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to make any such demand. I say, German terror which is serving it so simply: Russians, look to your own

well at present. M. Ribot, in his interests, and you will find that they dread of a Russian-made peace-a point even more emphatically than dread caught from us which may be ours to pushing the war, even for the called English measles—is forcing an very sake of war, more resolutely than any dynasty. For the revolution has The new régime in Russia will not its back to the wall: it is the emperors be safely seated, for many a long day who now seek peace.

yet; and, until it is, the choice for it Thus, whatever the Councils of will be between war and Tsar, between Workmen and Soldiers may imagine, military discipline and anarchy. If it there is far more danger of the Russian does not choose war it will be very revolutionary Government refusing to different from all previous successful make peace when the moment comes

revolutions in which the State power for the rest of the Allies to consent has passed to men not born and trained to it than of its throwing awa the

to govern. The Manchester Guardian.

Bernard Shaw.




On the day that I left hospital, with a month's sick leave in hand, I went to dine at my favorite Soho restaurant, the Mazarin, which I always liked because it provided an excellent meal for an extremely modest

But this evening my steps turned towards the old place because I wanted a word with Monsieur Joseph, the headwaiter.

I found him the same genial soul as ever, though a shade stouter perhaps and grayer at the temples, and I flatter myself that it was with a smile of genuine pleasure that he led me to my old table in a corner of the room.

When the crowd of diners had thinned he came to me for a chat.

"It is indeed a pleasure to see M'sieur after so long a time,” said he, "for, alas, there are so many others of our old clients who will not ever return."

I told him that I too was glad to be sitting in the comparative quiet of the Mazarin, and asked him how he fared.

Joseph smiled. “I 'ave a surprise for M'sieur," he said-"yes, a great surprise. There are ten, fifteen years

that I work in thees place, and in four more weeks le patron will retire and I become the proprietor. Oh, it is bee-utiful,” he continued, clasping his hands rapturously, “to think that in so leetle time I, who came to London a poor waiter, shall be patron of one of its finest restaurants."

I offered him my warmest gratulations. If ever a man deserved success it was he, and it was good to see the look of pleasure on his face as I told him so.

“And now," said I presently, “I also have a surprise for you, Joseph."

He laughed. "Eh bien, M'sieur, it is your turn to take my breath away.”

“My last billet in France, before being wounded,” I told him, "was in a Picardy village called Fléchinelle."

He raised his hands. "Mon Dieu," he cried, "it is my own village"".

"More than that,” I continued, "for nearly six weeks I lodged just behind the church, in a whitewashed cottage with a stock of oranges, pipes and boot-laces for sale in the window."

"It is my mother's shop!” he exclaimed breathlessly.



I nodded my head, and then proceeded to give him the hundred-andone messages that I had received from the little old lady as soon as she discovered that I knew her son.

"It is so long since I ’ave seen 'er," said Monsieur Joseph, blowing his nose violently. “So 'ard I work in London these ten, fifteen years that only once have I gone 'ome since my father died."

Then I told him how bent and old his mother was, and how lonesome she had seemed all by herself in the cottage, and as I spoke of the shop which she still kept going in her front-room the tears fairly rained down his face.

“But, M'sieur,” said he, “that which you tell me is indeed strange; for those letters which she writes to me week by week are always gay, and it 'as seemed to me that my mother was well content."

Then he struck his fist on the table. “I'ave it,” he said. “She shall come to live 'ere with me in Londres. All that she desires shall be 'ers, for am I not a rich man?

I shook my head. "She would never leave her village now," I told him. “And I know well that she desires nothing in the world except to see you again."

Then as I rose to go, "Good night, M'sieur,” said Joseph a little sadly. "Be very sure that there is always a welcome for you 'ere.”

The next time that I dined at the Mazarin was some four weeks later, on the eve of my return to the Front. A strange waiter showed me to my


place, and Joseph was nowhere to be

Indeed a wholly different air seemed to pervade the place since my last visit. Presently I beckoned to a waiter whom I recognized as having served under the old régime. "Where is Monsieur Joseph?” I asked him.

Where indeed, Sir!" the replied. “It is all so strange. One day it is arranged that he shall take over the restaurant and its staff, and on the next he come to say ‘Good-bye' to us all, and then leave for France. Oh, it is drôle. So good a business man to lose the chance that comes once only in a life! He is too old to fight. Yet who knows? Maybe he heard of something better out there ..."

As the man spoke the gold-andwhite walls of the restaurant faded, the clatter of plates and dishes died away, and I was back again in a tiny village shop in Picardy. Across the counter, packed with its curious stock, I saw Monsieur Joseph, with shirtsleeves rolled up, gravely handing a stick of chocolate to a child, and taking its sou in return. In the diminutive kitchen behind sat a little whitehaired old lady with such a look of content on her face as I have rarely

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No one who has lived in London through the various air raids can any longer believe the platitudinous pretension that human fear can only be

held in check by discipline and duty. Excitement, curiosity, sheer irresponsibility, the mysterious attraction of risk, the mysterious desire to

get to the center (to be "in it"), ing to the explosions. Women with and the off-chance of being useful babies in perambulators charged along are each sufficient to overcome fear the pavement apparently as merry as in the Cockney. The Londoner may their infants, just as we have all seen call out for official protection, but he nurses at the seaside run to avoid a will not take common precautions. big wave, and as though a wetting, The authorities complain that if not destruction, was what the roaring warning be given, it will be regarded noise portended. Stout old gentlemen as a signal to rush into the streets, as well as boys climbed on to a wall see what can be seen, increase one's to see what they could, instead of experience, add to one's memories, taking cover. “Hardly safe in the and have a tale to tell when it is over. streets now!” said a workman, in a Now it cannot be denied that there is tone of something like exultation, in a side to all this light-hearted pluck a 'bus, listening with a face of cheerful with which we have no special need interest to the quick-traveling news to be pleased. On the other hand, which explained the thundery noise how terribly ashamed we should be if he had been describing. He was an it were otherwise—if the hostile aero- elderly man, and seemed to feel that planes could drive us all to our holes, now he was "in it" like the youngest of empty the streets, and lead every them-almost at the front as it were. man, woman, and child to take the A very real, if hardly conscious, desire precautions which it is the duty of to share the troubles of the soldiers all officials to scold and persuade them lies very near the spring of this feeling, into. This light-hearted courage of which is not, however, unconnected the public must sometimes, we think, with the alert determination of the seem to those upon whom the fearful Londoner not to be bored, to enjoy thunderbolt has fallen-those who whatever variety life sends him, even have seen the shattered bodies of though it be the risk of death.

We their children carried out from the do not want to be grudging of praise, débris of a ruined school-as callous- but we should fall into the danger of ness. Common courage, the sort un- sentimentality if we regarded this tinged by conscious sacrifice, has in state of feeling as wholly new or wholly it such a streak. There is so little fine. It is partly new and partly refined gold in human nature. It laudable, but something of the same glitters in the quartz. We must not kind caused our grandfathers to attend expect to find it in the lump. Com- executions. plete sympathy and careless courage Another fact strikes us as bearing are found in great natures only; but upon the fearless attitude towards it must be remembered that the raids which is betrayed in the streets. coward's sympathy is useless, even Deep interest in a scientific novelty where it exists. Anyhow, there are plays its part, especially among mature vast numbers to whom the excitement people. Even righteous rage is for of a new danger would appear pleasure- the moment masked by it. The ignorable, and many others whose ordinary ant share to a great extent the timecomposure it is powerless to ruffle. spirit of the instructed. They know

During the raid which took place nothing about science, but they are on June 13th a young Lieutenant fascinated, just as the scientific men standing on one of the bridges read a are fascinated, by all mechanical motoring paper in the intervals of

means of defying what seemed the looking out for the raiders and listen- laws of Nature. Miracles may be over, but not the appetite of the populace for signs and wonders. Our own aeroplanes have, of course, become a familiar enough sight, but we do not see them at such fell work. That a thing in the sky, not much bigger than a bird, should be able to work havoc in a town thousands of feet below it is a phenomenon to strike both pity and fear into momentary abeyance. We are inclined to think that the wonders of the world strike the very young less than they strike the mature. They have not lived in a world which denied the possibility of what has now happened. Their memory does not carry them back to a time when such happenings were regarded by the oldfashioned as impossible, or by the more open-minded as very far off. In the young curiosity takes the place of astonishment. Watch children at a conjurer's entertainment. They would like to find out how he does it, but the marvel does not strike them. The sight of the familiar rabbit is greeted with more cheers than the most wonderful examples of sleight-ofThe Spectator.

hand. Youth longs for experience, but is often fearfully shocked by it. The sights they have risked their lives to see make a nerve-shattering impression upon them. In many ways they are more sympathetic than the old. "What fearful things are in the world,” they say to themselves in horror. They cannot add, as their elders do: “But that grim knowledge is nothing new; it has been with us for years.” With the curiosity of the good young goes an ardent desire to be of service. The old realize their own unimportance or impotence against fate.

In considering the facts and emotions which may explain the form of gallantry which the civilian population of London seem always ready to evince one cannot leave out of count the attraction of the tragic, which shows far more in the uneducated than the educated. It has something to do with the spirit of art, which finds other outlets in the learned. It has roots, too, which we dare not dig up, somewhere in a savage past.




“Russia of Yesterday and To- Witte and his political strategy, of morrow" by Baroness Souiny (The Rasputin and his mysterious influence, Century Co.) is not a history, or a of the widening gulf between the Tsar political study, but vivid and and the Russian people, and of the intimate description of Russia and the great upheaval which, almost in a Russians as seen from the inside, by single day, overthrew the Romanoff one who is herself a Russian, yet who dynasty, sent the Tsar and Tsarina to has a knowledge of other countries prison, and brought Russia to a state and peoples wide enough to admit of of near-anarchy. Timely and illuminatjust estimates and comparisons. She ing, and of absorbing interest from writes with ease and confidence, some- the first chapter to the last, the book times lightly and humorously, some- is an important contribution to the times with almost dramatic force, of history of the period, and an aid to the the plots and counterplots which understanding of the Russia of yesterwent on in court circles, of the spies day, even though it leaves the Russia and conspirators in high offices, of of tomorrow a subject of doubt and the Grand Duke Nicholas and the conjecture. There are sixteen illusreasons for his dismissal, of Count trations from photographs.

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Entered as Second Class Mail Matter at Boston, Mass.

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