for him; he is hobnobbing cheek by jowl with cannibals and black men,
and he is seriously discussed as a traitor to the Germanic peoples and
the white race.

A German woman told me the other day that in her house it was the custom
to fine everybody in the family ten pfennigs if they came down to
breakfast without saying: "Gott strafe die Englander!" ("God punish the
English!") In a recent Ulk there is a cartoon of a young mother holding
up her baby to his proud father with the announcement that he has spoken
his first words. "And what did he say?" "Gott strafe England!"

America is criticised for supplying the Allies with arms--shades of
South American revolutions and the old "Ypiranga"!--while permitting
itself, without sufficient protest, to be shut off from sending food to
Germany. Yet, in spite of this and the extremely difficult situation
created by the submarine blockade, the individual American is not
embarrassed unless mistaken for an Englishman or unless he finds some
supersensitive patriot in a restaurant or theatre who objects even to
hearing English.

At the frontier the honest customs inspector landed, first thing, on a
copy of "Tartarin sur les Alpes," which I had picked up at the railroad
news-stand in the Hague.

"Franzosisch!" he declared, flapping over the pages. Next it was a
bundle of letters of introduction, the top one of which happened to be
in English. "Englische Briefe!" and forthwith he bellowed for help. A
young officer sauntered out from the near-by office, saluted, and said,
"Good morning!" glanced at "Tartarin" with a smile, and tossed it back
into the bag, at letters and passport, said it must be very interesting