And here lies the tremendous plea for reason when the end comes, the forceful appeal to the losers to accept the will of the only God, and recognize that once again, through the destruction of civilization, His eternal purpose is made manifest. At present each side is conscious of its own rectitude; but, when the issue has been determined, it behooves the nations crowned with the diadem of victory, and those who sit in sackcloth and ashes, alike to acknowledge that God in which they believe has conquered and His ways have been justified to man.

There is no other course open to a Godfearing and God-trusting kingdom. If peace finds us a protectorate of Germany, or Germany deprived forever of her Prussian Poland, her French acquisitions of 1870 and her Hohenzollerns, we, or she, must be equally prepared to say "The Lord's will be done." We must in the event of defeat confess that a democratic ideal has not at present the sanction of Devine widsom; while Germany, if the fortunes of war leave her naked and stricken, should be prepared to grant that her determination to conquer the world for the good of the world was based on a fearful misreading of the Almighty's purpose.

Such a confession should abate bitterness and banish after-hatreds. It would be no more than logical from God-guided and God-fearing nations; and if those in authority publicly declared to their beaten land that all must accept without murmuring the just payment of their unfortunate errors, then such a doctrine should speedily leaven the lump of the defeated and help to reconcile them to their Master's will.

The truth about the world's belief in God must emerge from this peace. Το argue that the war itself proves very sufficiently that nothing but an academic adherence is accorded to the theory of a Supreme Being, is vain, since both sides (in different senses) argue this a Holy War and cry to one God to bless their opposing banners; but the outcome cannot fail to determine whether civilization still veritably believes; and not only the attitude of the beaten nations to their faiths, but also the power of their faiths to control their conduct in defeat and direct their subsequent destinies will challenge deep scrutiny in this generation and provide a fruitful field for such philosophic writers as examine the question in years to come.

Y

OU have certainly read the many harrowing accounts, written, of course, by eyewitnesses, of the difficulties and dangers which beset those wishing to travel through Europe in these (w) awful days.

Although all newspapers abroad and at home were full of direful stories, and although they warned people from venturing abroad and advising them strongly to remain at home, we determined to start for Italy.

I was particularly anxious to get away from the cloudy north and longed for sunshine and flowers.

The obstacles that we would encounter were put forward in a lurid light, but we turned a deaf ear to everything, and, as the saying goes, "Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut," the wish of the femme seemed about to be fulfilled-my husband being the "Dieu" and I being the "femme."

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I will jot down some of the things which, according to all probability, were to happen to us.

The

In the first place the mines. Baltic Sea, which we had to cross, would be full of mines. The only way to avoid them would be to sail to Norway, from there to Edinburgh, then a boat could carry us to Genoa. This seemed a rather roundabout way, and would take almost a month to get to our destination, whereas by the regular route through Germany and Switzerland the journey would only take two days. We decided to risk the mines. We thought being blown up rather a novel sensation. The large ferryboats that ply between Denmark and Germany, as a general rule, take

two or three passengar cars, and as many others to carry the post and baggage. Now there are none but cattle wagons, filled with poor cows on their way to be slaughtered in Rostock and destined to feed the German Army. No boats cross at night.

Secondly, it would be dangerous to speak any other language than German. We pooh-pooed at this. Why should we not talk German? This obstacle was therefore barred out. None but German books should be found among our things. If we wished to write letters, they would have to be written in German. Letters in other languages would be examined and perhaps destroyed by the police. We said we did not object to write letters and postal cards in German.

At the Custom Houses on the different frontiers we were admonished that we would be submitted to the severest searching. The men, from the very linings of their hats to the soles of their boots, and all their possessions would be dragged out of their pockets and all their papers searched. Women would be forced to let down their hair. Even their hatpins and shoelacings would be under suspicion! There would be no end of annoyances and delays at every moment.

We said that we did not care. We were sure that, armed to the hilt as we were with passports and documents, we would not be troubled.

Among minor obstacles it was mentioned that the trains would not be heated and that we would freeze to death. We answered that we did not like over. heated compartments.

All the trains would be belated. There

would be no restaurant cars, no sleeping cars, no porters. We should be obliged to carry our traps ourselves. There would be no vehicles of any kind to meet the trains. We should have to walk to the hotels.

We risked being shut up with closed windows in stifling compartments, surrounded by insolent soldiers, probably smoking vile pipes, and also we risked that our wagon would be left on a side track for hours in order to let the trains with soldiers pass.

It certainly was not a pleasant outlook. Our friends and family saw us, in their minds' eye, starved, frozen, arrested, maltreated, and I don't know what more. Had we listened to and believed all that was predicted we never would have dared to sally forth, making straight, as we were doing, for the lion's den. However, our gigantic foolhardiness made us blind to arguments and forecastings. We fixed the day, and off we started.

Our family, convinced that they were seeing the last of us, came in a body to the station to "speed the parting" souls -not to say fools-some with flowers, as a sort of "last tribute." They would have thought it quite in keeping had our farewell words been "morituri salutamus," followed by a flood of tears. Even up to the final whistle they said: "You can still change your minds-it is not too late now to stay."

Before we started we four (my husband, my son, myself, and my maid) were obliged to have our photographs taken and glued on to the corners of our different passports.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was up to its ears preparing these documents, and the Legations of Germany, Italy, and Switzerland had been busy writing special letters to their Custom House officers in order to facilitate our passage through those dreadful places of torture. The German Minister sent a particularly helpful telegram to the commanding officer at Warnemünde, the landing place in Germany.

Behold us, then, on our way comfortably ensconced in our compartment with one other occupant-a Swiss gentleman, as we found out later by prudent diplo

matic proddings. He had just come from Norway; he had his head on his shoulders, that is to say, he had not been mined nor blown up! Thus far we were encouraged, for if a person can travel from Norway to Denmark why not from Denmark to Germany? We feared that the blinding blizzard which accompanied us through Denmark would prevent the boat from leaving its shores, but when we reached Gjedser (Denmark) the sky was clear and the sea as calm as on a Summer day.

A little after we had passed the Danish light boat we saw an aeroplane flying over our heads, (a German one, of course.) The people on board (those who think they know everything) were sure that it was sent by the German Government to guard against the mines. Whether this was true I can't tell, but the protecting angel hovered over us all the way and guided us safely to land under its buzzing wings.

On the boat the only German we spoke was to ask for our coffee. This being a German boat, we should in any case have talked its language. Thus far we had escaped mines, bombs, and language. . . .

The next ordeal was the Custom House.

The passengers filed out on the platform and were shown into the shed which serves as the Custom House.

The soldiers who were walking about with guns on their shoulders were polite and not at all warlike or aggressive.

We were about to follow the others when out stepped from the crowd a tall, handsome officer, spick and span in his light gray uniform, his helmet shining like silver. He came toward us with a pleasant smile, clicked his heels in true military fashion, touched his helmet in salute, and asked my husband if he was "his Excellency." On his reply that he was, the officer then asked if I was "her Excellency." When he learned that we were both ourselves he led the way, pushing people aside to make a passage for us, and we went into the room where the passports were examined. He said that "this had to be done! It could not be avoided." The looking at our passports and the comparing of them with the originals took only a moment. My vanity

suffered a pang when the official, after contemplating the hideous portrayal of me, evidently said to himself, "This is enough," for he did not give me a second glance. We were not obliged to open any of our numerous bags and belongings. Even the enormous bouquet I carried, every flower of which might, for all they knew, have contained some secret missive, passed unexamined. Everything was quickly checked off. The polite officer whose appearance and manner belonged more to the Imperial Schloss in Berlin than in the Custom House in quiet little Warnemünde, put us himself in the train and, bowing, smiling, and saluting, went home to his 5 o'clock coffee, followed by our warmest thanks.

H., (my son,) who is of a friendly nature, hobnobbed with the Mecklenburg warrior who was on duty on the quay. He offered him a cigar, which the soldier pocketed quickly with a whispered "Danke schön." The footing on which they stood must have been very friendly, for the sentinel waved his gun as a parting salute when the train steamed away.

The Swiss gentleman with whom we had traveled, and with whom we had conversed in French and English at our sweet will, said that in the Custom House he had had been asked to show all his papers and that he had been felt over and "patted" from his shoulders down; that his pockets had all been gone through," but everything had been done in the most courteous way, and the searchers had seemed rather to beg his pardon for putting him to so much inconvenience.

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The other passengers, however, did not fare even as well as he did, and one (a Russian) did not fare at all. He was retained at Warnemünde, and was to be sent back by the next steamer. I must say that I never saw a more spyish-looking person in my life; I would not have trusted him across the street even in times of peace.

One man had a gold piece in his pocket. It was taken from him, but replaced by paper money of the same value. He had also a note book in his valise, in which he had written his impressions. One was that, a "smukke pige " (Danish for pretty

girl) did not mean a smoked pig. These he was obliged to explain in detail. H. helped him, as he did not speak German, being from Argentina.

Our route passed through MecklenburgStrelitz. This part of Germany is very familiar to us, as we once spent a delightful Summer there.

We had a most excellent dinner in the dining car, even better than formerly, consisting of a good soup, a very good filet de boeuf, hot potatoes, cheese, and fruit. We were, as you see, far from being starved. We had fared well-better than was dreamed of by those who bade us farewell. The only thing out of the usual that I noticed was that there were fewer men in the stations, almost none in the fields, and not many in the towns as we passed through them. But the railroad service was just as always.

We arrived on the stroke of time in Berlin, and found our former servant (Otto) at the door of our compartment. He had been sent by Count M. to invite us to luncheon the next day. All the automobiles had been taken, and Otto was some time finding two droschkes to convey us and our baggage to the hotel. There were plenty of porters about, and we were not obliged to burden ourselves with our bags, as predicted.

We went to the Hotel Bristol, Unter den Linden. How dimly the lighted and dull streets looked! How deserted they were! How quiet this usually so brilliantly lit centre seemed! Hardly a pedestrian and no carriages. I would never have known our old Berlin. The hotel, the rendezvous of all that was chic and fashionable, was filled only with serious elderly men, eagerly reading the newspapers. The head waiter rushed up to us, as if welcoming his dearest friends, (evidently thinking we were American millionaires.) He rubbed his hands and asked us if we would "sup," (speaking in English,) beaming with happy anticipation of a princely bourboire, and chanced an "I remember you when you were here before." He received a short and to-thepoint reply in German to the effect that he was not remembered and that, as some one once said, "his face was not as familiar as his manner." A Brodkarte (bread

card) was given to us. There were ten coupons on each, and each coupon was good for 25 grams of bread, sufficient for one day-supposed to be all you need. You cannot get more.

When you go to a restaurant you must take your Brodkarte with you, otherwise you go without if you can't borrow one. The bakers provide their clients with just that amount, and no more. Of course, in the hotels it is put on your bill.

A

Many signs were hung on the walls of the hotel begging people to be economical, not to waste anything. particular stress was put upon potatoes. They should be boiled with their skins on, and if they were pared the parings must not be thrown away. Why? I wondered.

I went to see my jeweler the next morning. There was hardly any one in the street, (Friedrichstrasse.) It was generally so full of traffic, but now noticeably empty. Occasionally an officer would limp by, leaning on his cane, and another with a loose-hanging sleeve. What a sad tale this told!

Although there were so few people to be seen, all the theatres are open, and, it is said, very well attended. Certainly the restaurants showed no sign of lack of customers. Both hotels and restaurants are filled to overflowing.

I met the Princess Wied in the corridor of the hotel-not the ex-Queen of Albania, but her sister-in-law, (the daughter of the King of Württemberg.) She presented her son to me. He is very young, at least he looked so.

He goes to the front tomorrow. She seemed very sad, and looked with loving eyes at the handsome young fellow.

We lunched with Count and Countess M., and met some of the American Embassy, and after lunch Countess M. took me out for a drive in her motor. She has my former chauffeur. It seemed natural to be driving about the old familiar road to Grünewald and by Kaiserdam. My favorite promenade! When we passed the new building devoted to exhibitions and sport, the chauffeur said it was the largest edifice in the world. (I wonder.) The hall alone is 1,200 meters long and 18 meters high. It covers 19,000

meters of ground, and is lighted by 15,000 electric lamps at night; it is lighted "al giorno" from the ceiling and behind glass.

It must be splendid! Colossal is the only word to apply to it. My jeweler said that he would be called to do his military service next year.

"Next year! I cried. Surely you don't think that the war will go on till then?"

"Why, of course," he answered; "there is no doubt of it."

I hope that he is wrong. It is a dreadful thought that this state of things should continue!

Now our real journey, fraught with dangers and surprises, was to commence. We started from Anhalt Bahnhof the next day. The station was crammed with soldiers. Every train that came in brought them, and every train that went out took them away. The poor young fellows looked hardly over twenty. They carried their bundles on their backs and paper cartons tied with strings. They were going to receive their knapsacks at the end of their journey. what more! Poor creatures!

And

They appeared quiet and serious; there was no shouting nor running about, after the manner of soldiers. The Captain marshaled them about with low-spoken words of command. Their uniforms, as those of the officers, were of dark cloth. Their helmets were covered with the same cloth to hide (I suppose) the shinyness of them. Our first-class compartment was almost filled with officers, but when we came they politely left us to ourselves and stood in the corridor.

The luncheon and dinner on the restaurant cars were well served, and there was enough of everything for the many passengers. Our bread was given to us in small packages, but we had plenty. The train was crammed with soldiers; they stood in all the corridors. H. gave them some cigarettes and I handed out what chocolate I had taken with me. It was not much, yet they seemed very grateful.

All the factories we passed seemed to be closed; there was no smoke to be seen anywhere. In the fields, which appeared