PASSING THE LAUREL

So much pessimistic comment has been made of late by American observers of America that it is most encouraging to discover Englishmen with similar ideas on England. Apparently the despondency is mutual. No less a one than Dean Inge of St. Paul's whose passion for limericks was lately disclosed, thinks that in a few year's time his unfortunate country will be completely overrun by American clothes, American books, American thought--in short, that it will become intellectually subjugated.

Whatever sense of triumph the patriot may entertain at this announcement must be tinged with an abiding pity for the unfortunate victims. No worse fate could be wished for a hated and despised enemy than to have his land suddenly swamped under an importation of clothes tailored at Fashion Park; or to have his respectable Sunday reading debauched by Eight Full Pages of Comics--Funnier Than Ever; or to witness his Shaws and his Galsworthys dethroned by barbarian Sandbergs and Andersons.

But in such a case, an even more tragic fate awaits the conqueror, in the revenge of American transportation companies. Instead of returning from his summer trip abroad intellectually stimulated, by the best of British thought, the traveller from Cincinnati will return in September restless and dissatisfied, writhing in the consciousness that although he sedulously dodged Niagara Falls and the Yellowstone, he has nevertheless done nothing in spite of all desperate efforts, but See America First.