Cherbourg in June-a smiling town on the blue water's edge, picturesque vehicles making their way along winding streets, markets heaped with vegetables, fruits and flowers, a busy and seemingly contented folk engaged in all the homely tasks of everyday life. As I looked about me I became aware of a lightness of spirit which I had not felt since August of 1914. I kept repeating to myself: "The war is over, and the world is sane and whole again." There was, indeed, little evidence of the great tragedy. Crape veils, yes, but it was easy to remember that in France mourning is worn for even distant relatives. It was true that whenever I made a purchase, stamps were given me for change, but I accepted this as a temporary inconvenience, just as I ate my dark bread with the reflection that after another harvest France would know again the white loaves of old.

Late in the afternoon I went into a pâtisserie, and while I waited for my chocolate to be prepared, a steady stream of customers purchased dainty little cakes. The buyers were mostly of the humbler class; some of them ate their cakes in the shop, and were not content, with one, though its price was sixty centimes. This was an afternoon treat which they could not have afforded before the war. Everywhere in the town there was evidence that wages had risen and that work-people lived well. This was the dominant note in Cherbourg. I knew, of course, that there must be nouveaux pauvres, but they were not to the fore.

Conditions seemed to me much the same all through Brittany. The bread varied somewhat, but was nearly always wholesome, if not especially tempting; food was abundant. There was even plenty of butter and cheese. Prices had risen tremendously, it was true, but they were within the reach of many people. Certain necessary economies were evident. Hotels had not been renovated as of yore. Vehicles, particularly automobiles, had not been kept in good repair. Indeed, some were so out of kelter that it was painful to ride in them. There were fewer trains than in the past, but they ran regularly, and the service was excellent.

The chateaux country of the Loire was lovely as ever, and there were enough sightseers to make it worth while to schedule trips almost as in the past. The region, too, had plenty of food. Never have I eaten more delicious meals than those that were served in the Phaisan d'Or at Tours.

In Paris, however, things were different. The city had its old allurements, but the atmosphere was tense. The struggle for life was harder here. There were more of the impoverished middle class who had difficulty in making both ends meet. The fact that farm produce was taxed on coming into the city made food dearer and less abundant. Eggs were sixty to eighty centimes apiece, and meat from five to eight francs a pound. One felt, too, subtly the close proximity of the devastated regions where war had done its worst. When I looked upon the widespread ruin, I felt that it would take France a long time to

recover.

Getting into Germany proved easier than I had expected. A German vise was all that was necessary, and that was easily obtained. I crossed the frontier at Strassburg. The bridge over the Rhine was empty of vehicles except for a French government truck, which obligingly carried my baggage with its own freight to the German side. The little town of Kehl looked dead. Once at the station, I bought a ticket for Frankfurt-am-Main, and paid so little for it in the depreciated currency of the country that I felt ashamed. The mark was then worth about two and a half cents. It was a glorious day, and the fields were marvelously green, but I saw not a single cow at pasture during that six-hour ride. Milk was extremely scarce in this region. There was not enough for the babies. On more than one occasion I was asked with pathetic eagerness whether the rumor was true that America meant to send two thousand cows.

The bread was poor. One afternoon I made the round of eight bakeries, and at each one I bought a small slice of apple cake. In every case I found the crust gritty and soggy. At the hotel at which I stayed, saccharin was served for coffee instead of sugar, the soup was invariably flavored water thickened with some starchy substance, meat gravies and vegetables were prepared without fat. On one occasion I was invited by a cultivated woman in delicate health to take supper in her home. The table was carefully laid, but there was nothing to eat except some heavy, dark brown biscuits, margarine, canned apple sauce and tea. Many people in this once. wealthy city were undernourished, some because they could not get the kind of food they needed, and others because they were too poor to buy the food that was on the market. Prices were sky-high. Eggs, for instance, were two marks apiece, rice anywhere from

five to eight marks a pound, cheese from twenty-four to thirty marks a pound. And it must be remembered that the mark meant a great deal more to a German than to an American, who could get forty for a dollar. The wages of laborers had gone up greatly, though not enough to enable them to live comfortably. The salaries of teachers had been raised. One of them told me that whereas she had been receiving four thousand marks a year, she was now to have twenty thousand. Instead of increasing the salaries of teachers as the cost of living rose, the government had hitherto preferred to give bonuses, the amount depending upon the size of the family of the recipient. People in Frankfurt-am-Main were depressed. Though eating together is usually supposed to make for sociability, the hotel dining-room was a silent place. I got the impression of a good deal of bitterness, though I seldom heard it put into words. There did not seem to be much feeling against the United States, though President Wilson was blamed for not having held strictly to the fourteen points in the framing of the treaty.

I was particularly struck by the bearing of the waiters at the hotel at which I stayed, and I ascribed their quiet dignity to the fact that they were receiving a living wage and that, at their own initiative, feeing had been done away with. This wholesome change had taken place in other cities. Nürnberg was an exception, and the hotels there felt it necessary to print on their menus that Trinkgeld was still the order of the day. I saw another evidence of progress in the changes which had been made in the curricula of the schools. A great deal more stress, for instance, is being laid upon the history of other countries, as though Germany felt that, after all, her children had something to learn from them. It was significant, too, that discouragement and even hunger had not more greatly impaired the efficiency of the people. The excellent railway service was one evidence of this. Trains, for the most part, departed and arrived exactly on schedule. The cars were kept perfectly clean. The stations met every need. I think I have never traveled more comfortably than on the journey from Frankfurt to Nürnberg, and I rode third class As I talked with the passengers and shared the food which they had brought in their baskets, I thought I discerned in them a spirit which boded well for the future of Germany. If there was less respect for law and government as such, there was certainly a greater independence of judgment than in the past. Their horizon was broader, they looked beyond the boundaries of their own country, and were beginning to glimpse a world in which the welfare of each is found only in the welfare of all.

Prague was a blessed relief. People smiled. Hope and lusty good cheer were in the air. I felt myself. in the midst of a vigorous people confident of a great future. The hardships of the present, such as scarcity of wheat, and unemployment, were, for the most part, gladly borne as temporary evils which a just and righteous state would soon find ways to remedy. It was refreshing to come upon a govern

ment that was respected. I judged that it deserved the confidence of the people when I talked with the Minister of Education concerning the school system and the disposition of the expropriated lands. Schools and homesteads for all! It was interesting to learn that the law of April 16, 1919, which provided for the taking over of large estates, was unanimously passed by a National Assembly representing all Czech political parties, that henceforth no one could own more than a thousand acres and that the number of small landowners was greatly increased.

Apropos of this unanimous vote I found myself wondering whether the Sokol organization had not done a great deal toward binding the people together. Founded fifty-two years ago, it taught during all that time that bodily health is essential to courage and perseverance, and that it can be achieved only through discipline. Here was a combination of physical and moral strength destined to stand the nation in good stead. That remarkable Czech army which, isolated as it was, held its own in Russia and fought its way to the sea was largely made up of Sokols, as were also those Czecho-Slovak legions who arrayed themselves on the side of the Entente. I got some idea of the influence of the Sokols from a very remarkable performance given by them in a great natural amphitheatre just outside of Prague one Sunday afternoon late in July. The stage comprised not only the level stretch of ground at the bottom of the slope on which the audience sat, but also the broken wooded hills lying to the left and right and the vast rising meadow at the back. Here the Sokols acted out the thrilling story of the Czech regiments that deserted to the Russians and fought the Austrians. The great stage, stretching far on both sides and fully a mile to the back, became a veritable battlefield. Amid the din and roar of cannonade the enemy broke and ran. One saw them in the distance seeking cover where they could. Cavalry sought to cut off the escape of the fugitives; stretcher-bearers made their way here and there and carried off the dead. The audience sat spellbound under the realization that this was the way in which their freedom had been won. The whole performance was a marvelous appeal to their patriotism, and must certainly have awakened in them an added pride in their new state.

I wondered as I looked at the great crowd how many Slovaks were there. Surely in the thrill of the moment they forgot that they had a grievance against their state. Confident in their own ability, they see no reason why Czechs should fill most of the offices, civil and military, in Slovakia. The Czechs believe this to be a temporary necessity, since Magyar oppression kept the Slovaks illiterate and backward. It is their former masters who are now trying to fan the flame of discontent into active resentment. This is a danger spot in the new Czecho-Slovak state.

There is another element which the government must handle wisely-the nearly three million Germans living in more or less compact masses on the borders. They were included in the new state be