I don’t mind telling you (nobody else) that the more I see just how great statesmen work and manage great governments—­the more I see of them at close range—­whether in Washington or London or Berlin or Vienna or Constantinople (for these are my Capitals), the more I admire the methods of the Long Island farmers.  Boys, I swear I could take our crowd and do a better job than many of these great men do.  I have to spend a lot of time to correct their moves before the other fellow finds out the mistake.  For instance I know I spent $2,000 in telegrams before I could make the German Government understand the British military age, and the British Government understand the German military age, for exchanging prisoners who had lost two legs or arms or both eyes; and I’ve had to send a man to Berlin to get a financial report from one man on one floor of a building there and to take it to another man on the floor above.  Just yesterday I was reminded that I had made eighteen requests for the same information of the British Government, when the nineteenth request for it came from Washington; and I have now telegraphed that same thing nineteen times since the war began.  Of course everybody’s worked to death.  But something else ails a lot of ’em all the way from Constantinople to London.  Leaving out common gutter lying (and there’s much of it) the sheer stupidity of governments is amazing.  They are all so human, so mighty human!  I wouldn’t be a government for any earthly consideration.  I’d rather be a brindled dog and trot under the wagon.

But it has been an inexpressibly interesting experience to find all this out for myself.  There’s a sort of weary satisfaction in feeling that you’ve seen too much of them to be fooled by ’em any more.  And, although most men now engaged in this game of government are mere common mortals with most of the common mortal weaknesses, now and then a really big man does stumble into the business.  I have my doubts whether a really big man ever deliberately goes into it.  And most of the men who the crowd for the moment thinks are big men don’t really turn out so.  It’s a game like bull fighting.  The bull is likely to kill you—­pretty sure to do so if you keep at the business long enough; but in the meantime you have some exciting experiences and the applause of the audience.  When you get killed, they forget you—­immediately.  There are two rather big men in this Government, and you wouldn’t guess in three rounds who they are.  But in general the war hasn’t so far developed very big men in any country.  Else we are yet too close to them to recognize their greatness.  Joffre seems to have great stuff in him; and (I assure you) you needn’t ever laugh at a Frenchman again.  They are a great people.  As for the British, there was never such a race.  It’s odd—­I hear that it happens just now to be the fashion in the United States to say that the British are not doing their share.  There never was a