ter discomfort
attendant upon the constant presence of an active bull-terrier.

I may have produced the impression that life in the country makes no
appeal to me. Nothing could be further from my intentions. Whatever
doubts I may have entertained on this point vanish completely as the
Harringtons escort me to the station in the cool of the evening, the dog
having been left at home at my request. We pass by low, white-pillared
houses behind hedges, and the scent of hay comes up from the lawns, and
laughter comes from the dark of the verandas. The city at such a time
seems a very undesirable place to return to; a place to lose one's self
in--yes, and that is all. The Harringtons never were in the city what
they are here. They have taken root, they have developed local pride
which is only the sense of home. As we walk they point out the
residences of the leading citizens. Here lives the owner of one of the
largest factories of mechanical pianos in the country. This Japanese
temple belongs to a man who writes for some of the best-known magazines.
That colonial dwelling is occupied by the lawyer who defended Mrs. Dower
when she was tried for poisoning her husband. I reflect, in genuine
humility, that in the city I never think of taking strangers to see Mr.
William Dean Howells's house or Mr. Joseph H. Choate's. And with real
regret and admiration, I say good-night to the Harringtons.

XXVII

HEADLINES

After Stephane Dubost, editor of the Paris _Reveil_, had been ten days
in this country, and had collected all his material for a series of
volumes on the American Woman, Yankee and Yellow Peril, Democracy
Decollete, and Football _versus_ the Fine Arts--to name only a few--he
was asked what single feature of our life had impressed him as most
characteristically American. He replied, "The headlines in your daily
press." Just what M. Dubost did think of our achievements in that
department of journalism may be gathered from a letter he addressed the
very same day to his friend, Marcel Complans, director of the Bureau of
Cipher Codes in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs:

"In nothing, my dear Marcel, is the American genius for saving time so
strikingly exemplified as in their newspaper headlines. Think of our
_Figaro_ or _Temps_ with its dreary columns of solid type introduced by
a minute solitary heading, and then pick up one of Uncle Sam's great
dailies. It may be only an item of four or five inches, what they call
he