It is for Belgium. It is to-day, in the midst of war and pillage and
outrage, that man is learning the brotherhood of man. In peace times no man
would have imagined the possibility of sharing his home and income, no
matter how great it might have been, with fifteen other persons. The
fifteen unfortunates would have been left to the tender mercies of a
precarious and grudging charity. To-day, charity is dead in its old
accepted sense of doling out a few pence to the needy; to-day, charity is
imbued with the spirit of Him who, to the few said, "I was hungered and you
gave me meat."

To-day, it is not necessary to go to Ypres, to Namur, to Liége, to Verdun,
or to any of the bombarded cities of Belgium and France to see the ruin
that has been wrought by war among the people. It is the populace who
suffer, even in greater degree than do the fighting men. They must give way
in every instance before the irresistible barrier of martial law. It is the
old men, the women, the children, the babies and the physically imperfect
who must bear the brunt of dreadfulness.

Go to any of the cities of France, a hundred or more miles from the firing
line. Go to Rouen, to Paris, to the smaller inland towns, to St. Omer, to
Aubreville, and there is war.

The streets and boulevards, which a few years since were gay with a
laughing crowd of joyous-hearted men and women, youths and maidens, to-day
are gloomy, with the shadow of sorrow and death on them. On a conservative
estimate it will be found that in all the towns and cities of France, one
in three women will be dressed in black.

The French woman carries through life the tradition of the veil. She is
christened, and over her baby face there lies a white veil. She is