You could ask the same question about any group or profession of men in the world; and on a scratch, I imagine that any of them would be missed less than they think.  But the realness and the bigness of the job here in London is simply oppressive.  We don’t even know what it is in the United States and, of course, we don’t go about doing it right.  If we did, we shouldn’t pick up a green fellow on the plain of Long Island and send him here:  we’d train the most capable male babies we have from the cradle.  But this leads a long way.

As I look back over these six or seven months, from the pause that has come this week, I’m bound to say (being frank, not to say vain) that I had the good fortune to do one piece of work that was worth the effort and worth coming to do—­about that infernal Mexican situation.  An abler man would have done it better; but, as it was, I did it; and I have a most appreciative letter about it from the President.

By thunder, he’s doing his job, isn’t he?  Whether you like the job or not, you’ve got to grant that.  When I first came over here, I found a mild curiosity about Wilson—­only mild.  But now they sit up and listen and ask most eager questions.  He has pressed his personality most strongly on the governing class here.

     Yours heartily,
     W.H.P.

     To the President

     American Embassy, London
     [May 11, 1914.]

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT: 

The King of Denmark (I always think of Hamlet) having come to make his royal kinsman of these Isles a visit, his royal kinsman to-night gave a state dinner at the palace whereto the Ambassadors of the eight Great Powers were, of course, invited.  Now I don’t know how other kings do, but I’m willing to swear by King George for a job of this sort.  The splendour of the thing is truly regal and the friendliness of it very real and human; and the company most uncommon.  Of course the Ambassadors and their wives were there, the chief rulers of the Empire and men and women of distinction and most of the royal family.  The dinner and the music and the plate and the decorations and the jewels and the uniforms—­all these were regal; but there is a human touch about it that seems almost democratic.

All for His Majesty of Denmark, a country with fewer people and less wealth than New Jersey.  This whole royal game is most interesting.  Lloyd George and H.H.  Asquith and John Morley were there, all in white knee breeches of silk, and swords and most gaudy coats—­these that are the radicals of the Kingdom, in literature and in action.  Veterans of Indian and South African wars stood on either side of every door and of every stairway, dressed as Sir Walter Raleigh dressed, like so many statues, never blinking an eye.  Every person in the company is printed, in all the papers, with every title he bears.  Crowds lined the streets in front of the palace