an audience of patriotic
Americans, by your presence here set your seal of
approval upon my conduct during the last two and a
half years."

I have never been able to understand why so many people did not
sooner realise what Kaiserism meant for us. But now, at last, the
nation understands that we must fight on until this menace of
military autocracy has vanished and that not until then will the
world enjoy a lasting peace.

Almost as soon as I was settled in New York I was drafted.
Drafted by a public curiosity which insisted on knowing
something about Germany and the war.

And so for me began a new life--that of a public speaker--I spoke
first in New York at a lunch at the Chamber of Commerce--war had
not then been declared and I was compelled to be careful--for
even then there seemed a fear of Germany, a foolish desire to
surrender all manhood to a fat neutrality.

On April 2nd came President Wilson's message demanding war. I was
in the opera house that night. Between the acts extras appeared.
I telephoned Swope of the _World_ who confirmed the news. While I
was receiving this information one of the directors of the
Metropolitan Opera Company came in the room. I told him what had
happened and asked if he was not going to do something--order the
news read from the stage--for example, and the "Star Spangled
Banner" played. He said, "No, the opera company is neutral."

I returned to the box where I was sitting and stepping to the
front called on the house to cheer President Wilson. There was,
for a moment, surprise at such unconventional action, but the
whole house soon broke into cheers.

Conventionalism was gone.

The opera was DeKoven's "Canterbury Pilgrims" and a few minutes
after the curtain rose on the last act Frau Ober, a German
singer, who was taking one of the principal parts, keeled over in
a faint,--rage, perhaps, that the Yankees were at last daring to
cheer, to assert themselves against the Kaiser!

As I spoke in Albany, Buffalo, Harrisburg, Trenton and Boston, in
Philadelphia, Providence and many times in New York and other
places, I noted always an eagerness to learn about Germany, the
war and foreign affairs. We Americans had travelled, but not with
our eyes open--"seeing, we saw not."

The first great, great question we faced was that of universal
service for the war--or the selective draft--again how farsighted
our President then proved himself. What would be our situation