dustries and agriculture
like that committed by England in Ireland centuries ago is a gloomy
prospect for all classes of society. If France and Belgium are
threatened with a political oppression then Russia is threatened with an
even more terrible economic subjugation. Such is the situation.

The poorest classes of the people are taking part in this fight with
what they have, with their blood. It is but natural that they should
expect that the material burdens of the war will fall not upon their
shoulders, but upon big business.

It seems to me that in discussing the sinews of war the Free Economic
Association has not considered fully the psychology of the masses. And
yet this psychology has a decisive influence upon the war, and is bound
to be unfavorable to the war, if the masses of the people feel that the
financial burdens of the war are to be placed upon the weakest
shoulders.

Considering that at the present moment our supreme duty is to repel the
German invasion at all costs, I think that this duty will be better
performed by putting the economic burden of the war upon the shoulders
of the well-to-do classes, for we have to reckon not only with the
taxpaying capacity of the mass of the people, but also with their
psychology.

I regard it as a great mistake that the important problem of the most
economical methods of spending money raised by taxation has not been
considered.

P. MASLOV.

THE WOMAN'S PART.

By MAZIE V. CARUTHERS.

Beside my ruined cottage, desolate,
The children cowering 'round me, mute from fright,
With tearless eyes and brooding heart, I wait,
Watching through all the long, the weary night.
God of the homeless, look from Heaven and see!
Out of the deeps, a woman calls on Thee!

My little ones, they cry all day for bread,
And, 'neath the shelter of my meagre breast,
Stirs one unborn, who must e'er long be fed--
Another babe to hunger with the rest.
Madonna Mary, hear a mother's moan!
Pity the travail I must bear alone!

The tasseled corn would plenteous harvest yield,
But all the crops are rotting in the sun.
Where are the reapers? On some battlefield
They fight for nought and die there, one by one!
God's comfort be upon them where they lie,
Sheep to war's shambles driven--who knows why?
Death and destruction walk by day, by night,
Men's blood is spilt and sacrificed in vain,