ow,
And would inter with all convenient speed
The hatchet wielded by your largest foe.

Is it the shadow Christmas casts before
That makes the iron of your soul unbend,
And melt in prayer for this unholy war
(Meaning the part that pinches most) to end?

Is it your fear to mark at that high feast
The writing on the wall that seals your fate,
And, where the Christ-star watches in the East,
To hear the guns that thunder at your gate?

For on your heart no Christmas Peace can fall.
The chimes shall be a tocsin, and the red
Glow of the Yule-wood embers shall recall
A myriad smouldering pyres of murdered dead.

And anguish, wailing to the wintry skies,
Shall with its dirges drown the sacred hymn,
And round your royal hearth the curse shall rise
Of lowly hearths laid waste to suit your whim.

And you shall think on altars left forlorn,
On temple-aisles made desolate at your nod,
Where never a white-robed choir this holy morn
Shall chant their greeting to the Birth of God.

Peace? There is none for you, nor can be none;
For still shall Memory, like a fetid breath,
Poison your life-days while the slow hours run,
Till it be stifled in the dust of Death.

O. S.

* * * * *

WHY I DON'T ENLIST.

[Curiosity is often expressed regarding the causes which have
prevented young men from enlisting. Considerable interest,
therefore, should attach to the following replies to enquiries, an
inspection of which has been permitted us by the Secretary of the
Patriotic League, an organisation which seeks to stimulate
recruiting by writing to young healthy and unmarried men and asking
them why they do not join the colours.]

My Dear Sir,--I fully understand your views--in fact I am in cordial
agreement with them. It would be quite fair to say of most young
unmarried men that they could and should be spared. But this cannot be
said of all young men. There is a small section of literary and other
artists whose lives must continue to be immeasurably precious to the
nation which has given them birth. From this company it is impossible
for me to exclude myself. There is a higher patriotism, to the dictates
of which I must respond. With infinite regrets, and thanks for what is
doubtless a well-meant endeavour,

I am, dear Sir, yours sincerely,
ENDYMION BROWNE.

P.S.--If you should be in tow