the workingmen. And, in 1907, sixteen years after his first entrance into Parliament, he returned to Parliament from the district of Valassko as leader of a practical political enterprise which he had created out of the world of books and pictures and poems and statistics and working-class manifestoes and medieval religious wars and modern novels and religion and music. He boldly said:

"Politics is the sciences and the arts."

And he made his saying good. He continued to represent Valassko in Parliament without opposition. The Social Democrats would run a candidate against him for form's sake; because their constitution demanded it. But there was no genuine opposition. His place in politics was uncontested and secure. He began to be called "the conscience of Bohemia."

And the war came.

At once the leaders of various political parties in Bohemia met together to choose one of their number to go into the countries of the Entente and to be the representative there of all Bohemia and of all Bohemian difficulties and aspirations. They chose Masaryk. On him the middle-class parties and the working-class parties, confident of his fairness, could unite. And he got across the frontier, with one of his daughters, and proceeded to France and to Italy and to England and began his great mission.

In the language of business, he was to "sell" Bohemia and the Bohemian idea to the Allies. In the language of present politics, he was to do Bohemian "propaganda." And he turned out to be the most successful salesman and propagandist that has appeared during the war. But he certainly did it by a method all his own.

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He would arrive at a new city-London or Paris or Washington or any other. He would settle down in a little room which at once became a study. His first task seemed to be to go out and buy some books for this study. On his table in Washington one would notice a nice fresh line of authoritative books on American history and government. also notice the complete works of Woodrow Wilson. And sitting beside them one would see a man who apparently had very little to say. His attitude was that of a person engaged in expecting somebody to say something to him.

One would

Then people would call on him, through letters of introduction, and ask him to dinner and ask other people to come in to meet him. They would come in, quite sure that they were about to be buttonholed by a revolutionary agitator and have leaflets slipped into their pockets. Through the first part of dinner they would look at Masaryk with manifest distrust.

In return Masaryk would do nothing. He would agree that the weather was wet and he would not dissent from the opinion that the Germans on the western front were pretty violent. But he had no opinions to offer on the subject of Bohemia. Bohemia had not been mentioned. His host and hostess had not mentioned it. He had not mentioned it. And it would finally become quite comfortably clear, that unless somebody asked him a definite question about Bohemia, the whole evening would pass by without any propaganda.

But it was impossible not to be inquisitive about him. He looked so unlike a dangerous person. And a lady would presently say:

"Oh, Professor Masaryk, is it true that you are condemned to death by the Austrian Government?"

And Professor Masaryk would say yes it was, and he would politely relate the circumstances and, having related them, stop. And he would look about agreeably for the next question. And it would come. It could not help coming.

To see this man was to feel and know that in him there was a great store of achievement and knowledge. But it was not a fountain. It was a mine, a sort of magnetic mine, in which you could not help digging. And people would begin to dig. They would ask him question after question. And Masaryk

would unroll the great pageant of Bohemian history and of Austro-Hungarian tyranny, point by point, but always stopping when the point which the question had drawn out was finished. And it was clear as day that everything he said about Bohemia and Austria-Hungary was said from the standpoint of the man of science, the man of scrupulous, ascertained truth.

And it would get to be late. And still Masaryk had never raised his voice above the level of a man discussing the politics of ancient Egypt. Only in his gravity, only in the perfectly tragic and therefore perfectly serene sadness which lived in his eyes, could one see the man who suffered and the nation which for five centuries has every year and every day suffered from the Austria, never better described than when it was called "assassin of the spirit.”

And at the end of the evening people would say: "Really, you must lecture about this."

And Masaryk would lecture. In England he was appointed to a chair at King's College in the University of London. He lectured there and he lectured in France and he lectured in America. He lectured among us on Bohemia. He would have a great map and a long pointer. And he would relate the history of Europe, in relation to the history of Bohemia, through all time, just exactly as if the people before

him were engaged in studying for their degree of Doctor of Philosophy. And they would not be thrilled. He did not want to thrill them. He wanted to inform them. And he succeeded. They were informed and they were convinced.

And by precisely that same method he ultimately convinced the Governments of Britain and France and Italy and the United States. In appealing to them he used their own history and their own character just as much as he used the history and character of Bohemia. And he would put footnotes to his diplomatic communications, just exactly as if he were writing a treatise in historical science.

An extraordinary instance of this habit of his occurred in one of his memoranda to our Government at Washington. It leaked out among the newspaper reporters who frequent the State Department, and it filled them with amazement. Masaryk was quite familiar, apparently with the colonial pre-revolutionary history of the United States, and he seemed to regard it as quite important for present purposes; and so, in course of showing why the United States should regard Bohemia as a good and useful ally in the world war, he delivered himself as follows:

"The history of Bohemia is permeated by the religious element, which brings us into close spiritual relationship with England (John Wyclif of England.