after the first battles, smoulder on for thirty years. What will be
the population of London, or Manchester, or Chemnitz, or Bremen, or
Milan, at the end of it_?" ("The Great Society," by Graham Wallas.
June, 1914.)

(_Copyright, 1914, By The New York Times Company._)


The time has now come to pluck up courage and begin to talk and write
soberly about the war. At first the mere horror of it stunned the more
thoughtful of us; and even now only those who are not in actual contact
with or bereaved relation to its heartbreaking wreckage can think sanely
about it, or endure to hear others discuss it coolly. As to the
thoughtless, well, not for a moment dare I suggest that for the first
few weeks they were all scared out of their wits; for I know too well
that the British civilian does not allow his perfect courage to be
questioned; only experienced soldiers and foreigners are allowed the
infirmity of fear. But they certainly were--shall I say a little upset?
They felt in that solemn hour that England was lost if only one single
traitor in their midst let slip the truth about anything in the
universe. It was a perilous time for me. I do not hold my tongue easily;
and my inborn dramatic faculty and professional habit as a playwright
prevent me from taking a one-sided view even when the most probable
result of taking a many-sided one is prompt lynching. Besides, until
Home Rule emerges from its present suspended animation, I shall retain
my Irish capacity for criticising England with something of the
detachment of a foreigner, and perhaps with a certain slightly malicious
taste for taking the conceit out of her. Lord Kitchener made a mistake
the other day in rebuking the Irish volunteers for not rallying faster
to the defense of "their country." They do not regard it as their