his German acquaintances would have no idea who I was, that
there was no explanation upon the card, and without thinking that he
would not take the trouble to write letters of explanation beforehand, I
presented these twelve cards without the least reluctance, simply
because I had given my word. Out of the twelve, ten returned my calls
and we discussed nothing more important than the weather. We knew
nothing of each other except our names, and all of these I dare say were
mispronounced. Two out of the twelve entertained me at dinner, and three
years afterward, when I returned to America, I received a letter of the
sincerest apology from one, saying that she had learned more of me
through the ambassador, and reproaching me for not having volunteered
information about myself, which might have led at least to conversation
of a more intimate nature.

I was armed at that time with many of these visiting-cards of
introduction, and after this instance I filed them with great care in
the waste-basket. I then examined my other letters. It is idle to
describe to those who have never depended upon such documents in foreign
countries the inadequacy of half of them. In spite of the kindest
intentions, they were really worthless.

It was only after I got to Poland and Russia, where the hospitality
springs from the heart, that my introductions began to bear fruit
satisfactory to a sensitive mind. It is, therefore, with feelings of the
liveliest appreciation that I look back on the letter given me by
Ambassador White in Berlin to Count Leo Tolstoy. A lifetime of
diplomacy, added to the sincerest and most generous appreciation of what
an ideal hospitality should be, have served to make this representative
of the American people perfect in details of kindness, which can only
be fully appreciated when one is far from home. Nothing short of the
completeness and yet brevity of this letter would have served to obtain
an audience with that great author, who must needs protect himself from
the idle and curious, and the only drawback to my first interview with
Tolstoy was the fact that I had to part company with this precious
letter. It was so kind, so generous, so appreciative, that up to the
time I relinquished it, I cured the worst attacks of homesickness simply
by reading it over, and from the lowest depths of despair it not only
brought me back my self-respect, but so exquisitely tickled my vanity
that I was proud of my own acquaintance w