es because he
knows how to dye sealskins and our sealskins are yet undyed and the
winter is coming? There will be no new sealskins here, for every
man and woman must give half his income to keep the cigarman's son
marching over dead Germans, some of whom grunt and turn under his
feet. Dumba is at Falmouth to-day and gets just two lines in the
newspapers. Nothing and nobody gets three lines unless he or it in
some way furthers the war. Every morning the Washington despatches
say that Mr. Lansing is about to send a long note to England.
England won't read it till there comes a lull in the fighting or in
the breathless diplomatic struggle with the Balkans. London and the
Government are now in much the same mood that Washington and
Lincoln's administration were in after Lee had crossed the Potomac
on his way to Gettysburg. Northcliffe, the Lord of Yellow Journals,
but an uncommonly brilliant fellow, has taken to his bed from sheer
nervous worry. "The revelations that are imminent," says he, "will
shake the world--the incompetence of the Government, the losses
along the Dardanelles, the throwing away of British chances in the
Balkans, perhaps the actual defeat of the Allies." I regard Lord
Northcliffe less as an entity than as a symptom. But he is always
very friendly to us and he knows the United States better than any
Englishman that I know except Bryce. He and Bryce are both much
concerned about our Note's coming just "at this most distressing
time." "If it come when we are calmer, no matter; but now it cannot
receive attention and many will feel that the United States has hit
on a most unhappy moment--almost a cruel moment--to remind us of
our sins."--That's the substance of what they say.

Overwork, or perhaps mainly the indescribable strain on the nerves
and vitality of men, caused by this experience, for which in fact
men are not built, puts one of our staff after another in bed. None
has been seriously sick: the malady takes some form of "grip." On
the whole we've been pretty lucky in spite of this almost regular
temporary breakdown of one man after another. I've so far escaped.
But I am grieved to hear that Whitlock is abed--"no physical
ailment whatever--just worn out," his doctor says. I have tried to
induce him and his wife to come here and m