not just. If a rainy day lacks sunshine, it has vigor for
a substitute. The wind whistles briskly among the chimney tops. There
is so much life on wet and windy days. Yesterday Nature yawned, but
today she is wide awake. Yesterday the earth seemed lolling idly in
the heavens. It was a time of celestial vacation and all the suns and
moons were vacant of their usual purpose. But today the earth whirls
and spins through space. Her gray cloud cap is pulled down across her
nose and she leans in her hurry against the storm. The heavens have
piped the planets to their work.

Yesterday the smoke of chimneys drifted up with tired content from
lazy roofs, but today the smoke is stretched and torn like a
triumphant banner of the storm.

"1917."

I dreamed last night a fearful dream and this morning even the
familiar contact of the subway has been unable to shake it from me.

I know of few things that are so momentarily tragical as awakening
from a frightful dream. Even if you know with returning consciousness
that it was a dream, it seems as if a part of it must have a basis in
fact. The death that was recorded--is it true or not? And in your mind
you grope among the familiar landmarks of your recollection to
discover where the true and the fictitious join.

But this dream of last night was so vivid that this morning I cannot
shake it from me.

I dreamed--ridiculously enough--that the whole world was at war, and
that big and little nations were fighting.

In my dream the round earth hung before me against the background of
the night, and red flames shot from every part.

I heard cries of anguish--men blinded by gases and crazed by
suffering. I saw women dressed in black--a long procession stretching
hideously from mist to mist--walking with erect heads, dry-eyed, for
grief had starved them of tears. I saw ships sinking and a thousand
arms raised for a moment above the waves. I saw children lying dead
among their toys.

And I saw boys throw down their books and tools and go off with glad
cries, and men I saw, grown gray with despair, staggering under heavy
weights.

There were millions of dead upon the earth that hung before me, and I
smelled the battlefield.

And I beheld one man--one hundred men--secure in an outlawed country--who
looked from far windows--men bitter with disappointment--men who blasphemed
of God, while their victims rotted in Flanders.

And in my dream it seemed that I did not have a sword