unredeemed is not the worst of sufferings or
of ills. But few are sadder. This is indeed war made by those who hold
it and will it to be "not a sport, but a science." There is no sport
here. Men killed like this are like men killed by plague or the eruption
of a volcano. And, indeed, what else are they? They are victims of a
diseased humanity of the eruption--literal and metaphorical--of its
hidden fires. And wars will grow more and more like this. What can stop
them and banish these scenes? Only the hate of hate, only the love that
can redeem even such a sight as this when at last we remember that it is
for love's sake only that flesh and blood are in the last retort content
to endure it.

HERBERT WARREN.

[Illustration: THE LAND MINE]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"FOR YOUR MOTHERLAND"

England's your Mother! Let your life acclaim
Her precious heart's blood flowing in your heart;
Take ye the thunder of her solemn name
Upon your lips with reverence; play your part
By word and deed
To shield and speed
The far-flung splendour of her ancient fame.

England's your Mother! Shall not you, her child,
Quicken the everlasting fires that glow
Upon your birthright's altar? England smiled
Beside your cradle, trusting you to show,
With manhood's might,
The undying light
That points the road her free-born spirits go.

England's your Mother! Man, forget it not
Wherever on the wide-wayed earth your fate
Calls you to labour; whatsoe'er your lot--
In service, or in power, in stress or state--
Whate'er betide,
With humble pride,
Remember! By your Mother you are great.

England's your Mother! What though dark the day
Above the storm-swept frontier that you tread?
Her vanished children throng the glorious way;
A myriad legions of her living dead
Those starry trains
That shared your pains
Shall set their crown of light upon your head.

England's your Mother! When the race is run
And you are called to leave your life and die,
Small matter what is lost, so this be won:
An after-glow of blessed memory,
Gracious and pure,
In witness sure
"England was this man's Mother: he, her son."

EDEN PHILLPOTTS.

[Illustration: "MY SON, GO AND FIGHT FOR YOUR MOTHERLAND!"]

---------------------------------------------