ly
and, therefore, closest of all to the zone of action in the west of
Europe.

You would never guess it, however. When we landed in Aix-la-Chapelle,
coming out of the heart of the late August hostilities in Belgium, we
marveled; for, behold, here was a clean, white city that, so far as the
look of it and the feel of it went, might have been a thousand miles
from the sound of gunfire. On that Sabbath morning of our arrival an
air of everlasting peace abode with it. That same air of peace
continued to abide with it during all the days we spent here. Yet, if
you took a step to the southwest--a figurative step in seven-league
boots--you were where all hell broke loose. War is a most tremendous
emphasizer of contrasts.

These lines were written late in September, in a hotel room at Aix-la-
Chapelle. The writing of them followed close on an automobile trip to
Liege, through a district blasted by war and corrugated with long
trenches where those who died with their boots on still lie with their
boots on.

Let me, if I can, draw two pictures--one of this German outpost town,
and the other of the things that might be seen four or five miles
distant over the border.

I have been told that, in the first flurry of the breaking out of the
World-War, Aix was not placid. It went spy-mad, just as all Europe went
spy-mad--a mania from which this Continent has not entirely recovered by
any means. There was a great rounding up of suspected aliens. Every
loyal citizen resolved himself or herself into a self-appointed
policeman, to watch the movements of those suspected of being disloyal.
Also, they tell me, when the magic mobilization began and troops poured
through without ceasing for four days and four nights, and fighting
broke out just the other side of the Belgian customhouse, on the main
high road to Liege, there was excitement. But all that was over long
before we came.

The war has gone onward, down into France; and all the people know is
what the official bulletins tell them; in fact, I think they must know
less about operations and results than our own people in America. I
know not what the opportunity of the spectator may have been with regard
to other wars, but certainly in this war it is true that the nearer you
get to it the less you understand of its scope.

All about you, on every side, is a screen of secrecy. Once in a while
it parts for a moment, and through the rift you catch a glimpse of the
moveme