ome
and aimed and fired, they became aware that others fought beside them.
Down the air came cries to St. George and twanging of the bow-string;
the old bowmen of England had risen at England's need from their
graves in that French earth and were fighting for England.

* *

He said that he made up that story by himself, that he sat down and
wrote it out of his head. But others knew better. It must really have
happened. There was, I remember, a clergyman of good credit who told
him that he was clean mistaken; the archers had really and truly risen
up to fight for England: the tale was all up and down the front.

For my part I had thought that he wrote out of his head; I had seen
him at the detestable job of doing it. I myself have hated this
business of writing ever since I found out that it was not so easy as
it looks, and I can always spare a little sympathy for a man who is
driving a pen to the task of putting words in their right places. Yet
the clergyman persuaded me at last. Who am I that I should doubt the
faith of a clerk in holy orders? It must have happened. Those archers
fought for us, and the grey-goose feather has flown once again in
English battle.

* *

Since that day I look eagerly for the ghosts who must be taking their
share in this world-war. Never since the world began was such a war as
this: surely Marlborough and the Duke, Talbot and Harry of Monmouth,
and many another shadowy captain must be riding among our horsemen.
The old gods of war are wakened by this loud clamour of the guns.

* *

All the lands are astir. It is not enough that Asia should be humming
like an angry hive and the far islands in arms, Australia sending her
young men and Canada making herself a camp. When we talk over the war
news, we call up ancient names: we debate how Rome stands and what is
the matter with Greece.

* *

As for Greece, I have ceased to talk of her. If I wanted to say
anything about Greece I should get down the Poetry Book and quote Lord
Byron's fine old ranting verse. "The mountains look on Marathon--and
Marathon looks on the sea." But "standing on the Persians' grave"
Greece seems in the same humour that made Lord Byron give her up as a
hopelessly flabby country.

* *

"'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more"