re whole!

There were strange scenes at the station when those first trains went
out. The Canadians went out with a flourish, with cheers, with songs,
with rousing music from the bands. The serious men were the French and
Belgian reservists, who, silently, carrying their bundles, passed
through our city, with grim, determined faces. They knew, and our boys
did not know, to what they were going. That is what made the
difference in their manner.

The government of one of the provinces, in the early days of the war,
shut down the public works, and, strange to say, left the bars open.
Their impulse was right--but they shut down the wrong thing; it should
have been the bars, of course. They knew something should be shut
down. We are not blaming them; it was a panicky time. People often,
when they hear the honk of an automobile horn, jump back instead of
forward. And it all came right in time.

A moratorium was declared at once, which for the time being relieved
people of their debts, for there was a strong feeling that the cup of
sorrow was so full now that all movable trouble should be set off for
another day!

The temperance people then asked, as a corresponding war measure,
that the bars be closed. They urged that the hearts of our people were
already so burdened that they should be relieved of the trouble and
sorrow which the liquor traffic inevitably brings. "Perhaps," they
said to the government, "when a happier season comes, we may be able
to bear it better; but we have so many worries now, relieve us of this
one, over which you have control."

Then the financial side of the liquor traffic began to pinch. Manitoba
was spending thirteen million dollars over the bars every year. The
whole Dominion's drink bill was one hundred millions. When the people
began to rake and save to meet the patriotic needs, and to relieve the
stress of unemployment, these great sums of money were thought of
longingly--and with the longing which is akin to pain! The problem of
unemployment was aggravated by the liquor evil and gave another
argument for prohibition.

I heard a woman telling her troubles to a sympathetic friend one day,
as we rode in an elevator.

"'E's all right when 'e's in work," she said; "but when 'e's hidle
'e's something fierce: 'e knocks me about crool. 'E guzzles all the
time 'e's out of work."

It was easy to believe. Her face matched her story; she was a poor,
miserable, bedraggled creature, with teeth out