ve the
principal railroad station, where they will stand for hours looking down
over the parapet into the yards below. There will be smaller crowds on
the heights of Ronheide, on the edge of the town, where the tracks enter
the long tunnel under one of the hills that etch the boundary between
Germany and Belgium.

Rain or shine, these two places are sure to be black with people, for
here they may see the trains shuttle by, like long bobbins in a loom
that never ceases from its weaving--trains going west loaded with
soldiers and naval reservists bound for the front, and trains headed
east bearing prisoners and wounded. The raw material passes one way--
that's the new troops; the finished product passes the other--the
wounded and the sick.

When wounded men go by there will be cheering, and some of the women are
sure to raise the song of Die Wacht am Rhein; and within the cars the
crippled soldiers will take up the chorus feebly. God knows how many
able-bodied soldiers already have gone west; how many maimed and
crippled ones have gone east! In the first instance the number must run
up into the second million; of the latter there must have been well
above two hundred thousand.

No dead come back from the front--at least, not this way. The Germans
bury their fallen soldiers where they fall. Regardless of his rank, the
dead man goes into a trench. If so be he died in battle he is buried,
booted and dressed just as he died. And the dead of each day must be
got underground before midnight of that same day--that is the hard-and-
fast rule wherever the Germans are holding their ground or pressing
forward. There they will lie until the Judgment Day, unless their
kinsfolk be of sufficient wealth and influence to find their burial
places and dig them up and bring them home privily for interment. Even
so, it may be days or even weeks after a man is dead and buried before
his people hear of it. It may be they will not hear of it until a
letter written to him in the care of his regiment and his company comes
back unopened, with one word in sinister red letters on it--Gefallen!

At this hotel, yesterday, I saw a lady dressed in heavy black. She had
the saddest, bravest face I ever looked into, I think. She sat in the
restaurant with two other ladies, who were also in black. The
octogenarian censor of telegrams passed them on the way out. To her two
companions he bowed deeply, but at her side he halted and, bending very