ENGLAND IN 1935
If, James Russell Lowell had been living in England] in 1935, as he was in the eighties, he would probably amend one of his most famous verses so that it would read
What is so ram as a fine day in June?
We arrived in London 29 May and sailed for home from Southampton on 22 June. Beginning with the first of these dates, it rained every day with the exception of the last. I don't mean that every day it rained all day; but it rained a good deal every day, and there were only two mornings when, on rising, we saw any bit of blue sky.
The majority of intelligent persons would probably say that no matter what we profess, we do in truth always seek our own happiness. I have never subscribed to this creed; and my recent two months in Europe have strengthened my convictions. So far as happiness is concerned, I believe the average intelligent Englishman is happier in England than he is in America or in Germany, France, or Italy. I believe the average person of any country is happier in his native land than anywhere else. Why, then, does anyone travel?
The British novelist, J.B.Priestley, once remarked that he would rather live in his suburb of London than in Florence; I understand that remark and I approve of it.
I am certainly happier in the United States than I am in any foreign land; I know, when I deliberately plan a