naturally forget.  Some other governments have such officers—­perhaps all.  The Japanese, for instance, are newcomers in world politics.  But this Japanese Ambassador and his wife here never miss a trick; and they come across the square and ask us how to do it!  All the other governments, too, play the game of small courtesies to perfection—­the French, of course, and the Spanish and—­even the old Turk.

Another reason for the English distrust of our Government is its indiscretions in the past of this sort:  one of our Ministers to Germany, you will recall, was obliged to resign because the Government at Washington inadvertently published one of his confidential despatches; Griscom saved his neck only by the skin, when he was in Japan, for a similar reason.  These things travel all round the world from one chancery to another and all governments know them.  Yesterday somebody in Washington talked about my despatch summarizing my talk with Sir Edward Grey about Mexico, and it appeared in the papers here this morning that Sir Edward had told me that the big business interests were pushing him hard.  This I sent as only my inference.  I had at once to disclaim it.  This leaves in his mind a doubt about our care for secrecy.  They have monstrous big doors and silent men in Downing Street; and, I am told, a stenographer sits behind a big screen in Sir Edward’s room while an Ambassador talks[24]!  I wonder if my comments on certain poets, which I have poured forth there to provoke his, are preserved in the archives of the British Empire.  The British Empire is surely very welcome to them.  I have twice found it useful, by the way, to bring up Wordsworth when he has begun to talk about Panama tolls.  Then your friend Canon Rawnsley[25] has, without suspecting it, done good service in diplomacy.

The newspaper men here, by the way, both English and American, are disposed to treat us fairly and to be helpful.  The London Times, on most subjects, is very friendly, and I find its editors worth cultivating for their own sakes and because of their position.  It is still the greatest English newspaper.  Its general friendliness to the United States, by the way, has started a rumour that I hear once in a while—­that it is really owned by Americans—­nonsense yet awhile.  To the fairness and helpfulness of the newspaper men there are one or two exceptions, for instance, a certain sneaking whelp who writes for several papers.  He went to the Navy League dinner last night at which I made a little speech.  When I sat down, he remarked to his neighbour, with a yawn, “Well, nothing in it for me.  The Ambassador, I am afraid, said nothing for which I can demand his recall.”  They, of course, don’t care thrippence about me; it’s you they hope to annoy.

Then after beating them at their own game of daily little courtesies, we want a fight with them—­a good stiff fight about something