a contrast--and yet I have come to recognize how
impossible it is to convey to the dweller in America the difference in
atmosphere between England and France on the one hand and our country on
the other. And when I use the word "atmosphere" I mean the mental state
of the peoples as well as the weather and the aspect of the skies. I
have referred in another article to the anxious, feverish prosperity one
beholds in London and Paris, to that apparent indifference, despite the
presence on the streets of crowds of soldiers to the existence of a war
of which one is ever aware. Yet, along with this, one is ever conscious
of pressure. The air is heavy; there is a corresponding lack of the
buoyancy of mind which is the normal American condition. Perhaps,
if German troops occupied New England and New York, our own mental
barometer might be lower. It is difficult to say. At any rate, after
an ocean voyage of nine days one's spirits rise perceptibly as the ship
nears Nantucket; and the icy-bright sunlight of New York harbour, the
sight of the buildings aspiring to blue skies restore the throbbing
optimism which with us is normal; and it was with an effort, when I
talked to the reporters on landing, that I was able to achieve and
express the pessimism and darkness out of which I had come. Pessimism
is perhaps too strong a word, and takes no account of the continued
unimpaired morale and determination of the greater part of the British
and French peoples. They expect much from us. Yet the impression was
instantaneous, when I set forth in the streets of New York, that we had
not fully measured the magnitude of our task--an impression that has
been amply confirmed as the weeks have passed.

The sense of relief I felt was not only the result of bright skies and
a high barometer, of the palpable self-confidence of the pedestrians, of
the white bread on the table and the knowledge that there was more,
but also of the ease of accomplishing things. I called for a telephone
number and got it cheerfully and instantly. I sent several telegrams,
and did not have to wait twenty minutes before a wicket while a
painstaking official multiplied and added and subtracted and paused to
talk with a friend; the speed of the express in which I flew down-town
seemed emblematic of America itself. I had been transported, in fact,
into another world--my world; and in order to realize again that from
which I had come I turned to a diary recording a London fill