Evening star., 1926-11-24

the greatest difference between you
of the New Yorld and us oil the Old?
Especially, think. 1t is in your fresh
ness. in your untiredness. that the
great difference resides. Most Of you
are hampered with no traditions. have
inherited neither houses nor names;
no ancestry makes you pause to won
der If 1t is dignifled for you to do
this or that, to be with this man or
that. You simply go forward. There
Is a vastness about your country as
there is In your institutions and all
YOU build and dream. But you do not
realize that you dream, for your
dream is action, is carried out. You
never spare money or enort. You
see big, you build big. you plan big.
you succeed bigly.
We in old Europe go more slowly.
Our dreams are often inherited
dreams There is something in our
blood that prevents our breaking
loose from tradition. We often re-
sist an impulse to go forward because
we do not consider It in keeping with
what our father, or grandfather, or
great at-grandfather would have ap-
proved of. 1t must make us seem
hesitant and sleepy to your fresher,
unhampered minds. But then there
Is a mellowness about us. q greater
gentleness, which will come to you
| later on.
Signs Of Rapid Progress.
You doubt nothing, no enterprise
i Ia too fantastic, no plan too vast.
| You lay out your towns with splendid
forethought of how they will grow;
| you have seen them grow so stupen-
dously in such a short time.
More than once those who were
showing me your magnificent cities
would turn to me and say: Can you
realize that this 80 years ago was
| nothing br,t prairie?" No, could not
| realize-it seemed quite incredible,
and, with a humor not unmixed with
pathos. thought of the over-few
stunning progresses have seen since
the 80 years have been in Ruma MIA.
Yes, you have gone ahead with a
! rapidity inconceivable to us in the
Old World. You are also inconceiv
ably wealthy, and you never doubt
that your wealth will 60 on growing,
that there will ever be any scarcity of
money. So your dreams go before
you. knowing that you will catch
them up In the same year. After 80
years l have sean many Of mine smile
at me from the place 1 sowed them
and they were indeed but tiny, wee
plants. But, I for one, in spite Of my
love for America. do not think that 1
would like living all my life at such
high pressure; especially l could not
live so publicly. would want to go
occasionally where no one would mind
at all what l wore, what l ate. whom
1 saw and what l thought; where 1t
would be quite immaterial II my dog
were called "Crag" or "Sambo" and
where l would not disappoint 10000
600 people IL I did not talk into a
dumb. round little machine standing
before me on dinner table.
Wants Next Trip Qketer.
No. no. I could not forever go your
place. anyhow, not IL / We're eternally
to be the center of attraction-"Marie"
whom all wanted to see. 1t was fiat
tering. touching, gratifying. but it
left me no time to be anything but
Marie. your guest, whose voice you
wanted to hear and who must never
| even for a half hour drop out OF any
thing. even into her bed. for fear of
disappointing all those millions wait
ing to share my life.
! Yes, you are very efficient, glOri-
ously. splendidly. invincihly Efficient
but IL ever | come back to you, want
choose what I would like to do and
see, / want to be allowed to breathe
occasionally and decide If it is to the
right or to the left that I want to 60.
1 want to get out more into the coun-
try to visit old. simple homes. where
I can pick flowers, or eat apples and
where no radio and no phOtogra pher
will haunt me from behind the trees.
| l want to be able to climb up into
the mountains and search for strange
plants which could bring home to
| ov~AA ~
| too hasty. / have not been able to
collect those precious seeds and roots
which were to be taken back to mem
| ory's garden. l have not seen your
great California, your Grand Canyon.
nor your prodigious Hollywood. where
most of the films are made. l have
not been down South to hear the
negroes sing those old songs in an
cestral homes full OF memories. I
have not-but 1t is not good to say
all I have not done and seen.
I must not forget that coming 10
times would not he enough. If l want
ed to see America. Perhaps there
may be a happy hour when I shall
really return amongst you. 1t GER
tainly will be my great desire. But
does one know what fate will still de-
mand Of me. what sacrifice, what ef
fort, what abnegation? l cannot look
into the future and enough unto the
day is the Joy or sorrow thereof. I
have never weakened myself by bur-
dening my mind with problems which
1 shall find the strength to solve when
the moment comes.
Takes Back Happy Memory.
| know this: am taking back with
me a treasure Of remembrance. a
| ~ haf Ia all 81
| you have given me, every one Of you,
from the unshaven old man who
frayed himself away through the
crowd and past the police to thrust a
! couple OF faded flowers into my hand
! with the words These ars for you.
Marie" to the big banker at his
table who had one glass eye at least.
! Yes. you have given me something,
some spark. which. added to many
sparks. lit a flame in my heart. There
may be difficult days before me.
do not know to what am going back.
I. too, am a builder, a slower builder
than you are, because all has been
labor, many difficulties and much
thinking out. There has been neither
your wealth nor your young energy
on the roads which I have trodden,
but there has been poetry, there has
been love, there has been an ideal.
/ have advanced toward 1t slowly. I
do not know how many years l still
Z, have to work for my people. shall
| accept them. good or bad. however
| they may come. 1t IL my way TO see
| the rosy side Of things. but there IL
also a mood which comes to me occa-
| sionally. If look at anything hard
| enough in this world, 1t brings the
tears into my eyes.
But what perhaps above all things
| made an impression upon me in your
great America was all that you are
doing for your young. Your schools