A great change is taking place in Europe, in its conception of the American character. Hitherto France has known the American tourist, and the uprooted American who lived there in preference to his own country. Now France is learning something about the American man in his workaday, playaday, fighting and loving, living and dying sublimity. She has rubbed her eyes as she watched him, wondering if she were awake. She has recognized a new type. She does not understand it yet, but she wants to understand it. There is a new and disturbing warmth now at the heart of France for this new brother from across the seas. She sees (for she is subtle) the crudity of him as measured by her more artificial standards. But she sees also the grandeur and chivalry of him, as compared with her old idea of the foreigner. Ah, America and Americans! You are on trial now in the courts of the world’s judgment as you have never been before. My heart is aglow as I see our boys go out into the larger world, carrying with them the clear outdoor spirit of the American plains and woodlands. When I see the eyes of the sublime and pain-chastened French grow deep and warm as they rest upon our boys, I am so proud of them! I forget that I also am uprooted, having left the land of my birth for the regions beyond death. In the councils at the ending of the war and after the war, may the modesty of greatness restrain America from any suggestion to France or England that she saved them from destruction. I clasp my hands--to you they would be shadowy hands--together with excess of emotion, as I pray for the guidance of America in the councils that are to come. Modesty--let that be the watchword. The soul of France is aflame with gratitude, the soul of France is aflame with love. The hearts of the French people in the night grow warm and their eyes grow wet as they whisper to themselves, “Les Américains! Les Américains!” Oh, be mindful of the love you have won! I would die all over again a thousand times rather than see my Americans disappoint their French brethren in this crisis of the world’s life. You wonder why I say nothing of England? Ah! England knows you already. England has known you long. You cannot surprise England. She knows you as the mother knows her son or daughter; but to the French you are a mystery, a mystery that has come to help, an angel in a khaki shirt and a slouch hat and a strange voice. Don’t you understand? She prays for you. She would pray to you if she were not so shy in her love. There is a new strange wonder in her eyes, and a sweet thrill all over her. Oh, exalt the brotherhood of nations--that never before realized ideal! You cannot take away from a boy who has grown up in a free world the deep-rooted idea that America is and ever must be free. In years gone by the sons of this soil have died for freedom, freedom for themselves, freedom for the black man. Now they fight and die for the freedom of the world.