I seem to have been bragging a little in what I have lately written, making myself out to be an important person, with unusual gifts. That is not my intention, or my idea. The fact is that the people of the United States give any visitor who arrives with decent credentials a sense of importance, and elevate him for a while above his usual state of insignificance. They herald him with an exaggeration of his virtues, his achievements, his reputation. Any goose is made to believe himself a stately swan, by the warmth of courtesy shown toward him, by the boosting of his publicity agent, and by the genuine desire of American citizens to make a guest “feel good” with himself.
This has a strange and exhilarating effect upon the visitor. It gives him self-confidence. It actually does develop virtues in him. His goose quills actually change into something like swansdown, and his neck distinctly elongates. There is something in the very atmosphere of New York—electric, sparkling, a little intoxicating—which gives a man courage, makes him feel bigger, and not only feel bigger, but be bigger! This is no fantasy, but actual fact. In the United States I was a more distinguished person than ever I could be in England. I spoke more boldly than ever I could in England. I was rather a brave fellow for those few weeks each year, because so many people believed in my quality of character, in my intelligence, in my powers of truth-telling, whereas in England no one believes in anybody.
So I do not boast or preen myself at all when I write about the wonderful times I have had in the United States. It happens to everybody who does not go out of his way (or hers) as some do, to insult a great-hearted people, to put on “side” in American drawing-rooms, to say with an air of superiority “We don’t do that in England, you know!”
I visited many American colleges, and with solemn ceremony was initiated into the sacred brotherhood of a Greek letter society which is the highest honor that can be given to a foreign visitor by the youth of America.
In Canada—at Winnipeg—I was made a Veteran of the Great War by a gathering of old soldiers.
At Salt Lake City I lectured to 6,000 Mormons—most moral and admirable people—in their Tabernacle, and was received on the platform by a Hallelujah Chorus from sixty Mormon maidens.
In Detroit, where I began my first speech of the day at 9.30 in the morning, I spoke down a funnel on the subject of the Russian Famine, which was “broadcast” to millions of people late that night.
I traveled thousands of miles, and in every smoking carriage talked with groups of men who told me thousands of anecdotes and put me wise to every aspect of American life from the inside.
I was entertained at luncheon, dinner, and supper by the “leading citizens” of scores of cities, and made friends with numbers of charming, courteous, cultured people.