m of universal education,
whereupon a combative "stand-patter" declared that every man wasn't fit
to be educated, that the American plan made only for discontent.
"Look at them," he exclaimed, "They're never satisfied to stay in their
places." This provoked laughter, but it was too much for the sculptor
--and for me. We both broke our vows and made speeches in favour of
equality and mental opportunity, while the lecturer looked on and smiled.
Mr. Lloyd George and his salary were forgotten. By some subtle art of
the chairman the debate had been guided to the very point where he had
from the first intended to guide it--to the burning question of our day
--education as the true foundation of democracy! Perhaps, after all, this
may be our American contribution to the world's advance.

As we walked homeward through the fog I talked to him of Professor
Dewey's work and its results, while he explained to me the methods of the
Reconstruction Department. "Out of every audience like that we get a
group and form a class," he said. "They're always a bit backward at
first, just as they were tonight, but they grow very keen. We have a
great many classes already started, and we see to it that they are
provided with text-books and teachers. Oh, no, it's not propaganda,"
he added, in answer to my query; "all we do is to try to give them facts
in such a way as to make them able to draw their own conclusions and join
any political party they choose--just so they join one intelligently."
I must add that before Sunday was over he had organized his class and
arranged for their future instruction.

CHAPTER III

I would speak first of a contrast--and yet I have come to recognize how
impossible it is to convey to the dweller in America the difference in
atmosphere between England and France on the one hand and our country on
the other. And when I use the word "atmosphere" I mean the mental state
of the peoples as well as the weather and the aspect of the skies. I
have referred in another article to the anxious, feverish prosperity one
beholds in London and Paris, to that apparent indifference, despite the
presence on the streets of crowds of soldiers to the existence of a war
of which one is ever aware. Yet, along with this, one is ever conscious
of pressure. The air is heavy; there is a corresponding lack of the
buoyancy of mind which is the normal American condition. Perhaps, if
German troops occupied New England and New