rs that I have met have not only
been serious and intelligent, but men with whom I have discussed
literature, politics and religion; but it would not pay their editors, I
presume, to publish conversations of this character. On the front page
of even the best newspapers, paragraph after paragraph is taken up by
descriptions in poor English of devastating trivialities. Violent and
ignorant young men, or "flappers"--in whom the public here seem to take
an unnatural interest--might easily suppose that their best chance of
success in life lay in creating a sensation. Of what use can it be to
create a sensation? Who profits by it? What influence can this sort of
thing have upon the morals of a great and vital nation? If Christ with
His warnings against worldliness were to come down to-day, after giving
Him one hearing the crowd would not crucify Him, they would shoot Him at
sight.

You have only to examine the newspaper comments upon Abraham Lincoln to
see that even in those days abuse and misrepresentation were popular. He
was persecuted and vilified every day of his life; but, like my husband,
he was press-proof.

If editors would only realise it, following public opinion instead of
guiding it is ultimately dull, and makes monotonous reading.

In England we are trying to raise our journalistic standards to the
level of the United States, but, without claiming undue superiority, I
do not think we shall succeed. There is enough common sense among our
people to mitigate against any such misfortune, and we have only to
recall the general election of 1905-6, when every morning paper in
London, except the _Daily News_, was against us, to realise the
impotence of the press.

Fear is as unproductive as it is contemptible, and until some big man
has the courage to break the power of the press in America, progress
will always go beyond civilisation.

* * * * *

I motored in evening dress for three hours to a suburb of New York. I
am so tired of the abominable trains that an aeroplane or a perambulator
would be a relief, and the road to Montclair was full of interest. The
sky was throbbing with carmine and gold, and the varying lights of green
and white, reflected in a river sentinelled on either side by high black
buildings and pointed towers, left an impression on me of Whistler-like
beauty.

We dined with excited and hospitable people and I lectured to an
enthusiastic audience. I do not know