delegates resolve over and over again that they were not Czechoslovaks or Slavs, that they were the delegates of various small nations seeking independence and na tional unification. The newspapers printed their resolutions and went on referring to the convention as Czechoslovak. Sometimes the predeliction of the reporters and editors for the Czechoslovak nation had its drawbacks; thus when one of the delegates, in a fit of temper, tore up a map lying on the table, of course the newspaers had to refer to him as the Czechoslovak delegate.
On the great day of October 26th, the Czechoslovak name, the Czechoslovak flag, and the Czechoslovak leader again had the front of the stage. While preparations were being made for the solemn ceremony of signing the Declaration of Independence by delegates of the convention, two Czechoslovak soldiers recently arrived from Siberia appeared in Independence Hall to serve as bodyguard to the President of the Czechoslovak State, while he signed the document and later on read it to the public. On the platform constructed for the delegates and the mighty guests there were flags of all the signatory nations grouped in the rear, but in front two flags only fluttered to the breeze, the American and the Czechoslovak and besides the American hymn the only other national anthem was the Czech (Kde domov můj). It may also be mentioned that among the great outpouring of people that gathered in Independence square to hear Masaryk read the declaration, by far the largest group was constituted by the Czechs and Slovaks of the city.
The proceedings were concluded by a luncheon tendered to the delegates, to the rpresentatives of the city of Philadelphia and to the Sons of the American Revolution, by the Philadelphia branch of the Bohemian (Czech) National Alliance. Here again the Czechoslovaks had a prominent place on the program. Miss Louise Llewellyn, dressed in the Moravian costume, sang Czechoslovak folk songs; after giving an English paraphrase she interpreted the simple love songs so powerfully that tears were running down the cheeks of the guests. The great address of the afternoon was again the one made by Professor Masaryk. At the conclusion of it, as the gathering was about to disperse, John Wanamaker, the famous merchant and philanthropist of Philadelphia, stood up at the side of Masaryk and putting his hand on Masaryk shoulder said a few impromptu words which testified to the unusual impression made upon him by the personality of the Czech leader. He said that now he understood, why Masaryk was at the head of the great movement to co-ordinate the efforts of twelve nations to secure independence; it was Masaryk’s great head and great heart which made him the leader. Mr. Wanamaker added that he stood ready to back the movement with his whole strength.
The Philadelphia convention left an overpowering impression on the Czechoslovaks present—a feeling of pride in their people and its leader, and a feeling of responsibility which the position of their people as the first liberated nation among all these small nations imposed upon the future Czechoslovak Republic.
Count Karolyi as the Second Kossuth.
By Joseph Tvrzický.
Shortly before the war a funny little nobleman was travelling in the United States. He was dressed like a fop in accordance with the latest London mode, and his hands which he employed a great deal when talking were adorned by several big, glittering diamonds.
Count Karolyi came to the United States because he looked upon himself as the reincarnation of Louis Kossuth and hoped to get here the same reception which the better known Magyar rebel received in America in 1851. To men acquainted with Hungarian conditions it was quite unusual to see a Magyar nobleman of ancient lineage lower himself so far as to talk to the Magyar immigrants in America. Karolyi even invited Slovaks to his meetings, the same Slovaks of whom the Magyar proverb says that they are not men. The Slovaks of the United States refused politely the flatering invitation. They had learned to make
