“My dear sir,” said the Englishman, dropping his single eye-glass in his emotion, “you don’t understand; this is the beastly work of the Russian Government. See!” and he handed me the paper. I glanced at the damaged pages, and observed that the cuttings had been made in articles about Russia. The job had been neatly done. The censor had evidently read everything in the paper concerning Russia, and had scissored out all the passages that were uncomplimentary. The rest of the context was allowed to stand.
“And, to make it worse,” said the Englishman, “the paper was detained in the post-office here five days at least. There’s the original wrapper with the London post-mark.”
“Yes, I see. The censor wanted to do his work thoroughly. He is more conscientious than most public officials, I should say.”
“Conscientious, indeed! It was done for the express purpose of annoying an Englishman.”
I was about to reply that perhaps the parts of the articles cut away had been written for the express purpose of annoying the Russians, but I forbore.
“And here is another style of mutilation,” he continued, handing me a copy of another London paper. “What do you say to that?”
He opened a sheet which showed at intervals large square or oblong patches, apparently a mixture of lampblack and oil applied by a coarse handstamp. The reading-matter beneath was effectually obliterated. These daubs looked like woodcuts badly printed.
“An illustrated paper?” I said, playfully. “Anyhow, this kind of cuts is better than the other; you get your paper whole, you see,” and I smiled.
The Englishman felt hurt by my frivolous treatment of his grievance. “It doesn’t seem to strike you exactly as it does me,” said he; “and yet, I should think that, being an American, you—”