them come in by hundreds, by thousands--these men of
our country now fighting in every corner of the globe--resentful,
suspicious, intolerant of authority. I have seen them in training; I
have seen the finished article. And the result is good: the change for
the better wonderful.

It cannot be that one must presuppose such a hideous thing as this war
to be necessary, in order to attain such results. I cannot believe it.
There must be some other method of teaching the lessons of playing for
the side and unselfishness. The spurred culprits of Mr. Wells'
imagination have given a lead over the fence; surely all the rest of
the field is not going to jib.

And when the harvest does come in, when the sickle is finally put to
the crop, there will be such an opportunity for statesmanship as the
world has never before seen.

Winnowed by the fan of suffering and death, the wheat of the harvest
will shed its tares of discord and suspicion. The duke and the
labourer will have stood side by side, and will have found one
another--men. No longer self the only thing; no longer a ceaseless
growse against everybody and everything; no longer an instinctive
suspicion of the man one rung higher up the ladder. But more
self-reliant and cheery; stronger in character and bigger in outlook;
with a newly acquired sense of self-control and understanding; in
short, grown a little nearer to its maximum development, the manhood of
the nation will be ripe for the moulder's hand. It has tasted of
discipline; it has realised that only by discipline for the individual
can there be true freedom for the community; and that without that
discipline, chaos is inevitable. Pray heavens there be a moulder--a
moulder worthy of the task.

"Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one
vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?"

He will have grand clay--that moulder: clay such as has never been
known before. Its God will be the God of Reality, its devil the Devil
of Pretence. Just as it has ceased to look at Death through a haze of
drawn window-blinds and frock-coats redolent of moth-balls, so it will
cease with scorn to look at some of the clumsy sophistries of modern
life through the rose-tinted spectacles so kindly provided for the
purpose by men of great vocal, and correspondingly small mental, power.

Out of the evil, good will come: surely it must be so. In the wisdom
of the Infinite Power, madness has b