THE IS RIG A TION A GN. 



291 



Hilo visit, as I was going between 

 Washington and New York, that I 

 noticed a young woman eyeing me 

 closely. One may be perfectly in- 

 nocent of any crime against soci- 

 ety, and yet feel very culpable if 

 watched by a stranger. This per- 

 son settled herself in her seat for a 

 good, comfortable stare. "Now," 

 thought I, "what's the matter with 

 my tie. I knew that miserable 

 thing would slip out when I couldn't 

 arrange it." 



Just as I was turning to look in 

 the mirror at my elbow, the young 

 woman came over, and in a sweet 

 voice, a really very persuasive 

 voice, said, "Excuse me, but are 

 you Mr. Richard Le Gallienne?" 

 "I am not," I said bravely. "You 

 do so favor him," she continued, 

 not in the least daunted, "I felt 

 sure that I should know him from 

 the pictures in the newspapers. " 



"Well you might", "they look 

 like anybody from Julius Caesar to 

 Josh Billings." She returned to 

 her seat and took out a book, an 

 autograph album if you please, and 

 began to look it over. She was an 

 autograph nabber: one of those re- 

 lentless creatures that delight in 

 some of the worst penmanship ex- 

 tant. The most of these collectors 

 are boys and girls; some of the 

 grown-up ones are lovers of litera- 

 ture who prize the autograph of 

 the author they love: but some are 

 horribles. My friend was one of 

 the last. She was determined to 

 get something out of me, so she 

 dropped her fan as she passed my 

 seat, and, of course, I picked it up 

 for her. Then she smiled and 

 made some remark about the 

 weather. "Isn't it tedious travel- 



ing?'' she said, after I had invited 

 her to sit in the seat opposite to 

 me, for she was very attractive, "I 

 do much of if do you?" 



"Yes," I said, "but I enjoy all 

 the traveling I do, or I shouldn't 

 travel." "Oh, you do, then I'm 

 sure you must be an actor. And I 

 knew you looked like some one I 

 knew by sight, and I know now 

 who it is you are Sol Smith Rus- 

 sell!" 



She brightened up and felt for 

 her albuo . 



"No", I said, "you are wrong 

 again," beginning to fear, however, 

 that I might be a Double. "Who 

 are you please. I'm sure youjmust 

 be somebody." "Yes," I claim that 

 distinction," I answered, "but-not in 

 the sense you mean. I am only a 

 plain, country doctor from a town 

 of some 200 people, and I write a 

 legible hand." 



"Oh", said she much crestfallen, 

 "I did make such a mistake." 



Then she had nothing more to 

 say to me. 



But these "mistaken identities" 

 are not so annoying as where a 

 man's personality is valued accord- 

 ing to his relationship to some 

 greater person. I have suffered 

 from this kind of valuation. 



Socially Americans are, in many 

 instances, very undemocratic. 



They worship names and titles 

 too much, and the newspapers in- 

 dulge in such expressions as 

 "County Clerk Smith;" "Ex-gover- 

 nor lawyer Merrill;" "Customs- 

 House Porter Jones." 



"Mr. Rice, cousin of Hon. J. 

 Cobb, is here;" or, "Mrs. Home, 

 Senator Curson's third cousin 

 arrived yesterday;" or, ' 'David Bow, 



