlemen with their backs to the member in possession of the house engaged the vice-president in an earnest conversation. the messengers circulated at a brisk trot, or sat on the edge of the dais exchanging subdued badinage. i have never seen a more distracted legislature. the whole effect of washington is a want of concentration, of something unprehensile and apart. it is on, not in, the american process. the place seems to me to reflect, even in its sounds and physical forms, that dispersal of power, that evasion of a simple conclusiveness, which is the peculiar effect of that ancient compromise, the american constitution. the framers of that treaty were haunted by two terrible bogies, a military dictatorship and what they called "mob rule," they were obsessed by the need of safeguards against these dangers, they were controlled by the mutual distrust of constituent states far more alien to one another than they are now, and they failed to foresee both the enormous assimilation of interests and character presently to be wrought by the railways and telegraphs, and the huge possibilities of corruption, elaborate electrical arrangements offer to clever unscrupulous men. and here in washington is the result, a legislature that fails to legislate, a government that cannot govern, a pseudo-responsible administration that offers enormous scope for corruption, and that is perhaps invincibly intrenched behind the two-party system from any insurgence of the popular will. the plain fact of the case is that congress, as it is constituted at present, is the feeblest, least accessible, and most inefficient central government of any civilized nation in the worst west of russia. congress is entirely inadequate to the tasks of the present time. i came away from washington with my pre-conception enormously reinforced that the supreme need of america, the preliminary thing to any social or economic reconstruction, is political reform. it seems to me to lie upon the surface that america has to be democratized. it is necessary to make the senate and the house of representatives more interdependent, and to abolish the possibilities of deadlocks between them, to make election to the senate direct from the people, and to qualify and weaken the power of the two-party system by the introduction of "second ballots" and the referendum.... but how such drastic changes are to be achieved constitutionally in america i cannot imagine. only a great educated, trained, and sustained agitation can bring about so fundamental a political revolution, and at present i can find nowhere even the beginnings of a realization of this need. v president roosevelt in the white house, set midway between the washington of the sightseers and the washington of brilliant conversation, i met president roosevelt. i was mightily pleased by the white house; it is dignified and simple--once again am i tempted to use the phrase "aristocratic in the best sense" of things american; and an entire absence of uniforms or liveries creates an atmosphere of republican equality that is reinforced by "mr. president's" friendly grasp of one's undistinguishable hand. and after lunch i walked about the grounds with him, and so achieved my ambition to get him "placed," as it were, in my vision of america. in the rare chances i have had of meeting statesmen, there has always been one common effect, an effect of their being smaller, less audible, and less saliently featured than one had expected. a common man builds up his picture of the men prominent in the great game of life very largely out of caricature, out of head-lines, out of posed and "characteristic" portraits. one associates them with actresses and actors, literary poseurs and such-like public performers, anticipates the same vivid self-consciousness as these display in common intercourse, keys one's self up for the paint on their faces, and for voices and manners altogether too accentuated for the gray-toned lives of common men. i've met politicians who remained at that. but so soon as mr. roosevelt entered the room, "teddy," the teddy of the slouch hat, the glasses, the teeth, and the sword, that strenuous vehement teddy (who had, let me admit, survived a full course of reading in the president's earlier writings) vanished, and gave place to an entirely negotiable individuality. to-day, at any rate, the "teddy" legend is untrue. perhaps it wasn't always quite untrue. there was a time during the world predominance of mr. kipling, when i think the caricature must have come close to certain of mr. roosevelt's acceptances and attitudes. but that was ten years and more ago, and mr. roosevelt to this day goes on thinking and changing and growing.... for me, anyhow, that strenuousness has vanished beyond recalling, and there has emerged a figure in gray of a quite reasonable size, with a face far more thoughtful and perplexed than strenuous, with a clinched hand that does indeed gesticulate, though it is by no means a gigantic fist--and with quick movements, a voice strained indeed, a little forced for oratory, but not raised or aggressive in any fashion, and friendly screwed-up eyes behind the glasses. it isn't my purpose at all to report a conversation that went from point to point. i wasn't interviewing the president, and i made no note at the time of the things said. my impression was of a mind--for the situation--quite extraordinarily open. that is the value of president roosevelt for me, and why i can't for the life of my book leave him out. he is the seeking mind of america displayed. the ordinary politician goes through his career like a charging bull, with his eyes shut to any changes in the premises. he locks up his mind like a powder magazine. but any spark may fire the mind of president roosevelt. his range of reading is amazing; he seems to be echoing with all the thought of the time, he has receptivity to the pitch of genius. and he does not merely receive, he digests and reconstructs; he thinks. it is his political misfortune that at times he thinks aloud. his mind is active with projects of solution for the teeming problems around him. traditions have no hold upon him--nor, his enemies say, have any but quite formal pledges. it is hard to tie him. in all these things he is to a single completeness, to mind and will of contemporary america. and by an unparalleled conspiracy of political accidents, as all the world knows, he has got to the white house. he is not a part of the regular american political system at all--he has, it happens, stuck through. now my picture of america is, as i have tried to make clear, one of a gigantic process of growth, of economic coming and going, spaced out over vast distances and involving millions of hastening men; i see america as towns and urgency and greatnesses beyond, i suppose, any precedent that has ever been in the world. and like a little island of order amid that ocean of enormous opportunity and business turmoil and striving individualities, is this district of columbia, with washington and its capitol and obelisk. it is a mere pin-point in the unlimited, on which, in peace times, the national government lies marooned, twisted up into knots, bound with safeguards, and altogether impotently stranded. and peering closely, and looking from the capitol down the vista of pennsylvania avenue, i see the white house, minute and clear, with a fountain playing before it, and behind it a railed garden set with fine trees. the trees are not so thick, nor the railings so high but that the people on the big "seeing washington" cannot crane to look into it and watch whoever walk about it. and in this garden goes a living speck, as it were, in gray, talking, swinging a white clinched hand, and trying vigorously and resolutely to get a hold upon the significance of the whole vast process in which he and his island of government are set. always before him there have been political resultants, irrelevancies and futilities of the white house; and after him, it would seem, they may come again. i do not know anything of the quality of mr. bryan, who may perhaps succeed him. he, too, is something of an exception, it seems, and keeps a still developing and inquiring mind. beyond is a vista of figures of questionable value so far as i am concerned. they have this in common that they don't stand for thought. for the present, at any rate, a personality, extraordinarily representative, occupies the white house. and what he chooses to say publicly (and some things he says privately) are, by an exceptional law of acoustics, heard in san francisco, in chicago, in new orleans, in new york and boston, in kansas, and maine, throughout the whole breadth of the united states of america. he assimilates contemporary thought, delocalizes and reverberates it. he is america for the first time vocal to itself. what is america saying to itself? i've read most of the president's recent speeches, and they fall in oddly with that quality in his face that so many photographs even convey, a complex mingling of will and a critical perplexity. taken all together they amount to a mass of not always consistent suggestions, that and conflict overlap. things crowd upon him, rebate scandals, insurance scandals, the meat scandals, this insecurity and that. the conditions of his position press upon him. it is no wonder he gives out no single, simple note.... the plain fact is that in the face of the teeming situations of to-day america does not know what to do. nobody, except those happily gifted individuals who can see but one aspect of an intricate infinitude, imagines any simple solution. for the rest the time is one of ample, vigorous, and at times impatient inquiry, and of intense disillusionment with old assumptions and methods. and never did a president before so reflect the quality of his time. the trend is altogether away from the anarchistic individualism of the nineteenth century, that much is sure, and towards some constructive scheme which, if not exactly socialism, as socialism is defined, will be, at any rate, closely analogous to socialism. this is the immense change of thought and attitude in which president roosevelt participates, and to which he gives a unique expression. day by day he changes with the big world about him--contradicts himself.... i came away with the clear impression that neither president roosevelt nor america will ever, as some people prophesy, "declare for socialism," but my impression is equally clear, that he and all the world of men he stands for, have done forever with the threadbare formulæ that have served america such an unconscionable time. we talked of the press and books and of the question of color, and then for a while about the rôle of the universities in the life of the coming time. now it is a curious thing that as i talked with president roosevelt in the garden of the white house there came back to me quite forcibly that undertone of doubt that has haunted me throughout this journey. after all, does this magnificent appearance of beginnings which is america, convey any clear and certain promise of permanence and fulfilment whatever? much makes for construction, a great wave of reform is going on, but will it drive on to anything more than a breaking impact upon even more gigantic uncertainties and dangers. is america a giant childhood or a gigantic futility, a mere latest phase of that long succession of experiments which has been and may be for interminable years--may be indeed altogether until the end--man's social history? i can't now recall how our discursive talk settled towards that, but it is clear to me that i struck upon a familiar vein of thought in the president's mind. he hadn't, he said, an effectual disproof of any pessimistic interpretation of the future. if one chose to say america must presently lose the impetus of her ascent, that she and all mankind must culminate and pass, he could not conclusively deny that possibility. only he chose to live as if this were not so. that remained in his mind. presently he reverted to it. he made a sort of apology for his life against the doubts and scepticisms that, i fear, must be in the background of the thoughts of every modern man who is intellectually alive. he mentioned a little book of mine, an early book full of the deliberate pessimism of youth, in which i drew a picture of a future of decadence, of a time when constructive effort had fought its fight and failed, when the inevitable segregations of an individualistic system had worked themselves out and all the hope and vigor of humanity had gone forever. the descendants of the workers had become etiolated, sinister, and subterranean monsters, the property-owners had degenerated into a hectic and feebly self-indulgent race, living fitfully amid the ruins of the present time. he became gesticulatory, and his straining voice a note higher in denying this as a credible interpretation of destiny. with one of those sudden movements of his, he knelt forward in a garden chair--we were standing before our parting beneath the colonnade--and addressed me very earnestly over the back, clutching it, and then thrusting out his familiar gesture, a hand first partly open and then closed. "suppose after all," he said, slowly, "that should prove to be right, and it all ends in your butterflies and morlocks. _that doesn't matter now._ the effort's real. it's worth going on with. it's worth it. it's worth it--even then."... i can see him now and hear his unmusical voice saying "the effort--the effort's worth it," and see the gesture of his clinched hand and the--how can i describe it? the friendly peering snarl of his face, like a man with the sun in his eyes. he sticks in my mind as that, as a very symbol of the creative will in man, in its limitations, its doubtful adequacy, its valiant persistence amid perplexities and confusions. he kneels out, assertive against his setting--and his setting is the white house with a background of all america. i could almost write, with a background of all the world--for i know of no other a tithe so representative of the creative purpose, the _good-will_ in men as he. in his undisciplined hastiness, his limitations, his prejudices, his unfairness, his frequent errors, just as much as in his force, his sustained courage, his integrity, his open intelligence, he stands for his people and his kind. the envoy and at last i am back in my study by the sea. it is high june. when i said good-bye to things it was march, a march warm and eager to begin with, and then dashed with sleet and wind; but the daffodils were out, and the primulas and primroses shone brown and yellow in the unseasonable snow. the spring display that was just beginning is over. the iris rules. outside the window is a long level line of black fleur-de-lys rising from a serried rank of leaf-blades. their silhouettes stand out against the brightness of the twilight sea. they mark, so opened, two months of absence. and in the interval i have seen a great world. i have tried to render it as i saw it. i have tried to present the first exhilaration produced by the sheer growth of it, the morning-time hopefulness of spacious and magnificent opportunity, the optimism of successful, swift, progressive effort in material things. and from that i have passed to my sense of the chaotic condition of the american will, and that first confidence has darkened more and more towards doubt again. i came to america questioning the certitudes of progress. for a time i forgot my questionings; i sincerely believed, "these people can do anything," and, now i have it all in perspective, i have to confess that doubt has taken me again. "these people," i say, "might do anything. they are the finest people upon earth--the most hopeful. but they are vain and hasty; they are thoughtless, harsh, and undisciplined. in the end, it may be, they will accomplish nothing." i see, i have noted in its place, the great forces of construction, the buoyant, creative spirit of america. but i have marked, too, the intricacy of snares and obstacles in its path. the problem of america, save in its scale and freedom, is no different from the problem of great britain, of europe, of all humanity; it is one chiefly moral and intellectual; it is to resolve a confusion of purposes, traditions, habits, into a common ordered intention. everywhere one finds what seem to me the beginnings of that--and, for this epoch it is all too possible, they may get no further than beginnings. yet another decline and fall may remain to be written, another and another, and it may be another, before the world state comes and peace. yet against this prospect of a dispersal of will, of a secular decline in honor, education, public spirit, and confidence, of a secular intensification of corruption, lawlessness, and disorder, i do, with a confidence that waxes and wanes, balance the creative spirit in america, and that kindred spirit that for me finds its best symbol in the president's kneeling, gesticulating figure, and his urgent "the effort's worth it!" who can gauge the far-reaching influence of even the science we have, in ordering and quickening the imagination of man, in enhancing and assuring their powers? common men feel secure to-day in enterprises it needed men of genius to conceive in former times. and there is a literature--for all our faults we do write more widely, deeply, disinterestedly, more freely and frankly than any set of writers ever did before--reaching incalculable masses of readers, and embodying an amount of common consciousness and purpose beyond all precedent. consider only how nowadays the problems that were once the inaccessible thoughts of statesmen may be envisaged by common men! here am i really able, in a few weeks of observant work, to get a picture of america. i publish it. if it bears a likeness, it will live and be of use; if not it will die, and be no irreparable loss. some fragment, some suggestion may survive. my friend mr. f. madox hueffer was here a day or so ago to say good-bye; he starts for america as i write here, to get _his_ vision. as i have been writing these papers i have also been reading, instalment by instalment, the subtle, fine renderings of america revisited by mr. henry james. we work in shoals, great and small together, one trial thought following another. we are getting the world presented. it is not simply america that we swarm over and build up into a conceivable process, into something understandable and negotiable by the mind. i find on my desk here waiting for me a most illuminating _vision of india_, in which mr. sidney low, with a marvellous aptitude, has interpreted east to west. besides my poor superficialities in _the tribune_ appears sir william butler, with a livid frankness expounding the most intimate aspects of the south african situation. a friend who called to-day spoke of nevinson's raid upon the slave trade of portuguese east africa, and of two irrepressible writers upon the congo crimes. i have already mentioned the economic and social literature, the so-called literature of exposure in america. this altogether represents collectively a tremendous illumination. no social development was ever so lit and seen before. collectively, this literature of facts and theories and impressions is of immense importance. things are done in the light, more and more are they done in the light. the world perceives and thinks.... after all is said and done, i do find the balance of my mind tilts steadily to a belief in a continuing and accelerated progress now in human affairs. and in spite of my patriotic inclinations, in spite, too, of the present high intelligence and efficiency of germany, it seems to me that in america, by sheer virtue of its size, its free traditions, and the habit of initiative in its people, the leadership of progress must ultimately rest. things like the chicago scandals, the insurance scandals, and all the manifest crudities of the american spectacle, don't seem to me to be more than relatively trivial after all. there are the universities, the turbines of niagara, the new york architecture, and the quality of the mediocre people to set against these.... within a week after i saw the president i was on the _umbria_ and steaming slowly through the long spectacle of that harbor which was my first impression of america, which still, to my imagination, stands so largely for america. the crowded ferry-boats hooted past; athwart the shining water, tugs clamored to and fro. the sky-scrapers raised their slender masses heavenward--america's gay bunting lit the scene. as we dropped down i had a last glimpse of the brooklyn bridge. there to the right was ellis island, where the immigrants, minute by minute, drip and drip into america, and beyond that the tall spike-headed liberty with the reluctant torch, which i have sought to make the centre of all this writing. and suddenly as i looked back at the sky-scrapers of lower new york a queer fancy sprang into my head. they reminded me quite irresistibly of piled-up packing cases outside a warehouse. i was amazed i had not seen the resemblance before. i could really have believed for a moment that that was what they were, and that presently out of these would come the real thing, palaces and noble places, free, high circumstances, and space and leisure, light and fine living for the sons of men.... ocean, cities, multitudes, long journeys, mountains, lakes as large as seas, and the riddle of a nation's destiny; i've done my impertinent best now with this monstrous insoluble problem. i finish. the air is very warm and pleasant in my garden to-night, the sunset has left a rim of greenish-gold about the northward sky, shading up a blue that is, as yet, scarce pierced by any star. i write down these last words here, and then i shall step through the window and sit out there in the kindly twilight, now quiet, now gossiping idly of what so-and-so has done while i have been away, of personal motives and of little incidents and entertaining intimate things. the end