The Henson Journals

[171]

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Friday, November 1st, 1912. New York.

O Almighty God, who hast knit together thine elect in one communion & fellowship, in the mystical body of thy Son Christ our Lord: Grant us grace so to follow thy blessed Saints in all virtuous & godly living, that we may come to those unspeakable joys, which thou has prepared for them that unfeignedly love thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Our rest last night was broken by the arrival of a considerable budget of letters from home. We were both peacefully sleeping when we were knocked up to take in our post. There came also a telegram from the Dean, which may, perhaps, indicate that my appointment has appeared in the 'Times'. It ran thus: 'Brotherly congratulations blended with real sorrow'. It appears that Dean Kitchin died on October 12th: so that the Prime Minister has not made much delay in filling up the vacancy. The burial wd hardly have taken place before the 16th or 17th: & it is thought decent to let things be until that event has happened.

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{Stock's address at Cambridge, 28 Trumpington St.}

Mrs Fisher called to shew us her children – a boy & a girl – & to take Ella out for that detestable folly known as 'shopping'.

Prof. Ed. Moore also called to make sure that we understood our route correctly. It appears that he left the budget of letters himself.

Then, the ladies having departed, Mr Ireland interviewed me for more than an hour. He is a very superior variety of journalist, is evidently something of an authority on the subject of native labour. I delivered with fatuous courage opinions on the Putumayo question, on the likeness between Roosevelt Gladstone, on American education, on the American people generally, on Female suffrage, on several other inflaming topics.

President Richmond is in the Hotel, persuaded us to join him at the play tonight. He took me to see the Twentieth Club, which seems to be a kind of American Athenaeum.

Then we went by the subway to the Cathedral, and there attended Evensong. I read the 2nd lesson, signed my name in the Church book at Grosvenor's request, as Dean–designate of Durham. He said that my appointment had appeared in the papers.

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We dined with President Richmond, then all of us went together to the theatre saw a humourous play of Bernard Shaw, "Fanny's first Play". It is of course full of clever witticisms, but there is no intelligible meaning or drift in it: the effect of such plays must be wholly bad. Besides, there were a good many offensive things in it. The illuminated signs in the streets make a wonderful show, bizarre, brilliant, infinitely vulgar. I wondered which was the most debasing – the play inside or the street outside. Neither could be other than debasing. The frightful speed with which this place works plays: the vehement clamour of its rushing, reduce me to a sort of dazed imbecility. I feel like a rabbit in a snake's cage in the zoo – no way of escape, a horrible kind of fascination drawing me to death. The streets of New York are like the newspapers in which the headlines correspond to the illuminated signs – all insolently false. The rain has clothed everything in discomfort.

I wrote to Frank, of whose health ill accounts came in the letters from Mother Marion. Also I wrote a short letter to Marion.

I expounded to President Richmond my question, why do Americans, a practical efficient people, adopt the preposterous practice of having every item of breakfast served by a domestic – generally the only one in the house?

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Issues and controversies: Putumayo; female suffrage