coln while he lived.

Meantime, I've got to be more or less at home. The Prime Minister
dines with me, the Foreign Secretary, the Archbishop, the Colonial
Secretary--all the rest of 'em; the King talks very freely; Mr.
Asquith tells me some of his troubles; Sir Edward is become a good
personal friend; Lord Bryce warms up; the Lord Chancellor is
chummy; and so it goes.

So you may be sure we are all in high feather after all; and the
President's (I fear exaggerated) appreciation of what I've done is
very gratifying indeed. I've got only one emotion about it
all--gratitude; and gratitude begets eagerness to go on. Of course
I can do future jobs better than I have done any past ones.

There are two shadows in the background--not disturbing, but
shadows none the less:

1. The constant reminder that the American Ambassador's homeless
position (to this Government and to this whole people) shows that
the American Government and the American people know nothing about
foreign relations and care nothing--regard them as not worth buying
a house for. This leaves a doubt about any continuity of any
American policy. It even suggests a sort of fear that we don't
really care.

The other is (2) the dispiriting experience of writing and
telegraphing about important things and never hearing a word
concerning many of them, and the consequent fear of some dead bad
break in the State Department. The clubs are full of stories of the
silly and incredible things that are _said_ to happen there.

After all, these are old troubles. They are not new--neither of
them. And we are the happiest group you ever saw.

W.H.P.

Page's letters of this period contain many references to his inability
to maintain touch with the State Department. His letters remained
unacknowledged, his telegrams unanswered; and he was himself left
completely in the dark as to the plans and opinions at Washington.

To Edward M. House

February 28, 1914.

DEAR HOUSE:

. . . _Couldn't the business with Great Britain be put into
Moore's[48] hands_? It is surely important enough at times to
warrant separate attention--or (I might say) attention. You know,
after eight or nine months of this sort of thing, the feeling grows
on us all here that perhaps many of our telegrams and letters may