will have a history of
the war more illuminating than many books on the subject. The Marne,
Ypres, South Africa, West Africa, Egypt, Bagdad, India, Tripoli, Verdun.
Look at the map indeed. The map of the world that Germany set out to
conquer. Consider the vapouring and vainglory that marked each of these
"successes" in political or military trickery and the fact that of the
military crosses each upbears above a mountain of losses the refrain of
the old German song Verdorben--Gestorben--Ruined--Dead.

It is a wonderful map to consider, this map of the world in 1916. A
wonderful map to be studied by the mothers of the Fatherland who have
suckled their children to manure the crops of the future, to feed the
crematoriums and blast furnaces of Belgium, to fill the mad houses,
blind asylums, and homes for incurables, when the frosts of Russia and
the guns of the Allies have done with them.

And every cross marks the grave of a hope.

Paris
Regrets eternels.

That wonderful inscription was the first to be cut. Galliene was the
mason. Verdun was the last and will not be the least. But, whatever may
come to be written on stone, on the heart of the mourner when he comes
to die only one inscription will be found: "Calais." If he has a heart
large enough to have even these six letters.

H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.

[Illustration: THE GRAVES OF ALL HIS HOPES]

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"MY SIXTH SON IS NOW LYING HERE--WHERE ARE YOURS?"

There is a picture in Brussels that the Kaiser ought to study on one of
his visits to the Belgian capital. It is Wertz's picture of Napoleon in
Hades.

Wertz was a madman, he knew something of the horrors of war, but he
knew, also, something of the grandeur and nobility of Napoleon.

Napoleon is surrounded by women holding up the mutilated remains of
sons, lovers, and fathers, and still he remains Napoleon, the child of
Destiny, the Inscrutable, the Calm, and, if one may say so, the
Gentleman.

Women knew, at least, that their dead had fallen before the armies or at
the will of a great man in those Napoleonic days; there was something of
Fate in the business.

But to-day the widow or the mourning mother, whilst knowing that her son
or her husband has fallen in defending Humanity from the Beast can find
no quarter in their hearts for the form or the shape of manhood that
stands, in the