the Mansion House, or London Bridge. This time my first greeting was: "Well, Chandler, you had my friend Mr. D. stopping with you recently." "Yes, sir," said Chandler, continuing to polish the table top; "you mean the H'american gentleman who was always calling for a double Scotch and soda." There is an engaging candor about Chandler. I assured him of the accuracy of his surmise. Chandler is the smoking-room waiter of an old hotel facing Trafalgar Square, a hotel that has been much patronized in the past by Americans who selected it for its British atmosphere, and afterwards, when it happened to be winter, cursed it for its lack of steam heat, piling on handbags for additional bedclothing, as the "atmosphere" seeped, fog-like, through the wall. Oh, yes, it is the hotel that has not changed since William the Conqueror requisitioned its best bedroom after the Battle of Hastings and Charles II hid in its chimney. I had last seen it in late 1916. This year, upon arriving in London, I approached the entrance with a sinking of the heart. What strange faces had come to replace the old familiar ones? What renovations and alterations had been wrought? There were no renovations or alterations. There were no strange faces. A new wrinkle or two in the doorman's weather-beaten countenance. A streak of white in the head porter's hair. Then Chandler. His drooping mustache drooped a little more; the stoop of his shoulders was a little more accentuated; the blue coat with the brass buttons a little shabbier and shinier. But it was the same coat. "Why, Chandler, nothing has changed! You are all the same here except the German head waiter." Chandler grinned grimly and understandingly. "No more Germans in England, sir. But surprising, sir, what a large number of Swiss!" Yes, Chandler is England.

I

THE WIGWAM

N Bayswater I am inclined to be anti-
British. I am not so in the Wigwam.

I call it by the name that Barrie gave it when he described it at length in "My Lady Nicotine"-or was it "When a Man's Single"? It is a club-not so old as London clubs go, but still of ripe maturity-which looks down over the Thames across Adelphi Terrace and the Victoria Embankment. The men who make up its membership are men who act, and paint, and write books, and draw pictures for "Punch." There, having undergone a certain period of probation, and been found "a good American," which sounds like being pronounced “a good Indian," I enjoy, as nowhere else, a latitude of speech. There, as else where, the international battle is not of my seeking, but is brought to me; but there I feel that I can take up the cudgels of defense without being deemed guilty of atrocious bad taste. In professing my genuine liking I assume an air of gracious condescension. A Wigwamite, I explain, is the fine flower of the British race. In early life he was

coaxed down from the branches of his tree, inducted into clothes, weaned from the diet of nuts and wild roots for which he originally burrowed, and, by subsequent association with Americans, given the veneer of the higher civilization. The Wigwam does not know it, but there is a vein of seriousness beneath the flippancy. No Englishman is ever quite civilized until he has brushed up against many Americans. The average Wigwamite has been to America once or several times. He has sampled its hospitality, and feels that he has incurred a debt that he must do something to repay. In some cases he has acquired an American wife. She may have reformed him, but she will never succeed in making him less British. For example, there is "Patt." When I enter what is known as "the northeast room," where in such hours of the day as D. O. R. A. smiles-namely, from noon to twothirty and from six till ten-refreshments of a certain kind will be served, "Patt" will be there, benign and flamingly red-faced. He will greet me as he always does. Across the room will ring his “I give you the glad hand” in an accent that he fondly conceives to be the last cry of Americanism. After hearing in the Wigwam American "Yankee" and "Negro" stories, I have forsworn forever any attempt myself to tell Cockney or Yorkshire stories. To utter that "I give you the glad hand" brings to "Patt's" genial soul delight ineffable. Occasionally he invents a transgression on my part, not from any spirit of hostility, but in order to vary his expression to "I give you the frozen mitt," which moves him to positive ecstasy as being the loftiest peak among the mountains of linguistic reality and verisimilitude.

The other night, however, the usual greeting was not forthcoming. With a grave countenance and an air of mystery "Patt" led me to a secluded corner. After glancing furtively around he produced a card. It was a card of American origin. On it was printed the legend: "A two-cent smile is better than a dollar frown." "Explain it to me. What does it mean?" whispered "Patt" hoarsely. Carefully, and weighing my words, as one should to a Briton, I translated: "An expression of countenance indicating inward beatitude and contentment of spirit to the value of one penny, normal rate of exchange, is more conducive to tranquillity of soul than an expression indicating hostility to mankind even though the latter be of the monetary value of four shillings, also of course at the normal rate of exchange." "Tell me that again," he said, his forehead corrugated. Again I complied, and again, till finally the great light of comprehension came. Later, in the "northeast room," his eye caught mine, and his face became even a deeper crimson than usual. He was in the act of passing the card from hand to hand and withering with his contempt those who found in it any element of possible mystification. "Cheerio, 'Patt'!" which, translated into United States, means what "Here's look

ing at you" or "Happy days!" meant in the years of yore.

T

INTERNATIONAL AMENITIES ·

WISTING the lion's tail is a practice which I heartily deplore. It is bad enough when employed at home by politicians unscrupulous in their methods of obtaining votes. Here, whatever my private opinion of the Irish question or the controversy between coal miners and Government may be, it is my business to sit silent and leave the talk entirely to Britons. But what might be called the game of “getting the Briton's goat" is a fair game if only one knows how to play it adroitly and with unctuous politeness. When I am at home again, I may sum up my impressions by saying that, socially, graciousness is not a British defect; and that, politically, England once in a while does the right thing in the right way, occasionally does the wrong thing in the wrong way, but nine times out of ten can be counted on to do the right thing in the wrong way. Of course you can't tell a Briton that. But he should be chastened for the good of his soul, and there are perfectly legitimate methods by which he may be stirred to uneasy consciousness. The trouble is that very few Americans succeed, because most of us fail to realize that the bludgeon is an ineffective weapon. Also, like the American troops in the Argonne, they make the mistake of the frontal attack. Let me illustrate the difference between bludgeon and rapier by two stories, one of which is a veritable “dud,” while the other I have found from judicious experiment to be strikingly effective in "getting the Briton's goat."

In the first story an American being conducted about England by an Englishman is tactfully shown certain cannon captured by the British at the Battle of Bunker Hill. "Well," says the American, "you've got the cannon, but we've got the hill." "That is the bludgeon. It simply serves to irritate the Englishman, who is moved to partially swal lowed utterance about American bounce and brag. But consider the second story, from a similar historical setting. An American and a German are going together through a German university. On a wall they find hanging a picture of Washington. "Why," snorts the German, "should they have a picture of Washington in a German university?" "Probably," is the reply, "because Washington was the first American to pursue successfully German subjects." That story, told to an Englishman or a group of Englishmen, is the rapier. There is nothing in it to which an Englishman could take the slightest exception. The point is obviously directed against the snorting German. But into the British mind there creeps slowly a chain of thought which shows in his reddening face. Recalling a certain episode at Trenton suggests another episode at Princeton likewise damaging to British prestige and interests. The Briton fid- } gets and essays a pale smile. Then of course you comment thoughtfull lot, those Huns!"

A

T its best, no association in life is finer or more lasting than that which a man gets from his four years in college. Lut it must be real association, such as brings men together in broadly intimate, unrestricted bonds of living and working. A chapter might be written on the influence of the common dormitory in fostering the democratic life of a university. For two centuries this influence has been recognized and promoted by the authorities of Yale. The Old Brick Row was the nucleus for this common life for the undergraduate body of the last century, but with the great increase in college attendance in our time came the need for ampler accommodations at Yale. With all that could be done, in 1916 there were dormitory rooms for only a thousand students, with rooms for more than fifteen hundred needed. A gift came that is memorable in Yale's history and in the architectural history of American colleges. This was-is-Harkness Memorial Quadrangle, given to Yale College by Mrs. Stephen V. Harkness, of New York, in memory of her son, Charles W. Harkness, of the Class of 1883. When finished, it will house 650 men, who will imbibe the spirit of Yale in surroundings which are perhaps the noblest architecturally of any similar group of buildings in America.

As illustrating the influence of such surroundings on the character of the young men who are to spend several of the most impressionable years of their life at Yale, President Hadley's words uttered at the laying of the corner-stone of the Memorial in 1917 were altogether fitting. They are equally appropriate now. Dr. Hadley said:

UNIVERSITY is something more than

"A a school or group of schools. It is a

complex of traditions and influences; of sentiments inherited from the past and aspirations reaching out into the future. The lessons learned in its class-rooms or laboratories constitute but a small part of the education which it offers. The students are taught and inspired by the example of those who have gone before them and by the interests and ambitions of those that are about them. They breathe the spirit of the place. They become imbued with ideals in some respects different from those of the outer world, and by their devotion to these ideals they strengthen their influence on the life of the next generation.

"It is hard to describe in plain words just what is the nature of this influence which constitutes so important an element in every good university. It cannot be understood by the man who thinks that education can be tested by examinations and human worth by statistics of efficiency. To the worshiper of the tangible, a place like Yale must remain forever a puzzle, as poetry remains to the hopelessly prosaic. But to those of us who know American college life and believe in poetry, these intangible elements in education constitute its most important part. The letter killeth; the spirit giveth life.

"Of the various means to develop and perpetuate this spiritual side of education, beautiful buildings are one of the most important. Cardinal Newman placed them in the forefront among educational agencies, as more essential to the main purposes of a college than anything else. There are many reasons for thinking that he was right. A monumental building, if it be really beautiful and glorious, gives a visible and permanent object round which life and loyalty can grow and to which tradition and sentiment can attach. The man who looks out day after day into the college quadrangles of Oxford or Cambridge finds a stimulus both to his love of beauty and to his love of learning.

"Such influence is more needed to-day than ever before. The waste of war is destroying churches and castles and glorious monuments of antiquity. Unless the world builds new centers of beauty and affection to take the place of the old, the twentieth century will, in spite of material progress, be essentially poorer than the nineteenth.

"And war has done more than lay buildings waste. It has, for the moment at any rate, distorted our standards. It has compelled us to look too much for immediate efficiency rather than permanent utility; to seek tangible effects and disregard intangible ones; to work for the achievements of the moment rather than for those of the ages. Doubly 'im portant, then, is it to renew our supply of tradition and inspiration by buildings like this; to bring home to the students who shall live within these walls the lessons of affection and loyalty and love of the beautiful which should go into the life of an ancient college.

"Not that we would crowd out the

practical.

The world needs men who can do things. It needs men who can do them in the spirit of the gentleman and of the idealist, rather than of the materialist or the philistine. Between these two opposing views of life the university must make its choice. The place that prides itself on being exclusively practical tends to develop as time goes on an atmosphere of blind rage against that which its inhabitants cannot see; to work for the gains of the present and shut its eyes to the lessons of the ages. Thank God, our American colleges in general, and Yale in particular, have chosen the better part.

"This is a memorial to a man who lived at Yale and loved it; who here and afterward cared for other than material gains, was loyal to his friends and helped to lift them higher. In its whole design we see embodied the things which he cared for. And we see more than this. We see embodied the things which the world needs in its life and death struggle to-day. In the providence of God it will make Yale not only a happier place in which to live for the moment, but a stronger and more in spiring and more compelling place in which to prepare coming generations for the work that awaits them, whether of sacrifice or of triumphant leadership."

THE

THE Visitor to New Haven will easily find the Harkness Memorial Quadrangle, for already it is a source of pride to the people of that city. The great tower is an outstanding landmark that is readily recognized, though it is not ob trusively evident amid the steeples and towers of churches and university buildings. The Memorial occupies an entire city square. It is built of gray and buff stone that will no doubt soon tone down to harmony with the older college buildings adjacent. While it is near to crowded commercial streets, it gives the visitor a delightful impression of aloofness and quiet. The Memorial is dominated by two towers at opposite sidesWrexham, square, solid, and massive in its effect; and Harkness, slender, tapering, lofty, and decorated with statues.

Mr. James Gamble Rogers, the architect, who characterizes the buildings as "collegiate Gothic" in their style, has made of them a memorial of himself and his art as well as of their donor and the man whose name they commemorate. H. H. M.

A

T its best, no association in life is finer or more lasting than that which a man gets from his four years in college. But it must be real association, such as brings men together in broadly intimate, unrestricted bonds of living and working. A chapter might be written on the influence of the common dormitory in fostering the democratic life of a university. For two centuries this influence has been recognized and promoted by the authorities of Yale. The Old Brick Row was the nucleus for this common life for the undergraduate body of the last century, but with the great increase in college attendance in our time came the need for ampler accommodations at Yale. With all that could be done, in 1916 there were dormitory rooms for only a thousand students, with rooms for more than fifteen hundred needed. A gift came that is memorable in Yale's history and in the architectural history of American colleges. This was-is-Harkness Memorial Quadrangle, given to Yale College by Mrs. Stephen V. Harkness, of New York, in memory of her son, Charles W. Harkness, of the Class of 1883. When finished, it will house 650 men, who will imbibe the spirit of Yale in surroundings which are perhaps the noblest architecturally of any similar group of buildings in America.

As illustrating the influence of such surroundings on the character of the young men who are to spend several of the most impressionable years of their life at Yale, President Hadley's words uttered at the laying of the corner-stone of the Memorial in 1917 were altogether fitting. They are equally appropriate now. Dr. Hadley said:

"A

UNIVERSITY is something more than a school or group of schools. It is a complex of traditions and influences; of sentiments inherited from the past and aspirations reaching out into the future. The lessons learned in its class-rooms or laboratories constitute but a small part of the education which it offers. The students are taught and inspired by the example of those who have gone before them and by the interests and ambitions of those that are about them. They breathe the spirit of the place. They become imbued with ideals in some respects different from those of the outer world, and by their devotion to these ideals they strengthen their influence on the life of the next generation.

"It is hard to describe in plain words just what is the nature of this influence which constitutes so important an element in every good university. It cannot be understood by the man who thinks that education can be tested by examinations and human worth by statistics of efficiency. To the worshiper of the tangible, a place like Yale must remain forever a puzzle, as poetry remains to the hopelessly prosaic. But to those of us who know American college life and believe in poetry, these intangible elements in education constitute its most important part. The letter killeth; the spirit giveth life.

"Of the various means to develop and perpetuate this spiritual side of education, beautiful buildings are one of the most important. Cardinal Newman placed them in the forefront among educational agencies, as more essential to the main purposes of a college than anything else. There are many reasons for thinking that he was right. A monumental building, if it be really beautiful and glorious, gives a visible and permanent object round which life and loyalty can grow and to which tradition and sentiment can attach. The man who looks out day after day into the college quadrangles of Oxford or Cambridge finds a stimulus both to his love of beauty and to his love of learning.

practical. The world needs men who can do things. It needs men who can do them in the spirit of the gentleman and of the idealist, rather than of the materialist or the philistine. Between these two opposing views of life the university must make its choice. The place that prides itself on being exclusively practical tends to develop as time goes on an atmosphere of blind rage against that which its inhabitants cannot see; to work for the gains of the present and shut its eyes to the lessons of the ages. Thank God, our American colleges in general, and Yale in particular, have chosen the better part.

"This is a memorial to a man who lived at Yale and loved it; who here and afterward cared for other than material gains, was loyal to his friends and helped to lift them higher. In its whole design we see embodied the things which he cared for. And we see more than this. We see embodied the things which the world needs in its life and death struggle to-day. In the providence of God it will make Yale not only a happier place in which to live for the moment, but a stronger and more in spiring and more compelling place in which to prepare coming generations for the work that awaits them, whether of sacrifice or of triumphant leadership."

HE visitor to New Haven will easily

15 such influence is more needed to-day and the Harkness Memorial Quad

than ever before. The waste of war is destroying churches and castles and glorious monuments of antiquity. Unless the world builds new centers of beauty and affection to take the place of the old, the twentieth century will, in spite of material progress, be essentially poorer than the nineteenth.

"And war has done more than lay buildings waste. It has, for the moment at any rate, distorted our standards. It has compelled us to look too much for immediate efficiency rather than permanent utility; to seek tangible effects and disregard intangible ones; to work for the achievements of the moment rather than for those of the ages. Doubly'important, then, is it to renew our supply of tradition and inspiration by buildings like this; to bring home to the students who shall live within these walls the lessons of affection and loyalty and love of the beautiful which should go into the life of an ancient college.

"Not that we would crowd out the

rangle, for already it is a source of pride to the people of that city. The great tower is an outstanding landmark that is readily recognized, though it is not ob trusively evident amid the steeples and towers of churches and university buildings. The Memorial occupies an entire city square. It is built of gray and buff stone that will no doubt soon tone down to harmony with the older college buildings adjacent. While it is near to crowded commercial streets, it gives the visitor a delightful impression of aloofness and quiet. The Memorial is dominated by two towers at opposite sidesWrexham, square, solid, and massive in its effect; and Harkness, slender, tapering, lofty, and decorated with statues.

Mr. James Gamble Rogers, the archi tect, who characterizes the buildings as "collegiate Gothic" in their style, has made of them a memorial of himself and his art as well as of their donor and the man whose name they commemorate. H. H. M.