in front. She wore
black cotton gloves such as undertakers supply for the pallbearers,
and every finger was out. The liquor traffic would have a better
chance if there were not so many arguments against it walking round.

About this time, too, the traffic suffered a great bereavement, for
the personal liberty argument fell, mortally wounded. The war did
that, too.

All down the ages there have been men who believed that personal
liberty included the right to do what one wished to do, no matter who
was hurt. So, if a man wished to drink, by the sacred rights for which
his forefathers had bled and died he was at liberty to do so, and then
go home and beat up his own wife and family if he wanted to; for if
you can't beat your own wife, whom can you beat, I'd like to know?
Any one who disputed this sacred right was counted a spoil-fun and a
joy-killer!

But a change came over the world's thought in the early days of the
war. Liberty grew to be a holy word, a sacred thing, when the blood of
our brightest and best was being poured out in its defense, and never
again will the old, selfish, miserable conception of liberty obtain
favor. The Kaiser helped here, too, for he is such a striking example
of the one who claims absolute liberty for himself, no matter who is
hurt, that somehow we never hear it mentioned now. I believe it is
gone, forever!

The first step in the curtailment of the liquor traffic was the
closing of the bars at seven o'clock, and the beneficial effect was
felt at once. Many a man got home early for the first time in his
life, and took his whole family to the "movies."

The economy meetings brought out some quaint speeches. No wonder!
People were taken unawares. We were unprepared for war, and the
changes it had brought;--we were as unprepared as the woman who said,
in speaking of unexpected callers, "I had not even time to turn my
plants." There was much unintentional humor. One lady, whose home was
one of the most beautiful in the city, and who entertained lavishly,
told us, in her address on "Economy," that at the very outbreak of the
war she reduced her cook's wages from thirty to twenty dollars, and
gave the difference to the Patriotic Fund; that she had found a
cheaper dressmaker who made her dresses now for fifteen dollars, where
formerly she had paid twenty-five; and she added artlessly, "They are
really nicer, and I do think we should all give in these practical
ways; that's the sort of givi