the Marseillaise.

Surely if God listens to prayers of vengeance, He will answer the
husky petitions of these victims of Hun cruelty! The quiet, just,
deep-seated venom of these babies will work the Hun more harm than
many batteries. Their fathers come back from the trenches to see them.
On leaving, they turn to the American nurses, "We shall fight better
now," they say, "because we know that you are taking care of them."

When those words are spoken, the American Red Cross knows that it is
achieving its object and is winning its war of compassion. The whole
drive of all its effort is to win the war in the shortest possible
space of time. It is in Europe to save children for the future, to
re-kindle hope in broken lives, to mitigate the toll of unavoidable
suffering, but first and foremost to help men to fight better.

IV

THE LAST WAR

_The last war!_ I heard the phrase for the first time on the evening
after Great Britain had declared war. I was in Quebec en route for
England, wondering whether my ship was to be allowed to sail. There
had been great excitement all day, bands playing the Marseillaise,
Frenchmen marching arm-in-arm singing, orators, gesticulating and
haranguing from balconies, street-corners and the base of statues.

Now that the blue August night was falling and every one was released
from work, the excitement was redoubled. Quebec was finding in war
an opportunity for carnival. Throughout all the pyramided city the
Tri-colour and the Union Jack were waving. At the foot of the Heights,
the broad basin of the St. Lawrence was a-drift in the dusk with
fluttering pennons. They looked like homing birds, settling in
dovecotes of the masts and rigging.

As night deepened, Chinese lanterns were lighted and carried on poles
through the narrow streets. Troops of merry-makers followed them,
blowing horns, dragging bells, tin-cans, anything that would make a
noise and express high spirits. They linked arms with girls as they
marched and were lost, laughing in the dusk. If a French reservist
could be found who was sailing in the first ship bound for the
slaughter, he became the hero of the hour and was lifted shoulder high
at the head of the procession. War was a brave game at which to play.
This was to be a short war and a merry one. Down with the Germans! Up
with France! Hurrah for the entente cordiale!

Beneath the coronet of stars on the Heights of Abraham the spirit of
Wolfe kept watch and