ence of the wounded is the resignation of alert faculties.

Once I saw a boy dying. He was a dark-haired, brown-eyed lad of
eighteen. He had had a leg shattered the day before, and he had lain
for hours unattended on the battlefield. The leg had been amputated,
and he was dying of loss of blood.

He lay alone, in a small room of what had once been a girls' school.
He had asked to be propped up with pillows, so that he could breathe.
His face was grey, and only his eyes were alive. They burned like
coals. He was alone. The hospital was crowded, and there were others
who could be saved. So he lay there, propped high, alone, and as
conscious as I am now, and waited. The nurse came back at last, and
his eyes greeted her.

There seemed to be nothing that I could do. Before his conscious eyes
I was an intruder, gazing at him in his extremity. I went away. And
now and then, when I hear this talk of national honour, and am carried
away with a hot flame of resentment so that I, too, would cry for war,
I seem to see that dying boy's eyes, looking through the mists that
are vengeance and hatred and affronted pride, to war as it is--the end
of hope, the gate of despair and agony and death.

After my return I received these letters. The woman who wrote them
will, I know, forgive me for publishing extracts from them. She is a
Belgian, married to an American. More clearly than any words of mine,
they show where falls the burden of war:

"I have just learned that my youngest brother has been killed in
action in Flanders. King Albert decorated him for conspicuous bravery
on April 22d, and my poor boy went to his reward on April 26th. In my
leaden heart, through my whirling brain, your words keep repeating
themselves: 'For King and Country!' Yes, he died for them, and died a
hero! I know only that his regiment, the Grenadiers, was decimated. My
poor little boy! God pity us all, and save martyred Belgium!"

In a second letter:

"I enclose my dear little boy's obituary notice. He died at the head
of his company and five hundred and seventy-four of his Grenadiers
went down with him. Their regiment effectively checked the German
advance, and in recognition General Joffre pinned the Cross of the
Legion of Honour to his regimental colours. But we are left to
mourn--though I do no begrudge my share of sorrow. The pain is awful,
and I pray that by the grace of God you may never know what it means."

For King and Country!

The only lea