ing do the kinsmen with whom we have much language in common
differ from us more than in the policy that brought this Prussian host
to cumber the stagnant waters of the Marshes of Pinsk.

The love of war has cast them there, displayed, profaned, in the "cold
obstruction" of their dissolution. Corruption is not sensible corruption
when it is a secret in earth where no eye, no hand, no breathing can be
aware of it. There is no offence in the grave. But the lover of war, the
Power that loved war so much as to break its oath for the love of war,
and for the love of war to strike aside the hand of the peace-maker,
Arbitration, that Power has chosen thus to expose and to betray the
multitude of the dead.

ALICE MEYNELL.

[Illustration: THE MARSHES OF PINSK, NOVEMBER, 1915.

The Kaiser said last spring: "When the leaves fall you'll have peace."
They have!]

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GOD WITH US

Three _apaches_ sit crouched in shelter waiting the moment to strike.
One is old and _gaga_, his ancient fingers splayed on the ground to
support him and his face puckered with the petulance of age. One is a
soft shapeless figure--clearly with small heart for the business, for he
squats there as limp as a sack. One is the true stage conspirator with a
long pendulous nose and narrow eyes. His knife is in his teeth, and he
would clearly like to keep it there, for he has no stomach for a fight.
He will only strike if he can get in a secret blow. The leader of the
gang has the furtive air of the criminal, his chin sunk on his breast,
and his cap slouched over his brows. His right hand holds a stiletto,
his pockets bulge with weapons or plunder, his left hand is raised with
the air of a priest encouraging his flock. And his words are the words
of religion--"God with us." At the sign the motley crew will get to
work.

It is wholesome to strip the wrappings from grandiose things. Public
crimes are no less crimes because they are committed to the sound of
trumpets, and the chicanery of crowned intriguers is morally the same as
the tricks of hedge bandits. It is privilege of genius to get down to
fundamentals. Behind the stately speech of international _pourparlers_
and the rhetoric of national appeals burn the old lust and greed and
rapine. A stab in the dark is still a stab in the dark though courts and
councils are the miscreants.