have descended upon us. Five to eight days of vigilance, of hardship and
danger--in short, of war--and then three days of relaxation and enjoyment
in clubs, on golf-courses and tennis-courts, barring the time it takes to
clean ship and paint. There need be no fear that the war will be
neglected. It is eminently safe to declare that our service will
be true to its traditions.



III

"Dogged does it" ought to be added to "Dieu et mon droit" and other
devices of England. On a day when I was lunching with Mr. Lloyd George
in the dining-room at 10 Downing Street that looks out over the Horse
Guards' Parade, the present premier, with a characteristic gesture, flung
out his hand toward the portrait of a young man in the panel over the
mantel. It was of the younger Pitt, who had taken his meals and drunk
his port in this very room in that other great war a hundred years ago.
The news of Austerlitz, brought to him during his illness, is said to
have killed him. But England, undismayed, fought on for a decade, and
won. Mr. Lloyd George, in spite of burdens even heavier than Pitt's,
happily retains his health; and his is the indomitable spirit
characteristic of the new Britain as well as of the old. For it is a new
Britain one sees. Mr. Lloyd George is prime minister of a transformed
Britain, a Britain modernized and democratized. Like the Englishman who,
when he first witnessed a performance of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," cried out,
"How very unlike the home life of our dear Queen!" the American who
lunches in Downing Street is inclined to exclaim: "How different from
Lord North and Palmerston!" We have, I fear, been too long accustomed to
interpret Britain in terms of these two ministers and of what they