inguished manners, a little tired, speaking softly.
St. Peter is instructed to enforce a new divine ordinance, for God,
weary of the insipid company of simple souls, has decided that only
persons of intelligence are to be admitted to paradise in future.
Consequently no one killed in the war will pass the gate, except the
Poles, who claim no merit for being sacrificed, but say they were
sacrificed against their will.

Louis Untermeyer contributes poems. A number of excellent book reviews
and several columns of theatrical criticism deal with questions of the
hour. Among the works referred to, I may mention two of great
originality: a book filled with bold paradox by Thorstein Veblen,
entitled _Peace? An Inquiry into the Nature of Peace_; a Russian play in
four acts by Artsibashev, _War_, depicting the cycle of the war in a
family and the wastage of souls which it involves.

Finally we have vigorous drawings, the work of satirists of the pencil.
R. Kempf, Boardman Robinson, and George Bellows, enliven the magazine
with their pungent visions and their cutting words. Kempf shows us War
crushing in his embrace France, England, and Germany, crying out: "Come
on in, America, the blood's fine!" The four linked figures are dancing
on a sea of blood in which corpses are floating.--A few pages further
on, Boardman Robinson shows Liberty in the background weeping. In front
stands Uncle Sam, wearing handcuffs (censorship) and leg-irons, the
cannon-ball of conscription drags at the chain. He is described as being
"All ready to fight for Liberty."--George Bellows' design depicts a
chained Christ in prison. He is "incarcerated for the use of language
calculated to dissuade citizens from entering the United States
armies."--Finally, upon a heap of dead, the two sole survivors are seen
savagely cutting one another to pieces. They are Turkey and Japan. The
legend runs: "1920: still fighting for civilisation." This design is by
H. R. Chamberlain.

* * * * *

Thus fight, across the seas, a few independent spirits. Freedom,
clearness, courage, and humour, are rare virtues. Still more rarely do
we find them united, in days of folly and enslavement. In the American
opposition, these virtues take the palm.

I do not pretend that the opposition is impartial. It, likewise, is
influenced by passion, so that it fails to recognise the moral forces
animating the other side. The combined wretchedness and greatness of