Chicago
July 23, 1925.

Dear Fritzie:
You are starting on a wonderful trip.
I hope it will prove an enjoyable one, and that in every way you will benefit by it.
It is important that you make the most of this opportunity for it may not come to you again. I advise that you be just as industrious as though you were at your work at school, or in the office. Plan each day’s efforts so that, at the end of the day, you can feel you have acquired some useful knowledge or experience.
Do not take any risks or chances. Keep constantly in mind the importance of good health. If you should become ill, go immediately to a hospital, and put yourself in care of best medical aid.
If you need advice, confer with the United States Government representatives, and with bankers named in your letter of credit.
Avoid questionable companions and resorts. Keep clear of all complications, and under no circumstances get into controversy or quarrel with anyone.
I am proud of you, and I want to feel that you are at all times and under all circumstances a credit to yourself, your family, and your friends.
Wishing you God speed, and with much love,

Father.

Thursday, July 23rd, 1925.

Well the long journey has started. I’ve never seen quite as complete an outfit as I have. What with a moving picture camera, kodak, etc., besides enough paper to write a couple of books, I feel as though I were more than adequately fitted out for a year’s trip.
Just before the Century left, Johnny slipped a little package into my pocket on which was written, “To keep you straight.” I did not open it until after the train started, and then, to my great delight, I found the little package contained a slick compass, probably one of the most useful articles for Africa that I could get, and something I had entirely forgotten about.
The first excitement of the trip occurred this evening, when the Century, traveling along at full speed, crashed into a Dodge touring car. Fortunately, the five people who were in the automobile had sufficient warning so that all were able to get out of the car before the train hit it. I believe the driver stalled the engine. It took the Century about a half mile to stop, and the brakeman said that there wasn’t enough left of the car to put on a wheel barrow.

New York
Friday, July 24th, 1925.

After twelve and a half hours sleep last night, I feel much better. Nothing worth mentioning happened on the train. When I arrived in New York, I went to Wetzel’s for a fitting of my dress suit, which is to be finished early tomorrow morning.
Spent the afternoon at the Public Library, as all my New York friends seem to be away for the summer. Hutchins has gone to Long Island over the weekend. After visiting the barbershop, I went to Vic’s, and we went to the Columbia Yacht Club for dinner. It is the nicest little place you can imagine right on the Hudson at 86th Street. The tables are within thirty feet of the water, and it is an ideal place on a warm night. After a marvelous dinner, we went to see “The Poor Nut,” which was very amusing. I took Vic home, and went back to the Commodore to get another good night’s sleep.

New York
Saturday, July 25th, 1925.

This has been a very eventful day. Before coming to the dock, I did several errands, and, of course, forgot to stop at 300 and get a package of calling cards I had sent there.
The Majestic! How can I ever describe it? It is simply tremendous, 956 feet long, 100 feet wide, and it draws 40 feet of water. She burns from 700 to 1,000 tons of oil a day, and travels at an average speed of 24 knots an hour. That is almost 30 miles an hour. There isn’t a motion nor vibration of any sort, and, truthfully, there is no difference between being on board and being at the Biltmore. The Laconia, Ouilio, and other ocean liners I have seen look like peanuts in comparison. There are eight decks; stores, barbershops, bar room, swimming pool, etc. I just couldn’t begin to describe it all. Probably the most beautiful thing on the whole ship is the pool. The Germans who built this boat certainly did a marvelous job. The pool itself is tile, but the posts and ceiling are all mosaic, and the coloring is gorgeous. At the bottom of the pool are colored lights, which are really enchanting as they flicker up through the blue water. Around the pool is a balcony, so that one can watch the people in swimming.
The lounge, Ritz dining room (for special a la carte dinners), card room, smoking room, and bar room are all very unique.
Our stateroom, C55, is about as nice as one could want. It is very large, with two comfortable beds, couch, writing table, two wash basins, and two closets. Scytha’s room on the Laconia was terrible, compared with ours. Being on C deck, we get loads of air, even though it is an inside room.
Met Gardner Stout at the boat, and after we sailed the steward brought me six telegrams, and a letter from Lydia. The wires were from Alicia, Anna and Avery,
Vic and Baby Vic, Elinor, Bob Pirie, and Phyl. All the stewards are excellent, ours especially, all English. The telegrams were:
“Wishing you a wonderful trip, good luck, happi¬ness and a safe return.” (Vie and Baby Vic.)
“Am crazy about scrap book. A million thanks. All best wishes for a wonderful trip. We shall miss you terribly Love.” (Elinor)

“Bon voyage and a safe return Sorry to miss you in New York.'” (Bob Pirie).
“Bon voyage and best wishes for a marvelous trip. Do write often. Worlds of love.” (Phyl) .
“Bon voyage and good luck. Don’t let the lions maul you and tell John what to do and where to go. Forget all your troubles you leave behind and enjoy yourself. Don’t break the records. Maybe you will be able to carry at least one tune when you get back.” (Anna and Avery).

First night out, about half the people dressed for dinner. Learned later that all the old timers never dress for dinner the first night.
Bud Notz and father are on board. Met a boy from Princeton, and two from Harvard. George K. Marrow and wife are on board. Wonder if he is the one Clarence knows.
On the whole, the crowd of people are pretty wet, mostly Arabs and cheap foreigners. Have seen only one or two nice looking girls.
There was a dance in the lounge, but I didn’t take part. Going to bed early. Am dead tired.

On the Majestic en route
Sunday, July 26th, 1925.

Honestly, the food on this boat is simply perfect. I’ve never eaten so much in all my life. The sea air makes one terrifically hungry.
This morning played several sets of deck tennis with Gardner, Higgins, and English. Met Bud Notz and his father, who insisted on my joining them for a Martini. Judging from my experience on this boat, prohibition is a decided failure. I haven’t seen one drunken person since we left. The point is everyone knows there is plenty to drink whenever they want it, consequently everyone drinks in moderation. I believe that, on the American line boats, where liquor is prohibited, there is actually more drinking than aboard the White Star or Cunard liners.
Played shuffle board with Bud for an hour or so. It is quite a good game.
We now have a table called “The Bachelors.” It is a table for six, and every night one of us is to invite a guest of honor, as there are only five of us; Higgins and English from Harvard, Bill Ashton from Princeton, and Greg and I from New Haven. As Higgins says, “the most select group of gentlemen on board.”
We have been in the Gulf Stream all day, and the water is the most wonderful color, a deep, deep blue. It has grown rather warm, and a little breeze sprang up this afternoon, but you would never know it, for the Majestic is as steady as any hotel in New York.
The bath steward called me at six P.M. for my bath, and after that I went to the dining room and had a tremendous meal.
The boat made 549 miles the first day. After dinner sat on deck for an hour or so, no dancing to¬night.
I have almost laughed myself sick at Gardner. Honestly, he is the funniest boy I’ve ever known. His remarks are priceless. Going to bed early as set clocks an hour ahead tonight.

On the Majestic en route
Monday, July 27th, 1925.

Went for a swim this morning before breakfast. The water was 84. We ought to get out of the Gulf Stream by this afternoon.
Met a Mr. Stewart of Virginia, who is very inter¬esting. He, Gardner, Bill Ashton, and I played a few sets of deck tennis, and then I went below to write a few letters.
Gardner has been drinking Porto flips, which he claims are excellent. At present he is busy figuring how many flips it would take to flop a flapper. Speak¬ing of flappers, there isn’t one really attractive young girl on the boat. Of course, there is that MacClehan widow, but I can’t hand her a great deal.
Tonight was Gardner’s turn to invite a guest of honor, and much to my pleasure he failed us. We had the most delightful dinner. The chief steward had special duck for us, and what with white bait, a mar¬velous sort of peach ice desert, and a few bottles of champagne, we had a perfect dinner. “The Bachelors” then retired to the lounge, where we played a few rubbers of bridge.
Ashton, and some of the others, looked up the night watchman after the bar closed at 11:30 P.M., but Higgins and I went out on deck. It was the most wonderful night imaginable; thousands of millions of stars; the ocean just like glass; and the Majestic sending back a streak of silvery water from each side of her bow. The water was alive with phosphorus.
The winner of the ship’s pool made $1,200. Trav¬eled 579 miles. £20 a number is much too steep for me.

On the Majestic en route
Tuesday, July 28th, 1925.

It was past noon before I got up today.
The sea was a little rougher, but as beautiful a blue as usual. We are well out of the Gulf Stream now, and the weather is a little cooler.
Spent the afternoon writing letters, and playing shuffleboard with Bud Notz.
Bob English, like Gardner, failed to invite a guest of honor, but I’m sure Higgins won’t.
He certainly has the smoothest line I’ve ever heard, besides being one of the most entertain-ing and amusing fellows I’ve met in a long while.
After dinner we played a little bridge in the lounge, and finally I was persuaded to try one dance with a French girl. One dance was quite enough. Then Bob introduced me to a Follies girl. She was only about 35, but wasn’t a bad dancer. After that, I decided to call it a day.

On the Majestic en route
Wednesday, July 29th, 1925.

Felt a little the worse for wear this morn¬ing. It isn’t too nice a day, much colder, and rather rainy.
The trip is getting a little tiresome; shall be glad to reach Southampton. The sea continues to be as smooth as ever, but excitement is entirely lack¬ing.
Made 570 miles. The ship’s pool was over $2,500, not a bad sum for some lucky fool.
Spent the afternoon playing around with Bud Notz.
After dinner there was a ship’s trial, and all the people gathered in the lounge. One look was all the interest I could muster, and that was enough to convince me it was a pretty stupid affair. Played bridge for awhile, until the dancing began, and then watched Mr. and Mrs. Steinberger, Mr. and Mrs. Izaac Gugenheim, and Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein and family jig around the floor. The orchestra stopped at twelve, which was an excuse for some smack to get out a one lung victor, which could easily be heard ten or twelve feet away.
Am pretty tired. Guess I’ll turn in.

On the Majestic en route
Thursday, July 30th, 1925.

The weather continues to be cold and foggy, as one might expect now that we are close to the chan¬nel. It was too rainy and wet to do much on deck, so spent most of the day writing letters.
We had another very special dinner, and Larry lived up to expectations by inviting the most attrac¬tive girl on the boat for dinner.
Gardner has a terrible cold, so went to bed very early, after taking 25 grains of aspirin in one dose. Doctor Boots, his family doctor, is on the boat, and said it was o.k., but I was afraid it would just about k.o. him.
I turned in very early, and it appears that I missed the most exciting night on board. Everyone was rather intoxicated, it being the last night on the boat.
A radio arrived this afternoon from Eddie Eagen, saying that he would meet me at the Waterloo Station in London, and would wear a grey suit and red rose, as it would be more fitting.
Last night, after I had retired, the rest of “The Bachelors” found an Arab on deck sprawled in a steamer chair just a little tight. He evidently was only about half dressed, and the report today was a little “Jew baiting” was enjoyed by all until the poor fel¬low had courage enough to slink off to bed.

London
Friday, July 31st, 1925.

We arrived Cherbourg at 5:30 this morning. I got up to see Gardner and the rest off and to get my first sight of France. There was a very heavy fog, so all I could see was a long line of breakwater, and a couple of tumbled down houses on a little neck of land forming one side of the harbor.
As might be expected, there was a lot of confusion about luggage, tips, etc, so that it was 10:00 A.M. be¬fore we finally weighed anchor, and steamed off for Southampton. The trip across the channel was a little choppy but not bad.
Arriving at the Isle of Wight, we dropped anchor for a couple of hours to wait for high tide to go up to Southampton. Only four of the largest ships, like the Majestic, Buengaria, Leviathon, and one other, have to wait for the tide.
England does look different than the States. My first view of it from the boat showed it to be a low, rolling country; many castles or large estates; no waste land, everything under cultivation; and numerous little hamlets or villages consisting of clusters of brick houses, all the same color, on the side of small hills.
We didn’t dock until five o’clock, and then had to go through the customs. The dumb custom officer passed about twenty people in front of me without look¬ing in one bag. When he came to me, he made me dump out everything. Golly! I was mad! I discovered there was fifty percent duty on moving picture cameras, so very casually I slipped the bag containing mine by him when he wasn’t looking. I finally argued him out of paying all but six shillings on the victrola records.
After leaving the customs, I was ushered into the dinkiest, dirtiest looking little train you ever saw. I thought the porter was trying to kid me or something. My two companions were a Jap and a typical old English¬man, who seemed much annoyed because my bags took up three quarters of the available room.
The country from Southampton to London is beautiful. One field after another, wonderful trees, sheep, and all that sort of thing. Outside of the villages were groups of people making the queerest motions. I discovered later that they were playing cricket, and that often the matches last two or three days. It cer¬tainly looks stupid. Then, too, I saw loads of people lolling on the green.
Reached London about eight, and had no trouble finding Eddie Eagen, who seems to be an awfully nice fellow. I am sure we will get along fine. Went direct to the Berkeley. Well, just wait until to¬morrow. I’ll write about it then, for it is scream¬ing. After dinner, looked about a little bit, and retired about 11:30 p.m.
Golly! I hope I’m not making this diary too long, but there is so much to write about.
John, and Mr. and Mrs.Pirie are in Ireland at the Dublin Horse Show.

London
Saturday, August 1st, 1925.

London to me is much like Boston. All the streets are crooked, and run into large circles every so often, which people over here call a “circus.” The most striking thing is that everyone drives on the wrong side of the road. I’ve never seen such confusion. The taxies are all about the 1912 model, and no one seems to know where he is going. In the midst of traffic this morning I got into a sort of tight place, and jumped to the right for safety, and a fool cab, which was tearing along the left side of the road almost ran over me. Everyone over here must be left handed, for the people all pass you on the wrong side. As in Boston, the streets are nar¬row, and the sidewalks only about five or six feet wide in all but the main streets.
They say that Englishmen are the best-dressed people in the world. True it is that they all carry canes and gloves, and wear top hats, but their clothes are wrinkled, baggy at the knees, covered with spots, and the trousers are at least four inches above the ground. They look like a lot of lunatics to me.
There are many peculiar things. For instance, on Sunday all the telegraph and cable offices are closed except for a half hour in the morning. Peo¬ple move so slowly, even in the subways. I’d like them to see Times Square some afternoon about 5:30.
Well, in the morning I went to the National City Bank of New York to look up the Rockafellers, and discovered they were in town at 7 St. James Square.
The butler said they had gone out for the day, so left word for them to call me when they came in. Then went sightseeing with Eddie for a few hours.
Called on Lord Klysdale who was just rushing off for a week’s visit to the Duke of York’s camp. Also met Malcolm, his younger brother, who is thinking of joining the party on trip around the world.
Eddie and I had a swim, and lunch at the R.A.C. Club, and went to the theatre in the afternoon. Saw “The Farmer’s Wife,” which was very amusing.
A cable from John said for me to come over to the Dublin Horse Show Tuesday. Think I’ll go to Paris instead, as that isn’t included in the trip.
When I got back to the hotel, discovered the Rock¬afellers had telephoned me. Got in touch with them, Winifred, Faith another man, and I went to see “Hay Fever,” a very clever comedy. The Rockefellers are going on another bicycle trip, but expect to be back by next Friday. It certainly was nice to see them. After the theatre, went home to bed. During the day saw Buckingham Palace, and all the other famous places.
It is perfectly amazing the way people drink tea over here. Everything comes to a standstill at teatime. We went to one very large place, like Woolworth’s, where there were six floors, each one about three times as large as the Drake Hotel dining room, and each floor was packed with people drinking tea.
Going to Paris in the morning. Monday is a bank holiday, and Eddie said everything would be closed.

Paris
Sunday, August 2nd, 1925.

I shall always remember today as one of the funniest days in my life. I caught the eleven o’clock train for Paris, and after a ride of an hour and a half, reached Dover, where we embarked on a little channel boat for Calais. The trip across the channel was a little rough, but not bad.
I was beginning to feel a little worried about how I was going to get along in France, not being able to speak any French, when I ran into a Mr. Perry and his wife. Mr. Perry proved to be a life saver as it were. I had known him as a Professor of English at Yale in my Freshman year. He saw me safely aboard the train with my baggage. After three hours’ ride, we reached Paris. I suppose I should have exclaimed, “So this is Paris!” but I didn’t; I saved that for later.
Well! Now my experiences began. I had lost Mr.Perry, and here I was in the station, suitcase in band, and did not have the slightest idea where to go I thought the name of the Stout’s hotel, where Gardner and Andy were, was called Hotel Poussin. I went up to a taxi driver and said: “Hotel Poussin, me de la Poussin.” His only reply was a blank stare. I though, “Good heavens! That is all I can say in French. What am I to do?” Well, the driver called another driver and he called a third, etc, until I was surrounded by fifty or more Frenchmen, all waving their arms about, opening and shutting guide books and directories, and jabbering away in French like a bunch of idiots. The situation was getting worse every minute, but, really, in the midst of it all, I had to laugh. It certainly was funny.
Just about this time I remembered having heard Mr. Perry say he was going to the Hotel Louvois. So to save the day, I shouted “Hotel Louvois!” Imme¬diately the confusion ceased. Ah, Monsieur, Hotel Louvois! Oui, oui! Pourquoi ne dites, vous pas ca,” or something to that effect. Anyway, I finally got to the Hotel Louvois, found Mr. Perry, got a room for the night, and then tried to look for the Poussin Hotel. Discovered that there was no such hotel, but that there was a Hotel Perouse. I went to the telephone booth and said, “Passy 4068,” which didn’t register at all. Then I tried, “Passy quarante trios soixante-huit,” and got the hotel. Fortunately, Stout was there. It was nine o’clock by this time, and Gardner was just going out with a party, so made plans to see him in the morning, and then, after getting a bite to eat, went out to look over Paris.
The streets are even narrower than in London; that is, the side streets are. I walked around for hours. It seemed like a filthy city to me. The buildings, etc., of course, are magnificent, but the people are the scum of the earth. Excuse me! I prefer the English people. Went to bed about midnight.

Paris
Monday, August 3rd, 1925.

If yesterday was the funniest day of my life, I’m sure today was the busiest. I got up very early and looked around, then went to Morgan¬
Harjes, where they at first said they had never heard of Marcia Cranston, but finally they discov¬ered that she was at the Hotel Britannia, Cadenab¬bia until August 9. Cadenabbia seems to be one of the Italian lakes, so I guess seeing her is out of the question.
Who should I run into but Lauri Higgins, the boy who came over on the boat with me. He speaks French admirably, so I stuck to him. We took a taxi, and drove allover Paris, going to Notre Dame, Eiffel Tower, Chambre of Deputes, the Pantheon, the Trocadero, Place de la Concord, Louvre, etc.
Lauri has many friends in Paris, so looked up one who took us to the Sporting Club, which about corresponds to the Chicago Club in Chicago, only on a much larger scale. There we met and had lunch with a Mr. Lott, an American who was very active in the war, and who is President of the American Chamber of Commerce in France. He was most interesting, and showed us around the Club. One of the most remar¬kable things is the swimming pool. It is arranged so that one can go below the level of the pool, and look through plate glass windows at the divers under water.
In the afternoon did some more sightseeing and shopping. At the Bankers Trust ran into Rothwell Sheriff, Jack Kingsley, and a whole crowd from col¬lege. It appears that about three fourths of Yale University is in Paris.
Paris has the most wonderful and beautiful things I’ve ever seen; could spend a fortune here in no time.
Had tea at a little restaurant where all the people sit out in the middle of the street, a very peculiar affair. Then did some more sightseeing, and had a late dinner. As had an hour or so be¬fore meeting Andy, went into a movie to see what it was like. . There, of course, I forgot to tip the girl usher, who set up a terrible squabble. After giving her a franc, the confusion ceased. The movie was the oldest one I’ve ever seen, taken in about 1910, with the sub-titles and all in French. It was very amusing. After the show, met Andy and chased around a bit before going to bed.
Paris is really very lovely. Some of the buildings are magnificent, and I can see why peo¬ple call it the most beautiful city in the world, but the people are impolite, dirty, and uninterest¬ing. Give me London any day.

Paris, London
Tuesday, August 4th, 1925.

Up bright and early this morning to do some more shopping and sightseeing. Went over to Lauri’s apartment and got him to go with me.
After several hours rushing about from one place to another, I landed at the Grand Hotel, where I was to catch a bus for the flying field to go back to London.
The flight back to London was most interesting. It took about three and a half hours. The plane carried twelve people, ten passengers and two pilots. It seemed like a tremendous affair, and I didn’t see how we would ever leave the ground. The weather was rather good, pretty cloudy, which they say makes it smoother, as there aren’t as many bumps. When we reached the channel, we were at a great altitude, and things below looked like toys. Fortunately, I had brought a coat, for it got very cold. Saw very little of England, as we were above the clouds prac¬tically all the time, but what I did see showed it to be far prettier than France. In England, all the little fields are square and set off by hedges. The castles and villages are very picturesque. In France the fields are oblong, and there are fewer hedges. While the villages are attractive, all the buildings with red roofs, one does not see so many beautiful lawns and estates.
When I got back to the Berkeley, Eddie was wait¬ing for me, and after getting a bite to eat, went out to see some more of London. Ran into Tom McCance from Yale, and invited him to dine with us. Had a delightful dinner at some little restaurant, and then went to see “The Man with a Load of Mischief.” Un¬doubtedly, it was one of the best plays I’ve ever seen. One line in it I thought awfully good went something like this:
“Our arguments are usually to reaffirm our preju¬dices; seldom do they convince our adversaries.”
After the theater, went back to the hotel to write a few letters and go to bed. Met several Oxford friends of Eddie’s. Among them was the son of the former Viceroy of India, who told us to be sure to drop in to see him when we arrived in Bombay, as he had a lot to show us. Everyone seems to know and like Eddie very much.
It seems likely now that we shall make the entire trip through India with Lord Reading, who is the Vice¬roy of India, which corresponds to the Governor of Canada. If we do, it will be the most marvelous thing in the world, as everyone will put himself out to please us. We have stacks and stacks of letters of introduc¬tion to Indian princes, Lords, Dukes, and all sorts of invitation, and what not.
Believe me, England looks wonderful after France. London is infinitely nicer than Paris, and except for driving on the left hand side of the road, I feel very much at home. The people in London, from Lords to bootblacks, are all gentlemen, and as polite and, thoughtful as they can be, while in France they try to jip you every minute are saucy and unobliging. Give me London every time!

London
Wednesday, August 5th, 1925.

Another very eventful day. In the morning went down to Bishopsgate, and called on Mr. Villiers, who invited me to go to his boys’ camp at Windsor for dinner.
Then left word at the National City for the Rock¬afellers to phone me when they returned to London. On the way back to the hotel, our cab ran into the one in front. Instead of swearing, if not a fight, that would have taken place in New York, the conver¬sation was something like this:
“I say there! Is this your first time at it? Can’t you look where you’re going?”
“Oh go along, Funny face! How is a man to drive with the likes of you?”
That seemed to end the whole affair. There was no taking of numbers, policemen, nor anything.
Had lunch at Princes restaurant, a very delight¬ful place.
The whole of London is mad to see “No, No! Nanette,” which played in Chicago for a year, and opens in New York in September. People are lined up for three blocks to get tickets.
After lunch went to see a new process of making bronze casts from photographs, which is amazing. Saw one Mr. Pirie had made, which was excellent, but 25 guineas is a little expensive.
Then went to the National Portrait Gallery, where the portraits are arranged chronologically from the Duke of Normandy, William the Conqueror- down to King George V. All the artists, painters, musicians, etc–¬in fact, all the great men of English history are there. It was perfectly wonderful!
Then went to the R.A.C. club, and had a boxing lesson from Eddie, who says I am a natural born boxer, and that I’ll be a real boxer in no time. Just wait till I get back, after a year’s training! Cy, Clayt, and Bill had better look out. Eddie, however, landed a few good blows that set me spinning, so I don’t feel I am much good in spite of what he said.
Had tea, and met Mr. Villiers at 5:30. Do you know what he has done? Made me a temporary member of the Bath Club, one of London’s nicest and most exclu¬sive clubs. I can go over there any time to swim, box, play squash, or anything. I am so thrilled!
Windsor is about forty-five minutes out of Lon¬don, and besides being the location of Mr. Villiers’ boys’ camp, it contains such interesting places as Eton College, and Windsor Castle. We made thorough visits to them all.
Eton College was founded in 1440 by Henry VI, and all the original benches, buildings, etc. are still there. Every boy that goes there carves his name on one of the walls, so saw where Shelley, Wil¬liam Pitt, and hundreds of famous men had carved their names. It has grown to be a large school of 1,140 boys, and it is very difficult to enter Mr. Villiers said that every place up to the year 1937 has been taken. Just think of it! The chapel, courtyard, and all of the buildings date from 1480 to 1600. One can almost see the famous men walking about. The atmosphere fairly makes one tremble. The sacredness and tradition of it all! The library contains many first editions, and is one of the most famous in all England. They still have the birch switch method of punishment, the feeling being “What was good enough for our great, great grandfathers is good enough for us.” Just imagine how long such a system would last in the States! They can’t under-stand our ideas of independence, and hatred of any¬thing that hurts our pride, freedom, or self-esteem.
Windsor Castle is located on a hill, and is sur-rounded on all sides by miles of beautiful parks. The castle itself is tremendous; all of grey stone, and looks as impregnable as the rock of Gibraltar.
Mr. Villiers’ camp consists of a number of tents along a river bank, where about eighty city boys of little or no means come to spend the summer months in the country. It is a splendid thing, and I was very much interested in it all. Had a fine dinner with much champagne. Met all the camp officials, as well as several members of Parliament, who are, like Mr. Vil¬liers, interested in the camp
I learned that tomorrow is to be one of the big¬gest days in Parliament in the last four or five years. The Prime Minister is to speak on the settlement of the coal strike. The Labor Party, and everyone else is up in the air. No one knows what to expect. During dinner, I got into conversation with one of the mem¬bers of Parliament, a Mr. Cadagon, who is much inter¬ested in the present crisis. He said that people had been trying for days to get seats in the gallery for tomorrow, and ended up by saying he had two tickets which he wasn’t going to use, and asking me if I would like them. I almost died of joy, for, as he said, it will be one of the famous days in English history. Baldwin, Lloyd George, Balfour, and many others are to speak. So I am to be in Parliament tomorrow at 2:30 P.M. Eddie said I was a wonder; that there were hundreds of people crazy to get seats, and that the “American Ambassador himself couldn’t get an extra seat to save his life. I hope this luck continues!!!
Got back to London about midnight, and went to bed at once.
These people are dumb, some of them. One member of Parliament had never heard of Nathan Hale, didn’t know there ever was such a person. But on the whole, I like the English. They are really good sports, and splendid people.
I see this diary is becoming a bit too long; will make it shorter after this, but it is a difficult thing, for there is so much to write about.

London
Thursday, August 6th, 1925.

Went to a little restaurant for breakfast, on Pickadilly, where they have excellent coffee.
Who should I run into but Jack Ewing and his little brother. They are to be here for several weeks. Learned that Mummy, Freddie Shefield, and many others are up in Scotland but will be back in London shortly.
Had lunch at Scott’s with Eddie Eagen, and then rushed over to Parliament. Major Edward Cadogan was waiting for us, and took us at once to the entrance of the House of Commons to watch the formal opening ceremony. The speaker walks in first, followed by a man carrying the mace, which is supposed to represent the presence of the sovereign, the king or queen. Then comes the chaplain, who opens Parlia¬ment with a prayer. The public is not allowed in the gallery until the prayer is over.
The House of Commons is long and narrow, with a high ceiling, or skylight. The seats are in five tiers, running the length of the room. On one side sit the Conservatives (the Government), and on the other the opposition. They are face to face, as it were. At the far end is an elevated seat, where the speaker or chairman is. He is all dressed up with a white judge’s wig and black knickers. The other members of Parliament wear cutaways, or ordi¬nary sack suits. Some have high top hats, which they wear during the entire session.
The room is very unsatisfactory. The acoustics are very bad, and there are not enough seats on the main floor to hold all the members, so that two sides of the gallery are used to accommodate the six (?) hundred and sixty odd member’s who cannot obtain seats on the main floor.
For an hour it was rather uninteresting, as nothing occurred but a series of formal questions. Then the galleries and house began to fill. The Prime Minister, Baldwin, came in. All eyes were turned toward him as he arose to defend his subsidy policy in regard to settlement of the coal strike. His speech was brilliant. It was clear, concise, and well presented. There was no flowery oratory, but just one sensible argument after another. He pointed out the seriousness of a coal strike at this time that would tie up all industry. The cost of the former coal strike in 1921 was 287 million pounds. The subsidy for nine months was to be ten million pounds. Whether one agreed with him or not as to the advisability of preventing the strike, it would be impossible to say that his reasoning was not logical.
Next was Ramsey McDonald. He was in a peculiar position. The opposition consists of many ununited factors, containing Liberals, Reds, and Socialists. McDonald had to agree to the subsidy, which in itself is mildly socialistic, but he criticized the Govern¬ment for letting things come to a state where a sub¬sidy was the only way out. McDonald, in my opinion, was rather poor. His speech was unconvincing. He talks very loud, is very conceited, and while he did much- criticizing, he didn’t make one positive statement. In brief, he just “mouthed,” and then said the subsidy was all right.
Then Lloyd George got up. The Labor crowd yelled at him so much, he could hardly get a word in edgewise. He called on the members to vote down the subsidy as a cowardly way of meeting a serious situ¬ation. He made some good points, but the Labor Party just wouldn’t let him speak. They yelled “Hear, hear!” or “Throw him out!” etc. One old Scotchman yelled: “You’re starving the wives and children of the workers,” etc. You have never heard such an undignified body.
When Lloyd George sat down, another man got up to speak for the Conservative policy, and immediately, as he was not a prominent speaker, about all but ten or fifteen members left him to talk for an hour or so to the walls. The few members of the Labor Party who remained sank down in their seats and put their feet on the tables in front of them.
It really was a most interesting experience, hearing Baldwin, McDonald, and Lloyd George, the last three Prime Ministers, representing the three parties, all speak the same afternoon.
Major Cadogan met us shortly afterward, and showed us around the Parliament buildings. We saw where Warren Hastings, and Charles I were tried, and the exact spot where Cromwell strode up in Parliament and ripped the uniform off one of the King’s officials, and declared himself head of the Government. The original House of Commons dates back to the time of Richard II, about 800 years.
Major Cadogan was extremely nice to us, and it was splendid to have the opportunity of seeing such an interesting session.
Had dinner at the Criterion with Eddie, and went to see Charlotte’s Revue, which was only fair. I almost died when they played “Chilli Bean” and “Where the Black Eyed Susan’s grow, ii which came out in the States fully five years ago.

London
Friday, August 7th, 1925.

Mr. and Mrs. Pirie and John arrived this morn¬ing from Dublin. As they had a lot of shopping to do, and Eddie was busy, I decided to do a little sightseeing by myself, so spent the entire morning at the British Museum, and the summer exhibition of the Royal Academy. Really at the British Museum one could easily spend a month, it is so enormous.
Had lunch with Eddie, and went to the British Art Gallery, where we ran into Nut Enders, who told us about Mrs. Sheriff’s death.
Met John at 3:30, and looked at some Jeffrey guns for Africa. John bought a 475 and a 375, but I limited myself to a 375, as the man at Jeffrey’s said a 475 meant sure death, but after all a man has less chance and the animal more when one uses a 375. It is more dangerous, and the animal is not always killed at once and has a chance at the man; there¬fore it is more exciting and better sport. A – a-a! That was almost enough to make me buy a 475.
Went back to the Berkeley for tea with the Piries. Met David Edwards, who had dinner with John, Eddie, and me, and spent the evening fooling around the hotel, and watching the Piries pack. They leave the first thing in the morning.
This trip gets more and more exciting. It seems quite definite that we are to join Lord Heading, the Viceroy of India, on his annual tour of India. That would be just too wonderful! Then the Presi¬dent of Czechoslovakia has put one of his cars at our disposal while we are in his country. Honestly, more invitations, and letters of introduction to kings and governors turn up every day.

London
Saturday, August 8th, 1925.

Mr. and Mrs. Pirie left at the crack of dawn. These fool English trains! No system, no efficiency! One never knows where to sit, and the train conductor doesn’t know any more about it than you do. How people get anywhere is really surprising.
John went out to the Whites for the weekend. Eddie and I went out and took movies with my little Bell & Howell as a sort of experiment.
Went to Westminster Abbey and the Tait Gallery. It is impossible to attempt to describe all one sees, for there is so much.
In the afternoon Eddie and I went to hear Ted Lewis. Real American jazz sounded great. I feel like the American, who, on returning to the States after a long trip in Europe, said, as the boat passed the statue of Liberty, “Say, old girl, if you ever want to see me again, you’ll have to turn around.”
Had tea with Doctor Frauenthal, a New York bone specialist. He is a most interesting man. He was on the Titanic when she sank, and gave us a vivid de¬scription of the whole disaster, but I must say I don’t agree with all of his ideas. He says we are all animals, with a thin veneer, and that he doesn’t believe in “Women and children first.”
Eddie and I boxed for a bit, and had a swim at the R.A.C. Met Malcolm and Clydesdale, and all had dinner at the R.A.C. Then went to see “Tell Me More,” a very good musical show. Who should I see there but Mr. Swift. I talked with him for a few minutes. He is going back to the States on the 22d — lucky day!
At the theatres over here, they have opera glasses which one can use by putting 6 d. in a slot. When the play is over, you just put the glasses back. They are the most trusting people. Just imagine how long the glasses would last in America. After the perform¬ance, there wouldn’t be a pair in the whole theatre.
That reminds me. I forgot to include an inter¬esting incident that occurred when I was in Paris. A bank, Morgan-Harjes, wouldn’t accept two fifty-dollar bills that I got at the Illinois Merchants Bank in Chicago. The bills were Federal bills, but the cashier said he had never seen any like them before, therefore wouldn’t accept them. Can you beat it?
Andy Stout phoned me at the Berkeley. He, Geg, Jack Kingsley, Chan Goss, and a lot of other college friends are over here. I am going to lunch with them Monday.
London
Sunday, August 9th, 1925.

Spent the morning taking moving pictures and visiting Westminster Abbey and sightseeing in gen¬eral.
Malcolm, Douglas, Eddie and self had lunch and then went for a drive in Douglas’s car. It is a Vauxhall, 98-horse power, and makes 105 miles an hour. It certainly is a peach. The body is alu¬minum, or, as they say over here “Alu-min- ium.” Went to the Museum of Natural History, which was in¬teresting) but does not compare with the American Museum of Natural History in New York.
Visited the London Country Club for tea, where we met several friends of Douglas. Then went out to the De Havillland Air School. They have the neatest civilian planes, as light as a feather and beautifully constructed, for about £ 850. Then there were big passenger planes for carrying sixteen or more passen¬gers.
Went back to London for a swim and dinner, and went to the movies afterwards. Saw Norma Talmadge in a 19l0 movie. The women’s hats looked ridiculously out of style.
Malcolm, Douglas’ brother, is an awfully nice chap. He is about eighteen, and will probably join us in Belgium, as George Clysdale is sick and can’t go at all.

London
Monday, August 10th, 1925.

Our last day in London was quite a busy one. As usual, there was a lot to do the last minute. John and I were busy all morning buying things for Africa, and getting itineraries copied, etc. We stopped at Carson, Pirie, Scott & Company’s, and gave final instructions for forwarding of cables and mail.
I had lunch at Brown’s Hotel with Andy Stout, Nut Enders, Jack Kingsley, Chan. Goss, and Gardner. Learned from them that Professor Inks and Jim Cooper are at the Strand Palace.
Met John after lunch, and we went to the Tower of London. Beyond all doubt it is one of the best things to see in London. There is the White Tower, Bloody Tower, and Tower of Jewels. The first two contain all the implements of torture, such as racks, thumbscrews, etc, as well as dreary dungeons in which there is no daylight, suits of armor, old canons, and beautiful ivory, inlaid rifles, and carved wood stocks.
The Bloody Tower is the place where the two lit¬tle English princes were murdered. Outside is the block on which Anne Boleyn was beheaded.
The tower containing the crown jewels is proba¬bly the most interesting. Never in my life have I seen diamonds the size of chicken eggs, nor emeralds two inches square. It is impossible to describe how magnificent they are. All of the jewels are kept on a big, circular platform enclosed in glass, be¬hind which is an iron enclosure charged with elec¬tricity. All three towers are only parts of the Tower of London, which is really a fort located on the Thames, and surrounded by a very wide moat.
Had tea with the Duchess of Hamilton and some of her friends.
Malcolm has decided to go with us in place of George, who has the flu.
The chief hobby of the Duchess is prevention of cruelty to animals, and opposition to vaccination and inoculation. She is a very interesting woman, a little like Mrs. P.A. in her manner.
Had dinner at a little French restaurant with Professor Sandy and Jim Cooper. After dinner, the Professor and I went to see “Lavender Ladies,” a very entertaining comedy, rather clever in spots.
Came back to the hotel and packed, for we have to get up at 6:60 A.M.
Must jot down a couple of amusing incidents be¬fore I forget them. The other day at tea, a couple of Englishmen were talking like this: “Dash it all, but it was a jolly good game, old top,” etc, when suddenly I heard an American three or four tables away say in a loud voice: “And what in hell do you sup¬pose happened next?” Honestly, it did strike me as funny. Then I was talking to another nouveau riche American from the east side of New York, trying to ex¬plain to him the difference in value between a half crown (60 cents) and two bob (two shillings, or 48 cents). He said: “Oh hell! They are all the same to me.1 don’t care about learning the English money system. When a guy wants four bits, I’ll give him one of these, and when he wants a buck, I’ll give him two.
But on the whole my impression of English people is pretty definite. As a class or race, they are slower, much more polite, better dressed, but dirtier and sloppier than Americans. However, the American lady, that is, the society woman, has better manners, dresses nicer, and is more polite than the English society woman. English people, rich or poor, have bad table manners. They all shove the food in the plate on their forks, and invariably cram it into their mouths with their left hands.

London–Ostende, Belgium
Tuesday, August 11th, 1925.

Got up very early this morning to settle accounts, etc before leaving. A word to the wise ought to be sufficient, if you want to live economically in London, don’t take a room at the Berkeley Hotel — and that’s that.
As a fitting start, we dashed down to the Liverpool Station only to find that the train for Dover left from Victoria. Due absolutely to my philosophy that, if you want something badly enough and just know that you’ll get it, you always will, we found the train waiting for us. These crazy Englishmen! Their system of doing things, and their inefficiency is incomprehensible. Even the conductor didn’t know what car our seats were in, and once shut in a compartment, you can’t get out until the next stop. Then, too, if your baggage weighs more than 66 pounds, you have to pay excess. Why 66? Why not 100, or 75? Honestly!!!
We took a Belgium boat from Dover to Ostende. It took about three hours, but was a very pleasant trip. The channel was smooth, and the lunch quite good.
Ostende is a very picturesque and quaint city. Located on the water, it is a great deal like Deau¬ville, so people say. There is a big gambling casino, and a number of fashionable, summer hotels, all fac¬ing the sea. A long stone walk, several hundred feet wide and a mile or so long, runs between the hotels and the beach, which, incidentally, was packed with people. All over the beach are funny, little bathhouses, with wheels. A number of horses are kept busy pulling these houses out into the ocean. The people dive from the houses, then get in again and are dragged back on shore.
Ostende is very clean, and shows no signs of poverty nor war ruins except one demolished bit of a church, next to which a beautiful new one has been built.
We hired a horse and wagon, and drove around for an hour or so, taking pictures and watching the sights. One of the most fascinating things is the way the pub¬lic gardens are arranged. The blending of bright colored flowers, and the delicacy of the plants, is simply amazing.
We located ourselves at a small, but comfortable hotel, where we had dinner.
Ed and I went over to the casino to see the sights, but they wouldn’t let us in the gambling rooms, as the minimum age limit is 25. Honestly, I could have killed someone, for I had taken all the trouble to put on a tuck, but perhaps it was just as well, for Ed wasn’t exactly lucky. When we got back to the hotel, Ed and I boxed a little before going to bed.
We all have sore throats. I am afraid we got the flu from Malcolm, who wasn’t feeling well when we left him in London.

Zeebruge–Bruges, Belgium
Wednesday, August 12th, 1925.

John and Ed feel worse than ever, and I none too good, but I refuse to get sick over here. We had an early breakfast of eggs and bacon. I should say eggs, for the bacon was uneatable, and the coffee like mud.
We hired a car and drove along the coast to Zeebruge. We saw the remnants of many German dug¬outs, evidently lookout posts on the sea. After an hour’s drive, we reached Zeebruge, where occurred the greatest naval feat of the war, and probably one of the greatest in the history of man.
Zeebruge was the submarine base which Germany used in outfitting her submarines for attacks in the North Sea. Before the war a long mole, almost a mile in length, and a couple of hundred feet wide, had been built by Belgium, with German capital, to form a harbor. The cost of the mole was approxi¬mately 50 million. Zeebruge was a terrible menace to England.
On the night of April 22, 1918, a pitch black, stormy night, the “Vindictive,” an English boat, manned by sailors who had answered a death volunteer, steamed up to the mole from the outside and landed some men. They at once opened fire to distract the attention of the Germans from three ships loaded with concrete, which sailed around to the harbor en¬trance and then blew themselves up, thus blocking the harbor. Also, in the meantime, an English sub¬marine, loaded with T.N.T. and running at full speed, purposely crashed into the mole near the land, and made a complete opening, ruining the road running out on the mole. Then the “Vindictive,” with about thirty percent of her crew escaped. The whole thing was a tremendous success, for the Germans entirely abandoned Zeebruge after this night. ¬
We drove on to Bruges, where we had lunch. The roads are all cobble stones, but not as rough as might be expected. On all sides were signs of prosperity. I failed to see any starving Belgian children. The houses are all painted, or whitewashed; the people seem well dressed and well fed. Every bit of space in the country is taken up. Oats and wheat are planted right up to the railroad tracks, and there doesn’t seem to be any waste, or pasture, land. On both sides of the road are rows of trees, beech, I think. They look a lot like poplar cut off at the top.
At Bruges it was beautiful. A canal runs all through the town, and we took a motorboat ride for an hour or so. The streets in all these Bel¬gium towns are winding and narrow.
Spent an hour looking at the shops and cathe¬drals, and then eased on to Brussels in a stuffy car, in which three men were puffing away at smelly pipes.
John and Ed both feel pretty low, but I do not think either has a fever.
On arrival at Brussels, went to the Metropole Hotel, which is exceedingly nice. Brussels, too, seems like a rea1 city, three quarters of a million.
I’ll never say a word against the American Express in my life. It certainly is a relief to be able to make people understand what you are saying. We went down there before supper to send letters and cables. Everything there is so simple, and the Americans are so efficient.
Ed and John felt pretty rotten, so spent the night writing up our diaries, etc. instead of going out anywhere.

Brussels (Waterloo), Belgium
Thursday, August 13th, 1925.

Brussels is beyond all doubt the most beautiful city I have ever seen. We hired a car this morning and went to all the places of interest.
L’hotel de ville is one of the most wonderful buildings in Belgium. There is a large square; which serves as a market place until 8:00 A.M. Around this square are magnificent buildings, all with gilded towers, and stone figures of Belgium’s great heroes.
Next we went to the cathedral of Michel and Gudule, which was tremendous in size. We arrived just in time for a wedding. We saw all the public buildings, and the famous “Manneken.” (Statue of a little boy.)
The Gudule cathedral made one feel the reason, or at least one of the reasons, why the Roman Catholic faith has such a firm grasp on the people. It is so large and grand, one almost feels with awe that God himself built the church. The interior is not so beautiful as it is colossal. It has the damp smell of ages, having been built nearly six hundred years ago.
We next visited the Palais de Justice, which is the largest building in Europe, in fact, in the world so far as I am concerned, for I’ve never heard of a larger one. It is simply enormous. People look like flies going in and out, and inside one can look up 402 feet to the dome. The architecture is such as to make it seem even higher, and the columns are tremendous masses of stone. How they ever built it is beyond me. It is built of granite and marble, and is Romanesque in style.
The parks are very beautiful, and we drove past the king’s palace, and other interesting build¬ings.
One of the chief characteristics of Brussels, as I saw it, is the big windows in all of the build¬ings. They are certainly constructed to admit light, and I thought how much Father would like them.
The Weirtz Museum is very unique. He is un¬doubtedly one of the most weird and most original painters that ever lived. His pictures are enor¬mous in size, and his subjects show that he must have possessed an abnormal mind, for they are morbid, and contain many things that never existed which he must have imagined. For example, one picture was of a man coming to life in a coffin, a sort of cross section. Another peculiar thing is that he never signed his name to any of his works. His works are in a separate museum as he was more or less outlawed by his contemporaries because he refused to follow the conventional style.
After lunch at the Metropole, we ran over to Cook’s, and just missed the bus for waterloo, but we made a good bargain with a taxi driver who spoke English. He had driven a bus on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago for several years, so we felt quite at home with him.
We drove through a very beautiful park, miles in length, which was full of wonderful trees, beech I think.
On the way to the battlefield, we passed through the village of Waterloo, and saw the house where Wellington spent the night before the battle. At the field where the struggle actually took place, we went into a large, circular hall, around which, on the walls, was painted a sort of panorama of the battle. We picked out Napoleon on his famous white horse, Marshall Ney, his right hand General, and Wellington and his forces. In the distance we could see Blucher coming up with his reserves. This spot at Waterloo Wellington selected as the scene for the battle several months before it actually took place. He studied every inch of it so as to be able to out¬wit Napoleon. And even at that, Napoleon almost won. Napoleon’s mistake was in sending his cavalry against the solid English infantry squares, which slaughtered them. Then, with his cavalry gone, the English rushed out their cavalry, and put the French infantry to flight. The whole thing was tremendously interesting, and, personally, I enjoyed it better than anything yet.
On the way back to Brussels, we stopped to have tea at a little chateau garden located in a corner of the big park.
Took a walk around Brussels, looking at the different shops. Ed and John feel pretty low with the flu, and I feel none too good. Had dinner in our rooms, and called it a day.
Avery was wrong about the victrola. It is a godsend, and we have almost worn out the dozen rec¬ords I brought.
I was amazed, on drive into the country today, to see how prosperous all the people look. Every house and little cottage is rebuilt or recently whitewashed. The Belgium people are a little like the French, ready to jip you if they get half a chance.

Antwerp, Belgium
Friday, August 14th, 1925.

As usual there was a general rush at the last minute of departure for Antwerp. We just caught the train at the last second, and spent the hour riding to Brussels discussing the inefficiency of the train service on the continent.
Antwerp, the city of Rubens, is quite an inter¬esting place. First of all, we took a trip through the zoological gardens, which are supposed to rank among the very best in the world. The lions par¬ticularly interested us. I don’t know but what I should have bought a 475 as well as a 375.
Like Brussels, there is a large cobble stone market square, about which are the Hotel de Ville, (City Hall), art museums, and government buildings.
Our next stop was at the cathedral, where we saw Rubens’ masterpiece, “The Descent from the Cross. It “The Ascent of the Cross” was also in the cathedral, and is considered his second best work. There were many others of his famous works. “The Assumption,” having been painted in sixteen days. There was a picture of the head of Christ by Leonardo da Vinci which was perfectly marvelous. One of the character¬istics of Rubens is that, in his pictures he puts the faces of his relatives and friends. One can recog¬nize Rubens himself in nearly all of his paintings.
The cathedral was enormous, with a dome 400 feet high. There was in it the same damp odor as in the other cathedrals we have visited.
We had lunch at the Grand Hotel, and after visit¬ing the American Express Office, hired a taxi and went on a sightseeing trip.
The docks are enormous affairs, covering miles and miles. I had no idea Antwerp was such a shipping center. It was here that Napoleon planned to build a real navy.
The Steen Museum contains the terrible instru¬ments of torture the Spaniards used on the poor vic¬tims who suffered under the Inquisition. The museum itself was an old castle that had served as a prison at one time.
Here, too, we saw the best ship models I have ever seen outside of the New York Yacht Club.
The Antwerp Museum contains many pictures of the Belgium and Flemish Schools. There is an ex¬cellent collection of Rubens, and many Van Dycks. Cousin’s nature scenes appealed to me particularly. Rembrandt has a few representative pictures, as also has DeKeyser and Vordaens. The museum was really most interesting and we all enjoyed it.
By this time we were ready for some tea, and after bickering around with porters, we managed to get the train for Amsterdam, about a five hour ride. Needless to say there was no diner so that when we reached Amsterdam, we were all in. I’d just like to hear what the people over here would say if they could really see some actual railroad service like we have in the States.
Amsterdam does not look too hot. The Amstel Hotel is quite large, and is comfortable enough, I guess, but I just don’t like it. We are all tired, sick, and dirty as can be. Had something to eat when we got settled in our rooms, about 11:00 P.M., took hot baths, and crawled into none too soft bed.

Amsterdam, Holland
Saturday, August 15th, 1925.

It was noon before we got up, and after a combined breakfast and lunch set out to see the town. My first impressions of Amsterdam were correct. There is’ really very little to see from an artistic standpoint. The buildings are mediocre, the streets narrow and dirty, and the shops terrible. The windows are full of the cheapest truck you can imagine. We didn’t see one first, or even second rate store. Their window displays make Woolworth’s look like Cartier or Tiffany. All the people ride bicycles. We were walking along the side¬walk when a policeman stopped us. He told us that all going one way walk on the right sidewalk, and all going the other way on the left side.
The people are rather cheaply and shabbily dressed. The men’s trousers are four inches above the ground, and their socks are gaudy or pure white. All the men seem to wear black instead of brown or grey hats. The women’s clothes are plain and uninteresting.
“By this time John and I had lost Ed, and feeling rather tired, went into a movie house, where we saw Gloria Swanson in a four or five year old film.
It took us one hour and fifty minutes to get the regular table d’hote dinner. I never was so mad. The service was simply abominable. We had to wait at least twenty minutes between courses. I thought, “How Father would like this!” I wished you were with us. I bet we would have had better service. You would have had the whole hotel rushing about.
After dinner, Ed and I decided to try a Holland show for we felt too punk to loaf around the hotel. We made a nice try, but it was a dismal failure. Saw one of the worst movies on record. Evidently it was made over here, for it was terrible.
On the way back to the hotel, we noticed quite a crowd on a corner, and went over to investigate. There was a drunken American singing at the top of his lungs, “Stay Away from the Women, Boys,” to a crowd of Dutch people, who stood looking on in amazement.
John had stayed at the hotel to catch up on his diary, and when we saw him again, he was rather exas¬perated at two members of the fairer sex, who had caused him considerable annoyance while writing.
We are still feeling pretty bum. I didn’t have a cold at first, but how I could avoid getting it with John and Ed sneezing and coughing every minute is beyond me.

Amsterdam, Holland
Sunday, August 16th, 1925.

Once more we had a long sleep, for it was 11:00 A.M. before we got up. John and I had coffee in our room and then went out for a little stroll before lunch. We saw the same cheap stores and uninterest¬ing people.
Lunch was worse than dinner last night, over two hours this time, absolutely the worst service imaginable. If we had ordered a la carte, I am sure we would still be there.
After lunch we went to Rychs Museum, which John after our trip through it, termed “lousy.” I must say I almost agreed with him. In the first place, the people in the museum were irritating. Every time you turned around, it cost you a guilder. To look at one picture cost a half guilder, to look at another a half guilder more. It made one feel that he was continu¬ally being fished. Then, too, the museum is very poorly lighted. And, lastly, the Dutch School is a sad affair. We were even fed up on Rembrandt by the time we left. In nearly all of his pictures are the same whiskered Dutch burgomasters sitting around a table. There was one picture after another of the same figures, and almost the same faces and expres¬sions. Every picture was crowded with more people than was natural. Most of the other painters of the Dutch School just copied Rembrandt. There was no originality, no life nor enthusiasm. The Night Watch, Rembrandt’s masterpiece, was the best. The colors were remarkable, especially the color in the faces, but there were a hundred other pictures so similar to the Night Watch, it would be difficult to tell the difference. We saw some pictures of Franz Hals. He is excellent. His works are mainly portraits, in which he portrays mischievousness, sin, folly, and lust. Honestly, you can’t help but admire his paint¬ings.
Ed went out to a bicycle race, and John went back to the hotel to write, so I took a two or three hour walk through the city. The streets were littered with paper, old cans, and boxes. Such filth I’ve never seen. I dislike Amsterdam very much. There is absolutely nothing to see in the city itself. Oh, there is a rather picturesque canal here and there, but the water in them smells terrible, and is green and slimy looking.
The dinner was as slow an affair as usual, and after it was over, we all decided to go to see Corinne Griffith in “Lillies of the Field.” It wasn’t too good, but was better than sitting in the hotel.
Tomorrow ought to be more interesting, for we are going out to the Island of Marken, where the real, old fashioned Dutch people live.

Island of Marken (Zui Der Zee), Holland
Monday, August 17th, 1925.

Today certainly has been a full one, and not altogether as pleasant as it might have been. We got up at eight o’clock, packed our bags, had break¬fast, and left for Carlton’s, a diamond cutting es-tablishment.
There we saw rough diamonds rounded and faced. Altogether there are 58 different faces, 33 on top, and 25 on the point. Then we were shown models of all the famous diamonds in the world. The factory itself was a dinky affair. There were not more than a dozen men in the whole place. Our guide told us that 80 percent of the diamonds they cut were bought by Americans, whereas before the war, Turkey, and other European countries, were the chief buyers.
As luck would have it, we couldn’t get a taxi, so got to the dock only to find that the boat had left for the Island of Marken, and that the next one didn’t go until the following day. We hopped into a taxi, and started out after the boat, which was going down one of the numerous canals. Our taxi driver shouted at the captain, and blew his horn so much; that the captain out of exasperation finally stopped the boat and let us on. The ride through the canals was rather boring. The land is flat as a pancake, and lower than the level of the canal, the water of which is held in by dikes. All the land has been reclaimed, and work is now being done on more dikes, which will eventually turn the whole bottom of the Zui Derzee into dry land.
The country is fairly alive with cattle. We stopped at several quaint Dutch villages, and at one place had the best ice cream I ever ate. Some fool Dutchman accidentally pushed Ed’s hat overboard into the Zui Derzee, which didn’t please Ed too much, for we never saw it again.
Volendam is a little Dutch fishing village near where the famous Edam cheese is made. All the people are dressed in old fashioned Dutch clothes, very pic¬turesque. The men have big, baggy trousers, wooden shoes, and peculiar caps. The costume of the women is even more unusual, with a fancy lace head dress, and brilliant waist and skirt. All wear wooden shoes, even the little children two years old.
The houses all have red roofs, and are grouped together. The whole scene and life is so different from anything I have ever seen, that no description would be adequate.
There were hundreds of old brown fishing boats, with brown sails, that looked about as Clumsy as the wooden shoes.
Our next stop was at the Island of Marken. Here the boys and girls wear the same costume until the age of seven. A round piece of cloth sewed on the top of the bonnets of the boys is the only dif¬ference in dress, and the boys’ curls are quite as long as the girls. Here, too, we found the same old fashioned clothes. It is my personal opinion that these old costumes are worn not so much for tradition or comfort as they are to attract the tourists, who distribute guilders to the natives who permit themselves to be photographed, although I must say the men don’t seem to be the least con¬cerned about the hundreds of sightseers.
The trip back across the Zui Der Zee landed us in Amsterdam about six o’clock, and we were to leave for Hamburg about eight. And now the big time began. We got into the worst jam on record. Well, here goes.
Ed told John and me that he had made reservations through Cook’s man at. the Amstel Hotel; that our tick¬ets would be waiting for us at the hotel; and that the train left at 8:27 P.M. When we got to the hotel, there was no Cook’s man, and there was no 8:27 train, but there was a train at 7:57.
After gobbling down half a meal, we dashed down to the station, where we learned that the sleepers were not put on the train until it got to Amersfoort, about a two hour ride. Everything was mixed up. We didn’t know which train was which; whether we had any sleeper or not, where our baggage was, etc. By this time John could not hold himself in any longer, and he and Ed had it out. I took a little walk down the platform until it was over. John said that after this, we would have absolute, definite dope before he moved an inch.
Well, we managed to get located in a second class compartment, and started out. At Amersfoort, we got out and moved all our luggage to the other end of the train after some extra sleepers had been added. No sooner was our stuff aboard than the conductor informed us there were no more sleeper, berths. He held out a little hope that we would be able to get berths on the Flushing sleeper at another station twenty miles along. When we arrived there, we put all the luggage out on the platform, and John rushed over to the Flush¬ing train, which pulled into the station at the same time. A minute later he came back with the news that he had secured two berths to Hamburg. So off we started with all the luggage. When we got to the sleeper, the conductor informed us he had made a mis¬take, and that there wasn’t a berth to be had. John argued with him until the conductor was so black, I believe he would have shot us all if he had had a gun.
We saw there was no hope. By this time our first train to Hamburg was almost ready to pullout, and as the Flushing train had no day coaches at all, we started on a mad race for the train we had been on in the first place, and just made it. I climbed aboard, and Ed and John tossed one bag after another through the open window to me. By the time I caught the last bag, the train was moving. The porters and peo¬ple on the platform were dumbfounded. They were staring at us with open mouths. They can’t under¬stand us Americans. It would have taken them a week to do what we did in about five minutes.
This didn’t end our difficulties. The brakeman came along and insisted that we pay thirty guilders apiece for having been on a first class coach from Amersfoort on. Ed was just about ready to kill him when the conductor came along, and at the next sta¬tion, all three went into the station, where Ed set¬tled it by paying thirteen guilders apiece.
On the train, after this trouble, we met an American from Texas. He was really a German who had just been naturalized. I must admit that I’ve never seen a more perfect gentleman in my life. He offered me his berth, as I was feeling rotten, and said he would sit up. Of course, I refused to take it, but he certainly was as kind and nice as he could be. When the German Customs officer came through the train, he said a few words to him in German, and we didn’t have to open any of our luggage.
By this time it was after 12:30, and I was feel¬ing pretty low, with a headache and a dreadful cold, but I was so dead tired that I fell asleep in no time. John and I took one compartment, and pulled out the seats. It was really quite comfortable, even though we couldn’t take off any of our clothes.
Before I stop, I want to add that, of all the people I’ve ever seen, the Dutchman takes first prize for dumbness. As John says, “They can’t tell you a thing about anything for they don’t know any thing.” I must admit I agree with him. They are the stupidest lot I’ve ever seen.

Hamburg, Germany
Tuesday, August 18th, 1925.

Germany suits me. I never was quite so favora¬bly impressed. When we got off the train this morn¬ing, a little the worse for wear, I almost died when I thought of the struggle we would have to go through before we got our luggage over to the Atlantic Hotel. You can imagine how we appreciated it when a porter who spoke English came up to us with a big truck. Before we hardly got to a taxi, our luggage was all strapped on the side.
Everyone is efficient, polite, and as pleasant as can be.
The Atlantic is perfectly splendid: great big rooms, enormous baths, and the most comfortable beds I’ve ever slept in.
We all had breakfast, and a hot bath, and slept until noon. Had lunch at the hotel, and went over to the good, old, American Express. It is the best company that ever existed, and American Express checks are absolutely the only kind of money to carry when you travel. Met the Manager of the American Ex¬press Office, to whom John had a letter. He advised us to go to Karl Hagenbach’s Park, for, as he said, it is very unique, and the only park of its kind in the world.
Karl Hagenbach is evidently a great naturalist, for his park consists of a zoo where all the animals can be seen in their native surroundings. There are very few fences to keep the animals in, for he has very clev¬erly constructed walls and deep pits which prevent the animals from getting out. It was most interesting. At first sight, it didn’t seem possible that the polar bears couldn’t get out, but on careful examination, we found it would be quite impossible.
Hamburg is a very large city, and nearly all of the buildings are big, and of a massive stone type. There are very few old houses, for the entire city burned down in 1842. The streets are wide and clean, and the city itself is very beautiful. It is the third largest, or most important, port in the world, and the largest on the continent.
Unlike Amsterdam, the shops are very attractive, and the window displays are fascinating. The shop¬keepers are very polite, are always happy and smiling, and never stop working. Everyone seems prosperous, all the people seem busy, and to mind their own busi¬ness. I cannot say how much nicer it is here than anywhere else we have been, Berkeley included.
Spent the whole afternoon walking around and seeing the town. We were pretty tired when we got back, so we had dinner in our rooms.
John and I have gotten behind in our diaries, and it is an awful job making it up. We both doubt if we’ll ever look at them again, but then we might as well continue now that we’ve started.
Prices in Germany are higher than in Belgium and Holland, and are about equal to what we pay in the States. There is not such an awful lot to see here, for Hamburg is more or less of a commercial city, but it certainly seems like a godsend after Holland.

Hamburg, Germany
Wednesday, August 19th, 1925.

The more I see of Germany and the Germans the better I like them. The contrast between a Dutchman and a German is amazing. I tell you right now the Germans, besides being hard workers and efficient, are clever.
In the first place, the German vise is only two dollars whereas the French is ten. This alone’ at¬tracts tourists, who find it no additional expense to speak of to visit Germany. Next, the Germans make a point of being polite to everyone. No matter how many fool questions Americans ask them, they al¬ways answer with a smile. They are obliging, courte¬ous, and go out of their way to do things for you.
The French are the exact opposite. They are stupid, inefficient, and grumble at every tip you give them. When I say the Germans are clever, I mean this. They attract the tourists here, and then treat them with respect and great hospitality. If there should ever be another war between France and Germany alone, my sympathies would certainly be with the Germans. They are not trying to cheat you every five minutes of the day like the French.
After breakfast this morning, the Manager of the American Express gave us a young German guide of thirty who spoke very good English. He went with us on an automobile tour of the city. Never in my life have I seen a more beautiful city. I say this with all due respect to Brussels. Hamburg hasn’t the old cathe¬drals, but it has the most wonderful residential dis¬trict you can imagine; one big house after another, with magnificent lawns and flower gardens.
In the middle of the city is Lake Alster, and the residences on one side overlook the lake, and the city beyond. The parks and roads are as beautiful as I’ve ever seen.
I asked our guide how the Germans could afford to keep up such magnificent places, and he said that these people were not poor; that when the mark fell, they had a great deal of their money in Dutch guilders and American dollars.
Hamburg is far from a starving city. On all sides one sees prosperity, and hard working people. As our guide said when he told us he disliked working fifteen and sixteen hours a day, as he was doing: “Well, it’s my task, and I’ve got to do it. If I quit, there are ten other fellows who will jump at the chance to take my place.” He was a most interesting chap to talk to. His ambition is to go over to the States and make money. He was shot twice in the war while operating a machine gun. He says the German people dislike only the French; that they have no hatred for anyone else; that they don’t want the Kaiser back; and that they all like Hindenburg. As he said, “Hindenburg rose with us and fell with us, and he’ll rise with us again.”
After a tour of the town, we went to the docks, where we took an elevator, went down about 200 feet, and crossed under the river through a tunnel. It was a beautiful piece of engineering. Horses and wagons, autos, and pedestrians all use the tunnel.
By this time it was two o’clock, so we left our guide at the American Express Office, and went back to the hotel for lunch.
In the afternoon we called on the Manager of Swift & Company here, but he couldn’t suggest much, for we had already seen all there was to see.
John and I went on a walking tour of the shops, made a few purchases, then came back to the hotel and packed our bags. We have secured tickets to fly to Berlin in the morning, so send our luggage by train tonight. The rate by air is only 50 marks a person, whereas by train it is 40, a difference of only $2.50. The rate from Berlin to London is 160 marks, and it takes eight hours. By train the rate is 158 marks, only fifty cents less, and it takes 24 hours, three times as long.
Have spent all this evening catching up on my diary. When I once get up to date, am never going to get behind again.

Berlin, Germany
Thursday, August 20th, 1925.

Last night I told the waiter we wanted breakfast at 7:30 A.M. sharp. At exactly 7:28 A.M. the table was set, and breakfast ready, waiting. That’s the Germans for you! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Leaving the hotel about eight o’clock, we walked down town to where the bus was to leave for the flying field. It took us about forty-five minutes to reach the planes, where I took a few movies. Promptly at 9:30, we took off in a metal German monoplane. It was John’s very first flight, and my first in a monoplane. Our fellow passengers had canceled their reservations at the last minute, so that John, Ed and I had the plane to ourselves.
We were soon flying along about 500 meters up in the air. The first part of the trip was very smooth, but later on we ran into a few air pockets. Poor Ed was just about ready to throw in the sponge when we landed. The flight had taken about two hours, and was most enjoyable. I must say that I like the monoplane better than the biplane. The Germans use the monoplane exclusively, and it seems much steadier and faster to me.
The Adlon Hotel, where we are staying, is as nice a hotel as I’ve ever seen. Again we found a hotel full of the most courteous servants you can imagine. Our rooms overlook a beautiful court, at the bottom of which are flower gardens and pools of fish. After dumping our luggage in our rooms, we rushed down to the American Express, expecting to find stacks of mail. We were a pretty disappointed crew when we got back to the hotel half an hour later.
It didn’t take me long to find out one thing, and that is that the Germans make the best beer I’ve ever tasted.
After lunch, I dashed around Berlin with John, trying to locate my movie film which I had developed in London and sent over here. I finally found it at the Customs Office. I was rather amazed that the pictures were so good. They are rather uninteresting, being merely views of London, for I took them more or less as an experiment. On the whole, it looks as though I might have pretty good luck.
Honestly! John makes me laugh. He goes up to a Ger¬man and says: “Can you speak English?” “Nein,” says the German. Then John starts in every slowly as though that would help matters, “Well, what time does the next bus leave?” Of course the German can’t understand a word. John does this regularly a hundred times a day. Or he will ask some newspaper boy who can’t understand a word where the post office is. One time in Amsterdam, John went up to a man selling ice cream, and not being able to make him under¬stand what he wanted, John said, “Well, no soup,” and walked off. The poor guy will probably ask some friend what “No soup” means.
The shops in Berlin are every bit as nice as the ones in Paris. The jewelry is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I saw a hundred things I’d like to buy. The city itself is a lot like Hamburg, having very wide streets and massive stone buildings. Met a Mr. Stuart, who was on the Majestic coming over. He is from New York, a partner in the firm of Stuart, Jones & Cooke, Engineers, and is a most interesting fellow.
Had dinner at the hotel and then went to a stupid, German movie. It was a war story, and they managed to get off a couple of dirty digs at the French. Came back, boxed a lit¬tle, and went to bed.

Berlin, Germany
Friday, August 21st, 1925.

It was almost noon before we got up today. The or¬chestra downstairs last night played until about one o’clock, and sleeping before they stopped was impossible.
We had coffee and rolls at a little restaurant, and then went to the American Express, where we got some useful information. I was going to try to make arrangements to fly to Moscow. It would take about 14 1/2 hours by air and about four or five days by train. However, I learned that it would take from three to six weeks to get a visa, and that it would be very difficult to obtain, so I decided to give it up.
Had lunch at the Adlon Hotel, where we are staying, and then took a trip on a sightseeing bus. Berlin is magnifi¬cent. There are hundreds of town halls, museums, statues, churches, and government buildings. One old church was built in 1292.
One of the outstanding features is the park system. Never have I seen such extensive or beautiful parks.
“Unter den Linden” is the main street, and is famous the world over for its grandeur.
The residential section is also very nice, but nothing like Hamburg.
We saw the magnificent place where the Kaiser lived when in Berlin. His chief home was at Potsdam, about fif¬teen miles or so from here. We are going out there tomorrow.
Had a great dinner at some attractive restaurant, and then went to see “Paligiacci” at the opera house. It was sung in German, and the house was packed. It was really very good, and we all enjoyed it.

Potsdam, Germany
Saturday, August 22nd, 1925.

Went out to Potsdam this morning by train. It is only about an hour’s ride from Berlin. Just before we got off, a German woman next to Ed began yelling at us as though we were murdering her. Of course we couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but we finally gathered that she was objecting to our putting our feet on the bench in front of us. She was most aggravating. We had our feet on a wooden bench in the third class compartment, and she wasn’t even sitting on the same bench. She knew we were Americans, and I guess it just made her mad. She sputtered away at us for five minutes. I’d have given anything to have known how to say mind your own business in German. Instead, we were helpless. None of us could say a thing. John wanted to tell her that he guessed she wasn’t so high hat in 1918, but it was quite useless.
When we arrived at Potsdam, we hired a guide and car, and set out to see the city. Beyond the slightest doubt I have never seen, and never expect to see, anything so beautiful or so magnificent as the Kaiser’s palace. I’m not going to attempt a description, for I know that I could not in a hundred years do the place justice. The gardens, palaces (I say palaces, for there are a dozen or more), parks, etc. are laid out in the most perfect way.
The first place we visited was a church, where we saw the tomb of Frederick the Great, and his father, Frederick William. Frederick the Great corresponds to George Wash¬ington in the United States, and his statues literally dot the landscape.
Our next stop was at the entrance to the royal palace, where the Kaiser spent nine months of the year. The Kai¬ser lived in a marvelous palace, over 600 feet long, and one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. We walked all through it, and one room after another just made us gasp. Everything was just too gorgeous, too magnificent, to at¬tempt to describe. You must see it to appreciate it. One room, particularly, the shell room, is supposed to be the most beautiful in the world, and I certainly be¬lieve it is. The walls are made of precious stones, shells, and petrified woods. The entire trip was just a succession of “Look at that!” “Look at this!” Porcelain chandeliers; marble fire places, each of a differ¬ent color; tapestry interwoven with gold; chairs and couches made of gold cloth; tables with carved marble tops; tortoise shell, inlaid with gold and silver. And the ceiling was of gold and beautiful paintings. Well, the whole thing was gorgeous.
The Kaiser had a special building for a kitchen where he kept 25 cooks. All food was sent underground to the palace in electric cars. There were hundreds of hot houses for grapes, apricots, pears, peaches, etc, and thousands of parks and fountains. One fountain sent up a shower of water 156 feet high. The Kaiser’s grounds covered several thousand acres, and every bit of this was planned out in the most artistic manner.
To me Potsdam is one of the seven wonders of the world. I never expect to see its equal. Why the Kaiser risked losing it all for war is more than I can figure out.
The trip through the palaces took about three hours, so that when we got back to town it was time for lunch, which we had at a little restaurant. Then we caught a train back to Berlin.
I have started teaching John how to play bridge, and Ed is teaching us both how to box. My darn cold seems to hang on forever. I hope it decides to leave me soon for I am tired of it.
Spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on my di¬ary. We had dinner here at the hotel in our rooms, as all felt pretty tired to go out. Played bridge after dinner.

Berlin, Germany
Sunday, August 23rd, 1925.

Twelve o’clock found us just getting up, and by one we were eating in the main dining room. This place has cost us a pretty penny, so John sugges¬ted last night that we sleep through breakfast, and eat their cheap table d’hote lunch, which we did. It has been the most miserable day imaginable. It has simply poured all day, and is cold and clammy out now.
After lunch we read a few of their English maga¬zines. In Town Topics there was a little complimentary piece about Anna.
By this time it stopped raining, so we went out to see a little more of the city. Our first stop was at the old museum, and then the new. Both were rather petty affairs, and neither was very interest¬ing.
The National Gallery contained a few, but very few, pictures that were of interest to us. Like the one in Amsterdam, it was poorly lighted, and quite a few of the pictures were practically in the dark.
We tried to get in the Dom Cathedral, which is a colossal building of Romanesque architecture, but we couldn’t get by the Prussian guard, who was quite indignant at us for even trying. I think Ed was just about ready to baste him one, and I pity the poor guard if he had.
We had just time enough to get to the palace of William I, the grandfather of the president Kaiser, be¬fore the rain came down in torrents. After a short wait, a lady guide showed us around. There was a very nice German who could speak English, so he in¬terpreted for us what she said. The palace has very beautiful and wonderful things, but after Potts¬dam everything looks second rate. Everything in the palace is just as William I left it, for it has not been used since he used it. There were at least one hundred different gifts from Russia. Evidently the Russians were afraid of the Germans, or liked them very much, for our guide kept saying in German, “a Russian present.”
We managed to get a taxi, so got back to the hotel without getting soaked.
Spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on my diary. At last I am up to date, and it is a big relief.
Had dinner in our rooms, played a little bridge, and then John and I went downstairs to write letters while Ed went out for a walk.
In the writing room was a typical American family. Two young girls, who were writing letters; the husband, quite a happy-go-lucky chap of about 55, reading a magazine; and the mother, greatly upset, because their train was leaving in about an hour, and none of her family seemed the least bit concerned. She went around from one to the other, whispering so loudly everyone in the writing room could hear. I almost died laughing because she was annoying every¬one. Finally, when she came to the girl writing across the table from me and said in this loud whis¬per, “What are you going to do, write letter’s all night?” I couldn’t help laughing out loud. The girl thought it very funny also, and she and her father joined in, much to the discomfort of the mother, who felt quite embarrassed.
Ed, John, and I boxed a bit, then took a hot bath and went to bed.

Dresden, Germany
Monday, August 24th, 1925.

Got up about nine o’clock, and after packing up went down to the American Express Office. Our luck was better this time for we all got some mail. There were two cables for me about John’s opera¬tion, and a cable from Alicia dated the 11th that was two weeks reaching me. I also got letters from Anna, Faith, and Higgins, the boy I met on the Majestic coming over. I was quite excited, and very much delighted to get so much news, except for the news about John. That certainly is tough luck. I hope he is quite well by this time. I certainly pity him.
We checked most of our luggage through to Prague, so only had a suitcase apiece. Our train left at 1:22, and for about the first time we had ample time to make it. We bought some crackers and fruit before we left; needless to add there was no diner. They never seem to have any conveniences like that over here. We played bridge for an hour or so, and then watched the scenery. It became much more hilly and attractive as we reached Prague.
We arrived about 4:30, and all got out at a station named Dresden. Just as the train was pull¬ing out, we learned that it was East Dresden, so jumped back on the train and rode for another ten minutes to the main station.
The Bellvue Hotel, where we are staying, is the nicest hotel in Dresden, and is a little way off the main street. We are surrounded on all sides by mu¬seums, which makes it quiet as well as convenient.
Our rooms are excellent. All German hotels seem to be comfortable.
We hired an open car, and took a drive around the city. Dresden is cut in two by the Elbe River, quite a large and rapid stream. All around Dres¬den are hills, on the tops of which are ancient castles and churches. It is really a very attrac¬tive city. We saw the royal palace and several mu-seums, all of which are beautiful.
Dresden is the capital of Saxony. There are fewer of the Prussian type of Germans here, and on the whole, we found the people polite and oblig¬ing, and far from starving. The residential sec¬tion was very nice, but as yet we’ve seen nothing to compare with Hamburg in that line.
One thing that struck me as peculiar about Dresden is the clocks in the station. The only figures on them are 12, 3, 6, and 9. All the places for the other figures are occupied by lines.
When you to get a taxi, the taxi doesn’t drive up to where you are, but the head cab man gives you a number, and you go walking out among the cab dri¬vers to find your man. ¬
We had dinner in an open terrace garden over¬looking the Elbe. It was a lovely spot in which one could have spent many hours.
After dinner we took a walk through the main street, but unfortunately all the shop windows were dark, so we couldn’t see much. Had a bite to eat at a little tea shop, and went back to the hotel to get a good night’s rest, as have a busy day ahead of us, tomorrow. I sent John Saville a cable, and mailed about a dozen post cards.

Meissen–Dresden—Prague
Tuesday, August 25th, 1925.

Today has been a very full one, but most in¬teresting. We had breakfast about eight o’clock, and packed up our stuff. We seem to have discov¬ered the best and only way to travel over here; just take one small suitcase with you when you make side, or over night trips, and check your other baggage through to big cities, like Berlin, Vienna, etc.
We left Dresden at 9:05 A.M. on a local train for Meissen, a trip of about sixteen miles. Meissen is a quaint little city, located in the hills of Saxon Switzerland. The streets are extremely nar¬row, winding and steep. Towering above the whole city is the cathedral, the finest gothic architec¬ture in Saxony. Our object in going to Meissen was to see the Royal Porcelain Manufactory, which is supposed to be the first place in Europe where china was made. (1710).
We climbed aboard a dinky, little tram, and after an unusual ten minutes ride through a maze of streets ten feet wide, we reached the factory. Our guide, fortunately, could speak a little English, and so the three of us, with a half dozen Germans, started on a tour of the plant. It was extremely interesting and fascinating to me. I’m going to make a brief outline of the process, for I might like to refer to it some time in the future. I have no guide nor reference book, so will just jot down the details as I recall them.
The process of making porcelain is a much more delicate and difficult job than I had ever imagined, and is one that requires very skilled workmen and exceptional artists. In the first place, porce¬lain is made out of a sort of dirt, or clay, called “Kaolin,” which is obtained in the neighboring districts. This kaolin is the raw material, and is allowed to dry for nine months to rid it of air bubbles. Then feldspar and quartz are added, and the material goes through another nine months period of waiting, when it is ready to be used. First it is put into molds and heated in a furnace at about 100 c. The material is then pounded to get out air bubbles, shaped into different forms, and the outline of a pattern or design is put on with char¬coal. Then it is baked a second time, and reshaped. During this baking process the material shrinks one ¬sixth in size, and consequently there is a 25 per¬cent loss of material in breakage. After several different bakings, the material is glazed, and the designs painted on, after which another process puts on a sort of shellac over the paint. Some of the more precious pieces, on which gold designs are painted, have to be baked and rebaked as many as six times. The fancy pieces have as many as 28 or more separate parts. For example, a man’s arms and legs are separate parts cleverly cemented together and glazed over. Pieces like that are hollow, and there is a very clever device for making them hollow.
The artists’ room, where the painting is done, was extraordinarily fascinating. I have never seen such beautiful colors nor workmanship. It is all done by hand, and many of the delicate pieces, like roses and other flowers, are entirely hand made.
The factory itself is quite large, and after see¬ing the manufacturing, we were shown into the exhibit room, where I saw the most wonderful china I have ever seen. Some of the pieces were simply marvelous. The colors and the delicacy of the figures are indescribable. In the show room, where people can make purchases, I saw two little dogs like Father has in the living room. I priced them and they were 98 marks apiece; that is, a little less than $25.00 apiece. I wondered how much more he paid for them. There were a hundred different things I wanted to buy, but china is the last thing I can carry around the world with me, and sending things home from here is a terrible undertaking, so I left the porcelain factory as rich as I entered, or I should say, I left it no poorer.
We had lunch at the depot, and it tasted good even though there was an inch of grease on the soup.
On our return to Dresden, we went at once to the “Zwinger,” where we entered the picture gallery, the best in Germany, 2nd one of the finest collections in the world. Persona11y, I never took such a very great interest in pictures before, but now I have become a perfect fiend. Over here one sees such marvelous things that he can’t help but become crazy about them. Rembrandt’s pictures here were excellent. Some of the other famous painters who are well represented here in the Dresden gallery are Remi, Giorgione, Ra¬phael, Rubens, Titian, Van Dyck, and Van Delft. My favorites of that group are, first and way above all, Raphael, then Van Dyck and Titian. Hals is good, as are other pupils of Rembrandt, but what really im¬pressed me so much about the Dresden ga1lery is the fact that here I saw, beyond the slightest doubt, the most wonderful picture I have ever seen. Personally, I don’t think there can be another in the world to compare with it. That picture is Raphael’s “Madonna di San Sisto,” a post card of which I am enclosing. It would be impossible to describe. One must see it to appreciate it. I was simply amazed when I saw it. I sat down and stared at it for a half hour. Everyone talked in whispers as though he fully realized how sacred it is. I looked at it as long as I could, and when my eyes began to fill with tears, I had to get up and leave. I have never known anything that could touch a person more deeply than that picture. (Please keep the post card, Dad).
We had tea at the Bellevue Hotel, and then went to the station to take the five o’ clock train for Prague. We got seats in a compartment with an Ameri¬can from Rockford, Illinois, who was quite sure he owned all of the States, but we took him down a few pegs, and he was much more congenial when we got through with him.
The ride along the Elbe River was perfectly beau¬tiful. The country about is quite mountainous, and rather thickly wooded. After an hour or so, we reached the Czechoslovakia border. Our letter to the President was all we needed to show the custom official, who passed us right by with a smile, while he proceeded to turn inside out the bag of some poor German, who had a box of cigars and a pound of tea.
It was now time for dinner, so we made our way to the dining car, where we were able to obtain seats, and then had to wait half an hour before the dining car was filled. They won’t serve anything until every place is taken, and then, of course, everyone gets the same table d’hote meal. They did give us some black stale bread to chew away at, but I couldn’t make it. You never get butter without fighting for it, and they had no water of any kind. I was fortunate enough to get some Pilsner beer before they ran out of that. Peo¬ple who came in later, for the second shift, couldn’t get any liquid except straight Scotch, or liquors. The meal itself wasn’t bad, but we couldn’t for the life of us make the waiter understand that we wanted sugar for the coffee. First he brought us more cream, then salt, and when he came back the third time with red pepper, we were about ready to kill him. Czechoslovakian is absolutely impossible. When I hear French now, it seems almost as easy to understand as English.
There was a washout on the tracks on the way to Prague, so we arrived three hours late, about midnight. Seven hours for a four hour scheduled trip is really doing quite well over here. At first we couldn’t get rooms at the hotel at all, and again our letter to the President procured for us a nice double room and bath, and a single room for Ed. Well this has been a long day. Had a bite to eat when landed here. Must say I am not particularly impressed with Prague, and so far my first impressions have been fairly accurate.

Prague
Wednesday, August 26th, 1925.

We were quite late getting started this morning, as we were rather tired out from yesterday’s trip.
When we finished an ice cold breakfast, we caught a cab and told the driver to take us to the palace, called “Hradcany,” in Czechoslovakia. It is quite a large affair located on a hill on the side of the river opposite the business district of the city. From the hill it is possible to get a splendid view of the whole city of Prague. The palace is tremendous in size, and is cut up into numerous courts. After a little inquiring, we found the President’s apart¬ments, and presented our letters. Unfortunately, both the President and Prime Minister were out of town, and would not be back until Monday. However, we talked to the Secretary to the President, who was ex¬tremely nice to us. He told us all that we should see, and said he would send the President’s car to our hotel (the Passage) at 3:30 to drive us into the coun¬try to see a famous castle built by Charles IV of Austria.
After leaving the palace, we caught a train back to the main part of the city, and had a delicious lunch at the Blue Star Hotel.
Prague we did not find very interesting. Czecho¬slovakian is impossible to understand. Besides, the people are rather dumb and unintelligent, the shops are only second rate, and everything very backward.
Our drive to the Castle of Karlstejn was very nice. The country is hilly and attractive, even though the soil is a little like red clay, which does not look as though it would be very fertile. On the ride of an hour and a half to the castle, over wretched roads, I noticed several peculiar things. First of all, there are no fences of any sort, and the cattle and geese, of which there are thousands, are kept off other people’s land by little children, who are con¬tinually watching them. All the women work, and it seems they do the hard manual labor in the fields while the men drive oxen or sit in wagons. Evidently we got right back in the country, off the beaten path, for we did not pass any other automobiles, and the peasants stared at us as though we were an unusual sight. The villages in which the people live were rather shabby and ill kept. Plaster had fallen off the walls, and the brick walls were half in ruins. I guess it is about all these people can do to make a living. There were many fields full of sugar beets, and some corn which looked very poor to me. The castle of Karlstejn is a very imposing structure. It is perched on top of an enormous rock 200 feet high, and certainly must have been a great place of safety in olden days. It was built in 1348 by Charles IV of Austria as a stronghold for the royal jewels and papers of state, as well as for a place of worship. From the outside, it is a typical, old medieval castle with drawbridges, moats, and all that sort of thing.
We got a guide, and spent a couple of hours look¬ing about the castle. There are many antiques, such as old locks, weapons of defense, and clothes. There is also a wonderful collection of portraits of old Austrian royalty. There are several chapels, each beautifully decorated, with carved wooden benches, and old mural paintings. In some places the walls were five meters thick (about fifteen feet), and the whole castle has an air of defiance to possible invaders.
Our ride back to Prague, like our trip out, was in pouring rain, but our big limousine was very com¬fortable. We arrived in the city about eight o’clock, and had dinner at the hotel, after which we wrote let¬ters and played the victrola.
I’m afraid I am making this diary too detailed, but guess it is better to write too much than not enough. .
One thing about Holland I forgot to include, that I want to remember. I’ll jot it down here. In the telephone system there are no exchanges like “Franklin,” “Monroe,” or “Superior.” Instead, they just add more figures. For instance, one man’s telephone number on an advertisement had nine figures, 946536442. Now just imagine how that would work out in the States. Another thing, they seem to run all their words together. Instead of saying Coffee House, they spell it all together. One word we noticed was this: ¬”Reisegepackwersicherung,” 23 letters. Just try to pronounce it.

Prague – Vienna
Thursday, August 27th, 1925.

We had a fairly early breakfast, and were at the palace by nine o’ clock. Yesterday the Secretary to the President asked us to be on hand at that time to do a little sight seeing. When we arrived, we were met by the Secretary and a French guide who was to show us about.¬
Most of the government buildings, palaces, and old historic places are located near the main palace where the President lives, so we set out on foot.
Our first stop was at an old church, built in the 14th century. Here we saw, among many antiques, a sort of crown which had 6,220 diamonds, some of them quite good size. Then we made a regular tour of the government buildings. The three most impressive things I saw were: first, the Spanish room, which is tremendous in size, and perfectly magnificent, be¬ing finished in gold and white, with hundreds of mirrors; second, an ancient library containing many first editions, and curiously bound books; third, the bones of a half dozen nobles of Austria that were being dug up to put in the foundations of a new building. Oh, there were a hundred other things, but none of them were particularly interesting, and were sort of second rate, compared with other things we had already seen.
By twelve o’clock, we had done most of our sight seeing, so called on Sir George Clark, the British Am¬bassador. His quarters, from the outside, are rather mediocre looking, but inside everything seemed palatial. He has a garden overlooking the whole city, from which one gets a splendid view. He is a typical Englishman in appearance and conversation, but far above the average in personality and intelligence. I wonder why England wastes such fine men on a little coun¬try like Czechoslovkia. As far as I can figure out, it shows one of two things: England has designs on Czechoslovakia, or it illustrates the high caliber of the British Foreign Service Department. He invited us to dinner, but we had to decline, as intended to leave for Vienna about four o’clock.
Had lunch at the Passage Hotel: where we are stay¬ing, and packed up our belongings. I had my black leather suitcase handle fixed, for it had busted.
Those suitcases I got at Taylor’s are strong enough, but the locks are lousy; have had to buy two straps to hold them together.
We went around to the bank and bickered over the exchange rate to get a fair deal in changing some Czechoslovakian money into Austrian shillings. From there rushed to the station and caught the train for Vienna.
As John says, “Prague is lousy.” I must agree with him to a certain extent. The p1ace is very old, and while once it might have been very gay, it has cer¬tainly fallen into decay. It is rather depressing for you get the sort of feeling one gets in a cemetery. Prague at the height of its glory must have been a won¬derful city, but now: it is only a shadow of its former self.
The train ride to Vienna was through very pretty, hilly country — something like Oregon, only much smaller trees. We had a very nice dinner in spite of everything, and played bridge for a couple of hours after dinner. The time passed very quickly, and we were in Vienna at about 11:30 P.M. before we realized it.
I have to laugh about the last three customs peo¬ple, who have picked out John’s bag to inspect, and never opened mine. John says the next time he is going to say “Cigars,” and point to my bag.
I like Vienna. My first impression is excellent. It was a ride of a mile or two to the Hotel Bristol, where we were first told there were no rooms. As a result of our dashing right up here from the station, we got splendid rooms in the Annex — bath, bedroom and sitting room. The last was unnecessary, but we had to take this or nothing. About ten people right back of us didn’t get a thing — well, hardly that, for a couple of them got single rooms without baths.
You’ve never seen so many girls in your life as there are here. It makes Paris look like a monk’s quarters. Here they walk right up on the street and take your arm. But believe me, I steer clear of them. They sit out on the benches in front of the hotel, and unless you start to run when you come out, there will be a couple right after you. One thing I will say for them is that they certainly have it all over the French women so far as looks are concerned, and they dress very attractively. They seem to be just as bold, and that’s saying a lot.
Well, good night. I am dead tired, and my cold re¬fuses to leave me.

Vienna
Friday, August 28th, 1925.

We had intended to take the ten o’clock sight seeing bus, but felt pretty tired after such a hard day on Thursday, so decided to take a good rest. We got up about eleven o’clock, and went down to Cook’s to get some mail. We were all rather lucky. A cable from Father just reached me here after having been all over Europe. There were several letters for me, and I tell you it was mighty nice to get some news from home. You certainly appreciate it over here. At the American Express Agent’s office here, I got a letter from Scytha, and we have more or less agreed to meet at Vienna about September 4 or 5. It will be awfully nice to see her, and I am looking forward to it.
We got a cab and drove about the city a bit before lunch. John met Mr. and Mrs. Camp, who are also staying at the Bristol Hotel. They were on the North Cape cruise of the Arcadian. We had a late lunch at the hotel, and John ran into a girl who was on the same cruise. Of course this girl had two friends, so John at once arranged a theater party for the evening.
By this time our sight seeing bus was ready to leave. We were just in time to get the last three ¬ seats. The trip around the city lasted three hours, and was most interesting. The Ringstrasse is the main street, and is supposed to be the most beautiful street in all Europe. It would be impossible, as well as uninteresting, to list all of the public and govern¬ment buildings. There are hundreds of them. Vienna is really a very beautiful city, and much more active and alive than Prague. The shops have very attractive things, like the shops in Berlin. In one way I feel much more at home here in Vienna than in any place I’ve been since I left New York.
On our tour about the city, we passed thousands of people lined up on the edge of the street, and I learned upon inquiry that one of the famous Austrian generals of the late war had just died, and these people were wait¬ing for the funeral train.
By far the most interesting thing on the tour was the “Schonbrumn” the imperial country castle of the late Emperor. It was originally quite a distance from the city, which has now grown up all around it. The castle or chateau is enormous in size, 1,441 rooms, including 140 different kitchens. I am enclosing sev¬eral post cards of it, which fail to show two long, low extensions running perpendicularly out on the other side of the building. The castle itself is rather decrepit looking, but the gardens are magnificent, and perfectly kept up. The most striking thing one no¬tices is the line of trees running along each side of the paths. The trees are cut off and trimmed just like hedges, as the post card illustrates, and are from 40 to 50 feet high. The post cards fail to show the colors of the different flowers, which are very attrac¬tive. From the main garden, paths run in all direc¬tions to different fountains, lakes or statues. One leads to a zoological garden, which is one of the best I have ever seen. The lions here look pretty fero¬cious, and I’m beginning to think Sir George Clark, the British Ambassador at Czechoslovakia, was right when he said; “It is all right for you fellows who are young and brave to use a 375, but, believe me, when I shoot lions, I carry a 450 or 475.” Then he went on to tell us about how big lions looked when they were charging you, and how a 375 would only stop them if you hit them in the right place. I’m sort of tempted to write to London to send a 475 to Nairobi as well as a 375. But John bought a 475, and I guess that will do for the two of us.
Well, getting back to the point. The castle was really marvelous, but to my mind neither it nor the gar¬dens can touch Potsdam.
Got back to the hotel about six, and dressed for the theatre, which begins at 7:30 p.m. People all eat after the theatre, so only had a little tea before leav¬ing. If you want to waste your time over here, go to the theatre. We saw a musical comedy, which was abso¬lutely the poorest excuse for a show I’ve ever seen. The hero was about 40, very fat, with one of those bowl effect hair cuts. The heroine was at least 50, even fatter than the hero, and as graceful in her movements as a cow. The music was the only thing that was at all good. We all were thoroughly fed up at the end of the second act. From the theatre we went to a cabaret. When we arrived, we were shown to a sort of private room on a terrace over¬looking all the rest of the people. The cabaret enter¬tainment wasn’t over when we arrived, so listened to a comedian crack some jokes. Of course we didn’t under¬stand a word. After about ten minutes, it was so annoying sitting there with everyone around you roaring, that we began to talk. We got to talking louder and louder to make ourselves heard above the din until finally someone said, “Shhh,” very loudly. This attracted everyone’s attention to us, including that of the comedian, who then made a few wise cracks about our being English and not being able to understand what he said. He was right, for we couldn’t, but it was rather embarrassing, with everyone in the whole cabaret laughing and looking at us. Ed rather resented it, and would have gone up to the comedian, and asked him to explain what he said. ¬However, I am sure it was all in fun, and it didn’t worry me in the least. After the cabaret entertainment, we danced a bit, and then went back to the hotel. It really was a very nice evening, even if the show was terrible. There was a good orchestra at the cabaret, and we all enjoyed ourselves.
Vienna
Saturday, August 29th, 1925.

It was, quite late again when we arose, for we didn’t get to bed last night until about two. Ed went to Cook’s for the mail, and I was more than happy when he brought me a long letter from Father, dated August 15, the same date as the cable I received yes¬terday. He also brought me a couple of other let¬ters. I was certainly the lucky one today.
We all took a long walk about town, and had lunch at the hotel. Then we hired an English speaking guide and went to see a few sights we missed yesterday.
One of the most interesting places was the arsenal, where we saw the car, and uniform the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria was wearing when he was shot in Serbia. I’m enclosing a picture of the car and the bullet holes. As John says, this postcard shows what started the whole mess over here. The uniform is a blue coat with black trousers having red stripes. The coat is stained with blood, and shows where the bullets entered. The Arch¬duke was actually killed by a bullet that entered his neck just below the collar. A second shot went through his breast, but wasn’t the fatal one. Over his heart, on the uniform, is a long cut which the doctors made with a sword in order to quickly find the wound. In addition, the arsenal contained a lot of war pictures, and all types of guns and weapons of defense used by Austria.
Our second stop was at the private home or palace of Prince Lichstein (clear stone). The Prince is about 86 years of age, and very wealthy. He still lives at this palace, but allows visitors to see it. In my opinion, it ranks among the best I have seen. It isn’t as large by any means as Potsdam, but in one way it is much more homelike, and seems like an ideal place to live. One room particularly is the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen. The chandelier is tremendous, and is all gilded. There are little boys and angels, in a dozen or more designs, holding the light pictures. The next most impressive thing was the floor. You can’t imagine how beautiful the inlay is. The patterns are very in¬tricate and fascinating, in a way just like lace. Some of the wood is much darker than the rest, which makes it sort of stand out. Besides all this, we saw priceless vases, and many other marvelous gifts from kings and emperors all over the world.
From the palace we sent to a sort of drinking garden, where the Austrian people go on Sunday afternoons. A walk back to the hotel finished our sight seeing for the day. John, Ed, and I boxed for a bit, then took hot baths, and had dinner at the hotel. Spent the evening writing on our diaries. Believe me, it is a bigger job than one would think.
We are planning to go to Budapest Monday by boat, spend Tuesday there, and return to Vienna Wednesday morning by airplane. We catch a train that night for Venice, where we arrive Thursday at two P.M.

Vienna
Sunday, August 30th, 1925.

Either the beds are very comfortable here in Vienna, or we are a lot of lazy bums, for it was after twelve before we got up. As it turned out, it was just as well, for Sundays are certainly dead over here. All the picture galleries, museums, etc. are closed. John was feeling pretty 1ow, so stayed in the room most of the day. Ed and I took a long walk, and visited one of the old churches. Mass was going on at the time, and it was quite interesting to watch the people go in and out. They wash their hands at a little fountain when they enter and when they leave the church
It is rather boring to walk around the town on Sun¬day, for all of the shop windows are covered with big pieces of sheet iron, so that you can’t see a thing.
We had tea at the hotel, and made arrangements about taking the early boat in the morning for Budapest. Our waiter assured us that, as the river was flooded, we wouldn’t be able to see a thing. I couldn’t figure out how a flooded river could spoil the scenery, so decided to risk it. A trip down the Danube sounds well anyway.
Ed and I boxed a bit, and I got a couple of good cracks in the face. We had dinner at the hotel, and spent the evening packing our stuff and writing. Ed is going by train, as the boat leaves at eight o’clock and takes twelve hours, and he had to get a Hungarian vise.
Went to bed early as had to get up and six A.M.

Danube River- Budapest
Monday, August 31st, 1925.

By 6:30 A.M. we were all dressed, packed, and eating breakfast. The waiter was extremely comical this morning, and as John said, he was evidently looking out for our comfort, for he told us there were a lot of “sick ones” in Budapest. When we left the hotel, there was a line of porters, maids and valets about a block long, all bowing to us and expecting tips.
On arrival at the dock, where we were to get the river boat for Budapest, we met Ed with the tickets. The boat was a typical paddle wheeler, and not as uncomforta¬ble as one might imagine. The current in the Danube was unbelievable. The water was flowing by at terrific speed, and was as muddy as could be. For some reason the river is very high, and has overflowed all the sur-rounding country.
The boat left promptly at eight. It had a smoke¬stack that could be pulled down when we came to a bridge, and, believe me, it was necessary, for we cleared the first bridge, with smokestack and all down, by less than six inches. I didn’t think we could make it at all, and if the river had been a few inches higher, there wouldn’t have been a chance.
John and I spent the morning writing and gossiping. The ride on the river wasn’t half bad. I thought of that song “The Blue Danube Blues.” Believe me, there wasn’t any blue Danube today. The water looked to me just like the water in the Chicago River. We had lunch about noon. Lordy, what a meal! It tasted pretty bad, but the tasting was like heaven compared with the after effect. Talk about your Hungarian goulash! As John says: “No sir, Boss, don’t mess with me.”
In the afternoon we got into much hillier country. On the top of every little mountain was a mound of ruins. The people who lived here centuries ago had to have good defenses against their enemies the Turks. It was very interesting; nothing very modern, just one mass of decayed and shattering buildings, forts and castles. The little villages were stirring with people, but even they looked rather antique. Many of the people wore the native Hungarian gypsy costumes. Of all the countries we have seen so far, this looks the poorest. It is rather depressing for the people seem to appreciate that their day is over. Hungary is only a little country now of about 32,000 square miles, about one-fifth the size of Colorado, with no seaport. They are absolutely hemmed in. The land is over crowded, the people seem to have given up hope, and to be sitting around waiting for the end. No wonder they all look to America as the greatest place in the world, and I’m here to tell you that they are right. This trip abroad has put more patriotism into me than I could get in ten years in the States. I certainly would fight to the last for America; that is, to keep it the way it is.
Well, that is a little beside the point. We tried some tea, but both John and I had indigestion so bad we had to call a halt and go on deck. No one on the boat could speak any English. When a person says, “Parlez-vous Francais, Monsieur,” I look up with a sigh of relief and say, “Oui, Monsieur, que voulez-vous?” French seems very easy after hearing a little Hungarian.
We decided not to risk dinner, but to wait until we arrived at Budapest.
It was a little after eight when we swung around a low, rolling mountain, and got our first view of Buda¬pest. I must say it was beautiful. There were thou¬sands of flickering lights over the sides of the moun¬tains, and a full moon was just appearing above the horizon, sending a shower of silvery light across the Danube. It was perfectly marvelous. We passed one enormous building, with a dozen or more spires towering into the sky. I learned later that this was the House of Parliament.
Ed, who had come by train because he found it necessary to get a Hungarian visa, had just arrived when we got to the Grand Hotel Hungaria. Our rooms cost us 356,000 krones a day. This money system is ridicu¬lous. I asked the porter how much to tip the man who carried my bags, and he said, “Oh, about 6,000 or 8,000.” (about seven cents.) The rooms are quite nice, very large and comfortab1e. Had a rather poor dinner down¬stairs. This hotel was the headquarters of the Soviet Government when it was in power here directly after the war, before the Republic was declared.
Have more to write about, but will wait until tomorrow.
Took a walk, and then went to bed. There is a sort of broad walk promenade along the river.