oline, is the reappearance of that
respectable, but almost obsolete animal, the family carriage-horse;
of that equally obsolete vehicle, the victoria. The men on the box are
invariably in black. In spite of taxes to make the hair of an American
turn grey, in spite of lavish charities, the wealthy classes still seem
wealthy--if the expression may be allowed. That they are not so wealthy
as they were goes without saying. In the country houses of the old
aristocracy the most rigid economy prevails. There are new fortunes,
undoubtedly, munitions and war fortunes made before certain measures
were taken to control profits; and some establishments, including a few
supported by American accumulations, still exhibit the number of men
servants and amount of gold plate formerly thought adequate. But in
most of these great houses maids have replaced the butlers and footmen;
mansions have been given over for hospitals; gardeners are fighting
in the trenches, and courts and drives of country places are often
overgrown with grass and weeds.

"Yes, we do dine in public quite often," said a very great lady. "It's
cheaper than keeping servants."

Two of her three sons had been killed in France, but she did not
mention this. The English do not advertise their sorrows. Still another
explanation when husbands and sons and brothers come back across the
Channel for a few days' leave after long months in the trenches, nothing
is too good for them. And when these days have flown, there is always
the possibility that there may never be another leave. Not long ago I
read a heart-rending article about the tragedies of the goodbyes in
the stations and the terminal hotels--tragedies hidden by silence and a
smile. "Well, so long," says an officer "bring back a V. C.," cries
his sister from the group on the platform, and he waves his hand in
deprecation as the train pulls out, lights his pipe, and pretends to be
reading the Sphere.

Some evening, perchance, you happen to be in the dark street outside
of Charing Cross station. An occasional hooded lamp throws a precarious
gleam on a long line of men carrying--so gently--stretchers on which lie
the silent forms of rich and poor alike.

CHAPTER II

For the student of history who is able to place himself within the
stream of evolution the really important events of today are not taking
place on the battle lines, but behind them. The key-note of the new era
has been struck in Russia. And as I w