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them old enough to send them out there to the horror.' She fumbled with palsied hands at her unbuttoned waist; she tried helplessly to control her voice. 'She's right; this is her sorrow. Let it be black, all black. It's all black for them.'

Just then the dressmaker came in. She found the two ladies staring hysterically at each other, and a little girl half-dressed in a mourning gown which had been designed for a stately widow.

'Mrs. Byrne, I'm ready for you,' she said. "That's a stunning dress your daughter has on, Mrs. Gilbert; but I could give her something more suitable.'

'We'll order this,' said her customer. 'With crêpe on it, and like this,' said the girl, with cheeks aflame.

Mrs. Byrne tried on her gown and went home. She hurried all the way as if she were afraid of being too late for an engagement. She opened the front door with her latchkey and stole stealthily up the four flights to the sheeted room at the corner. A little white gate stood open expectantly. Two stubby little children's chairs were drawn up amicably together in the middle of the room. Over by the window a chair looked as if it had been placed there for her by some one. Alone amid the whispering memories of this shrouded room, Mrs. Byrne allowed herself the luxury of thinking of nothing but Edwin.

At the dressmaker's, a very young girl, self-important but painstaking, as a bride should be, was still selecting and fussing over her mourning.

A GENTLEMAN UNAFRAID

LETTERS OF EDWIN AUSTIN ABBEY, 2D

SUDBURY, May 12, 1915.

DEAREST MOTHER,

Went to the Post Office and found your letter. It was good to hear from you, and your feeling about the Lusitania. The dishonor to the flag is great, but it seems to me more a dishonor to manhood and humanity. I can see very little patriotism or flags or countries; it is more a struggle of mankind to defend the principles of humanity and chivalry which the Creator has handed down, even though the defenders themselves have abused and sinned against the very principles they now defend. It is as though the world has sinned to

a point where it divided, the one half going over the bounds of human possibility, the other stopping and reaching back to former good and true tradition to resist the impulse of the lost half to swallow it up as well.

I feel that we are only at the beginning and must really fight for existence. Germany has shown herself to be a terrible menace, and she is beginning to feel confidence in her own resources to defy the world. No country or flag can be mine except the United States, but if I could go to this war as a citizen of the world, I would pray to be allowed to do it.

TORONTO, May 15, 1915.

call

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Yesterday afternoon Mr. I ed me up and said that Mr. H going to put me in charge of a bridge about to be built in the Muskoka district; I saw Mr. Hand he said that if I wanted the job I could have it. It is a position that I could have desired only in my dreams. The bridge is a good size and on a curve, which requires special engineering work to lay out; and not only that, but the centre piers will have to be sunk to rockbottom, through about forty feet of mud by means of compressed-air caissons. Not only will I have complete charge of all the engineering work, but, as the contract is to be carried out on a cost plus per cent basis, I will also have to keep strict account of all labor and material and be responsible for any waste or uneconomic methods in the construction. In other words, I will be General Manager of the whole job, and this will be even harder because I have only two helpers when I could easily use five. My ability will be taxed to the utmost, which is the desire of my heart.

And yet, mother, I went in to Mr. H— this morning and told him that I could only accept the position with the understanding that, if the United States declared war and called for volunteers, I would leave at once. I am so full of that, it drowns out every ambition or desire or thought of the future that I have. I have nothing but a great big desire to give myself to help in this battle against evil.

BALA, May 19, 1915.

I want to tell you what I said in that letter that never reached you. The affair of the Lusitania has gone through me again and again. I feel as if I could not just go ahead as I have since the war started, making plans for my own advancement, or my own family's wel

fare. It is not the isolated case of the Lusitania, or that Americans were among those to suffer, but the realization that it has brought of the actual conditions in Europe and the German attitude. It seems to me that the only remedy is in the thousands of men who feel called to offer themselves for whatever they are worth. Just now, it seems to me that America is in an impossible position. Honor demands that we enter the war, humanity that we stay out. I will do nothing until the United States course is definitely decided; but above everything in the world, I want to go to the war, and I want you and father to tell me that I can govern myself by what knowledge and judgment I have, with the surety of your confidence in me to do right. I think I can manage to serve in some way, if only you will give me the inspiration of your approval and trust, you and father.

TORONTO, May 24, 1915.

I can't say how grateful I am that you can feel able to give me for whatever purpose may be intended, for now I shall definitely plan to offer my services in some capacity in the war. This bridge-work here came in such an unasked, unexpected way, at a time when such opportunities are almost unthought-of, that I feel that I must keep on with it at present; but if I cannot enlist here, I will plan to go directly to Europe in the fall.

BALA, May 27, 1915.

Your letter came yesterday A.M. It almost answered the thought in my last, I mean the following guidance as well as one can see it, and I feel just as you do about seeing this work through if I can. Of course I have thought of Red Cross work, but there are many who are only fitted for that; and many Americans who would only think of doing that. My wish would be

to go into the Army and let the Superior governing decide my duties. However, there is no doubt a Guiding Hand in all these matters. I believe in following, just as you; but I think there is inward guidance as well as outward. What I meant by humanity restraining the United States is the fact that, in spite of all our failure in national protest against outrages, still our very spirit has been standing between the nations and their people that are in Germany's power. The thousands of Belgians who have nothing in the world are fed and clothed by us because Germany in the nature of our 'friendly relations' cannot help but permit it. This would be cut off in case of war. Through us the Allies are able to be in some way cognizant of the condition of their prisoners of war, and Germany cannot openly resent our investigation and supervision in such matters. Our representative in the German Court is a guaranty against open ill-treatment of the thousands of interned and noncombatant enemies in Germany. Once the United States declares war, a great silent circle will be stretched around the space enclosed by the German lines, and what will happen inside that circle is all conjecture.

SHAW'S CREEK, August 12, 1915. Your letter came yesterday, and it was a comfort and help to know that you feel as strongly as I do about the war and are making it easier for me in my plans. I still hope the United States will have an awakening, but if affairs are not definite by fall, I still want to do something, whatever it can be; and the first thing logically seems now to try to enlist in Canada, if there is any branch of the service that will have me. My eyes will undoubtedly be a stumbling-block; but there must be some way. I can't think that I would be useless.

SHAW'S CREEK, August 25, 1915. Mother dear, I think it is nearly impossible for me to get in with them. The eye examination is still one which only a piece of luck would allow me to pass; and I am an American, which is in my disfavor, even if I am willing to take the oath of allegiance. I think the Hospital Corps will be my best chance, and if I am not able to get into the regular army service, there are some independent organizations. The best chances are, I think, in Canada, so I will try here first; but it may be that I will have to try America, or my first plan of going to England. Things must work out, as they always do. I know that in those moments when the thought of my possible going away comes, and for a moment seems overwhelming, it would help to think of the women and children, still unhardened to blind terrors, who have been strickI do not mean killed, but have had all that was humanly dear and comforting snatched horribly away, and the victory that must be gained to put an end to all this horror. Remember that your strength is the mother strength that sacrifices itself for the children and the weak. I am your child, but no longer a human child with the necessities of human children; and yet, mother, in the greatest way, the spiritual way, I need you more every day, and in that need you are always giving and helping me, and are always with me.

en,

BALA, September 30, 1915. The work here is finished. There was some talk of putting in two additional piers, but it has been decided against, I am glad to say, for I think it would have spoiled the proportions. I am going in to Toronto, where I have a few construction plans to finish up; then up here for a final inspection Monday or Tuesday; and then, I hope, home.

I am going to try to enlist here, because being in Canada is a definite chance, and I want to feel that I have not lost any opportunity. However, I am certain my eyesight will debar me.

TORONTO, October 2, 1915.

I

I have wonderful news. I have been accepted, the thing we have wanted and prayed for so long; and in the Engineers, where the work will be constructive, as you wanted so much. will tell you just how it happened. I made up my mind I would go to the Armories this afternoon and do my best to get in. I went into the Armories and asked where to go to join, and was directed to a room upstairs which was full of people, principally sergeantmajors, by the amount of chevrons. I went up to one and said that I wanted to enlist, and he asked me what regiment. I said I did n't know, and asked him if there were any engineers recruiting. He said, 'Yes,' and directed me down about half a dozen corridors, asking my way as I went.

In the last corridor a soldier was standing, writing something on the wall. I asked him if he could tell me which room was the Engineers' office,

there are no signs, and he said, 'Which Engineers do you wish to join, the Pioneers?' Then I saw that he was an officer, captain or lieutenant, I do not know which. I must have looked blank, not knowing what varieties of Engineers there were. So he took me into a room and began to tell me about the Pioneers. It is a regiment formed to do all kinds of construction work, railroads, highways, trenches, sanitary sewer work in camps, etc.; just exactly the thing we thought of. He said there was going to be lots of hard work swinging a pick, probably, and the likes of that, and the men are a rough crowd, -tradesmen of all sorts, carpenters, masons, plumbers, pipe-layers.

Well, as he talked, I almost grew sick, because it was so exactly the thing I longed for, and I was sure I could n't pass the eye-test. So I said, 'That just suits me if I can only pass the physical examination.' He said, 'There won't be much trouble about that by the look of you.' I had left my spectacles at home! He saw that I was a University man, and said that I had a good chance to become a non-commissioned officer. Then he took me to the recruiting-room, and I was given my application papers, and went up to the doctor.

You can imagine that I was nervous by that time. I stripped, and went to the doctor after they had measured me up. The first thing he did was to ask me to read letters on a card across the room, and, of course, the letters on the last line were just too small for me to read; they jumped and danced, and, strain as I would, I just could n't see them. I told him I was nervous, so he gave me plenty of time, and switched me over to a card by the window instead of the electric light. Finally, I blurted out a guess. I was not sure whether I was anywhere near right. Anyway, he thought it over, and said he thought he would give me chance. . . .

a

Does n't it seem like Providence again, mother, after all the waiting, and the work at Shaw's Creek just nicely finished up. Much love, dearest mother, to you and father, and thank you both for making me feel that I can do this with your blessing.

IN CAMP, March 22, 1916. The trenches twist and turn so, a precaution against enfilade fire in the event of the enemy's occupying any position, that we seemed to walk miles before we reached our destination. It was a new support trench about forty yards back of the front line. Saturday

night, I was on a 'carrying party,' whose duty was to carry timber, wire, etc., from a material pile to the working party. Sunday night we went in again, and I was in a digging gang. Some of the new work had fallen in, and we had to remove the sand-bags and dig down in front of the screens and push the latter out, wire them back, fill up behind them, and put back the bags. It sounds simple enough, but the digging was the worst I ever struck. Sticky mud that clings to your shovel, so that you can only get rid of one shovelful out of every three, and that by effort. After two or three hours of it, I am all in and ready to admit it. We usually work from sundown till about midnight, although whatever task is given has to be finished. . . .

...

April 13, 1916.

A soldier must live from day to day, with no thought of the future, just a steadfast purpose of carrying out orders and being stronger and steadier than he naturally is; and faith and trust in God's purpose make it possible for me. Do you not think that the war is making people less selfish in the world and in the United States? Surely it must, when in so many places people are sacrificing their dear ones and their money for a cause. Even if it seems to some more a question of honor and family, or national tradition, than justice or freedom.

I often think of the rank and file of the German Army, and even the junior officers. They are suffering untold hardships, and showing magnificent bravery in the face of heavy odds, as much, or perhaps more, than the soldiers of the Allies. Although one must be here to realize that men have risen to a height of courage and endurance in this war that people living in modern civilization never dreamed of. Surely, some gain must come from this tre

mendous effort and conquest of self, and Germany must not be entirely a loser, when her sons, even if forced, have paid such a price. I hope for a Europe of republics and personal freedom as the only adequate result. Of course, we strain against national characteristics or nature that makes submarines and Zeppelins possible. Such things are the result, it seems to me, of forced acquiescence in tyranny and wrong government, and time must wear it down. The races will never be able to understand each other; but you have heard the cries for reprisal, much more horrible than the deed if carried out, and we know our South, the dealings with the Negro there. Freedom, and then the conquering of self, are the great hopes that the war holds out, and it is more than worth that.

April 18, 1916.

Yesterday, I had yours and father's letters of March 31st, and a Fraternity notice forwarded, a dear little colored picture of the 'frog footman,' from Billy, and a lovely note from Father S, saying that I was being prayed for twice daily in the school chapel. How much that means to me! You say to tell you what your 'bit' can be. Dear mother, that is it. You are praying not just for me, but for all of us out here, and the German soldiers too. I often think of you at early mass and in 'St. Savior's,' and so many other times of the day, praying. That is the great thing, for it all lies with God, and in his own way He always answers prayers; so when I think that you and father and Father W and Father S and so many others are praying, it is a great comfort and strength. When I am under fire, I pray not only for protection, or a worthy dying, but for courage, not to lose my control and to help others.

This is one of my 'green envelope'

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