they flung all these things away, in a frenzy of devotion,
for the honor of their country and her good name among nations. This
has disturbed us: we cannot forget Belgium. It has upset our
comfortable Canadian conscience, for it has given us a glimpse of the
upper country, and life can never be the same again. It is not all of
life to live--that is, grow rich and quit work.

The heroism of the trenches is coming back to us. It is filtering
through. It is the need for heroism which is bringing it out. We are
playing a losing game, even though we are winning. There is only one
thing more disastrous than a victory, and that is a defeat. I do not
need to enumerate what we are losing--we know. What can we do to make
good the loss? Some of our people have always done all they could:
they have always stood in the front trench and "carried on"; others
have been in the "stand-to" trench, and have done well, too, in time
of stress. Many have not yet signed on, but they will: they are not
cowards, they are only indifferent. This has been true of the
protected woman in the home, who has not considered herself a citizen.

We have come to the place now when our full force must be called out.
The women are our last reserves. If they cannot heal the world, we are
lost, for they are the last we have--we cannot call the angels down.
The trumpets are calling now in every street of every town, in every
country lane, even in the trackless fastnesses of the North Country.
The call is for citizens,--woman citizens,--who, with deft and
skillful fingers, will lovingly, patiently undertake the task of
piecing together the torn mantle of civilization; who will make it so
strong, so beautiful, so glorified, that never again can it be torn or
soiled or stained with human blood. The trumpets are calling for
healers and binders who will not be appalled at the task of nursing
back to health a wounded world, shot to pieces by injustice, greed,
cruelty, and wrong thinking.

The sign of the Red Cross is a fitting emblem for the Order, worn not
only on the sleeve, but in the heart; red to remind its wearer that
God made all people of one blood, and is the Father of all; and the
Cross which speaks of the One whose mission on earth was to save; who
came not to be ministered unto, but to minister. Every one who signs
on does so for "duration," and must consider herself under orders
until the coming in of that glad day

"When men shall brothers be
A