look down the coast and see flashing searchlights, note the lights of
steamers passing up and down the coast, and reflect that there is no
universal law in war. The Channel steamers are carrying lights in the
war area, but the North Atlantic steamers still cross the ocean without
showing even port or starboard lights. The street cars moving in the
English coast cities must, of course, be lighted and the streets must
have some illuminant; but the railroad carriages, hotels, and private
houses must draw their curtains. Yet railroad terminals and piers must
have their lights, and harbors must have their searchlights. General
service lights must be ablaze, but individual glimmers must be
curtained. It reminds one of Cowper, the English poet, who, in the
same kennel, cut a big hole for his big dog and a little hole for the
pup.

The most talked-of war subject in England is the German spy system. It
is estimated there were between 30,000 and 40,000 German spies, and
many times this number of German reservists, in England at the outbreak
of the war. For years England has laughed over German theoretical
discussions of how best to invade England, and German studies of
English coast lines and country resources.

I heard years ago of a young Englishman who disputed in Berlin the
war-office plans of his father's estate. He declared that he thought
he ought to know the land where he was born and brought up as a boy,
and that there were only two springs of water thereon, instead of
three. The German general staff said their maps of England were
correct and were not based on English authority. The young man found
on his return to England that the German maps were correct and that his
father's estate had three springs whence men and horses could be
watered, although his family had never noted the existence of a third.