to be candid, seems an indefensible proposal. It is not the 1011⁄2d (21 cents) an hour made payable to seamstresses that imperils British industry. At present rates of exchange, it only works out at about seven dollars a week. The attack on the Trade Boards does show, however, in what direction sentiment is moving.

While the middle classes have rallied against insurgent Labor and with remarkable success, there is throughout the nation a cheerful camaraderie. The very retail tradesmen who suffered most severely from the coal strike collected money to pay for meals to be given to the miners' children. "No boy or girl in our district," said one business man, "went hungry." Yet this business man was an outspoken critic of the Trade Union leadership. There is, I think, a feeling that, after all, rich and poor in Britain have suffered and fought and died together, and that three years after the armistice they are together confronted by common dangers. If the workers are foolish, then, it cannot be claimed that the thinkers have been altogether wise. Among all classes there have been faults, followed by an atonement of heroism.

I cannot say that I found in Britain evidences of a religious awakening. The great Brotherhood meetings and adult schools, which were such a feature in the Churches before the war, are still staggering under the loss of their bravest and best young men, killed or crippled. Dr. Jowett, summoned from Fifth Avenue by command of the King and persuasion of the Prime Minister, has preached with tender sympathy, but, at the moment, he is in the south of France, recruiting from ill-health. Veterans like Dr. Clifford of the Baptists and Dr. F. B. Meyer of the Congregationalists do not seem to have successors. Indeed, the Free Churches, which have lost Dr. Campbell to Anglicanism and are hardly represented by that brilliant expositor, Dr. Orchard, appear to be fighting a soldiers' battle for faith and reverence. The Established Church is in the exactly converse situation. On social and industrial questions, the Archbishops and Bishops issue quite audacious pronouncements and the pulpit of St. Paul's Cathedral rings with the consecrated cynicism of Dean Inge. Socialists like Father Adderly of

Covent Garden are heard with attention, and feminism-inevitable where women are in an excess of two millions-makes its influence felt especially in a Church where the majority of worshippers has long been drawn from that sex. I am told, however, that the progressive leadership in the Church of England has yet to penetrate rural deaneries. There is a background even here of intense conservatism. It is only in Wales that the Church is disestablished, and Welsh Episcopalianism promptly voted itself an Archbishop. Also, an acquiescent Prime Minister compelled Parliament to nullify disendowment by grants of public money!

that

That England is ripe for a great era of personal and national religion, is obvious. All that I am indicating is that the character of that era has not yet declared itself. Many Churches are crowded. On a weekday, there were at least six hundred persons attending evensong in St. Paul's Cathedral. To the lessons, as to the exquisite and unaccompanied singing, they listened with profound attention. The fact is, of course, the British are to-day a nation of mourners. Everywhere it is the same; children killed, or children sent on service to the ends of the earth. Even to-day the outpouring of the nation's best life is wonderful. And with it there is a great zeal for higher education. Historic schools like Eton and Harrow and Winchester, which sent their boys by the thousand to battle and the grave, are crowded once more by a new generation. Oxford and Cambridge are full of undergraduates, so full that foreign students cannot always find accommodation. As India is discovering, the governing reserves of England are gravely depleted, but the gaps are already being filled, and it is even said that some professions-medicine, for instance-are overcrowded.

I am not myself much inclined to admire obelisks, and when I saw London's memorial to Nurse Cavell, I confess that I was disappointed and even indignant. That such a monument should have been reared without including the immortal utterance, "Patriotism is not enough," among its inscriptions, seemed to me an outrage upon a great international martyr and heroine. Londoners themselves are far from satisfied with this addition to their sights to be seen. But with the cenotaph in Whitehall,

"To the Glorious Dead," I was impressed far more deeply than I could have thought possible. I had not realized the touches of sombre radiant color, yielded by the flags, motionless as sentinels, nor the banks of flowers, perpetually renewed by rich and poor-wreaths and crosses and humble bunches of wild blossoms that for weeks at a time have stretched across Whitehall and forced the police to divert the traffic from that busy avenue. In the Abbey one heard, as usual, the guides droning their rigmarole about kings and queens long ago dead and gone, but there did not need to be any guide to the simple stone in the nave, beneath which lay, in French soil brought with him, the ever unknown soldier. All day and every day, crowds gather around that spot and linger over the grave, with faces bent and eyes often averted from observation. Very pathetic were these emotions among a people reckoned to be so reserved as the English.

Not that on the surface you would detect sorrow. On the contrary, what I saw everywhere was a smile. It was the kind of cheerfulness that pervades a hospital, where all are comforted because all share the same trouble. "The reason why people here are so happy," said I to a friend, "is that they have now no treasures on earth, but only in heaven!" So heavy have been financial losses that the victims have nothing now to worry about; for thousands, it is a case of starting things afresh, from scratch. Hence, there is a new appreciation of those benefits which money cannot buy. At the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool—raided by the unemployed a few days after I landed— no fewer than eight hundred persons daily passed the turnstile and studied the pictures. In the National Gallery, fronting Trafalgar Square in London, I found crowds of people, examining the rearranged masterpieces of that collection. There and at Hertford House, where the Wallace Collection is again to be seen, the roofs had been rearranged with a view to better lighting, and lectures on the art of which examples are shown were regularly delivered for any who wished to listen. It seemed as if “admiration, hope and love"-by which we live were asserting once more their claim over the spirit of the nation.

P. W. WILSON.

LUXURY AND WAR

BY REAR-ADMIRAL BRADLEY A. FISKE, U. S. N.

It is interesting to realize that the attempt to make money and achieve "higher standards of living" has brought many nations into competitions and resulting disputes with other nations, that have eventually led to war. In fact, an impartial student of history can hardly avoid the conclusion that war is a twin brother of civilization, in that it has often been brought on by attempts of men to better the conditions under which they lived.

Another conclusion which a student of war is apt to reach is that men and even beasts rarely fight merely to fight. Most savages, lions, tigers and even wasps seem to be peaceably inclined, unless they feel impelled to fight in order to get food, to guard themselves and their families, or to secure advantages of some kind. From the earliest times, men and beasts have fought against each other. In savage countries, they fight against each other now. Why do they fight? Because the beasts try to steal cattle or other possessions from the men. They fight for material possessions.

In primæval times, the members of one family would band together for the protection of-what? The possessions of the family; the hut that covered them, the goats that gave them milk. Naturally, the brunt of the fighting fell on the man, because he was the one who could fight the most effectively. The same conditions prevail in savage countries now.

Restricting our attention to those tribes and nations that have developed into modern nations which make war, it is easy to see that families banded together to form tribes "for mutual protection". Mutual protection of what?

Of themselves, of their own persons? Yes, but only secondarily; because no tribe would undertake the highly dangerous, difficult and laborious task of attacking another tribe unless that tribe possessed something that the first tribe wanted. It might

possess a fertile area of land, or some sheet of water rich in fish, or fine herds of cattle. The Chief of the first tribe seeing this, and realizing that it would enrich his tribe and increase his own prestige and power to seize them, decides to try to seize them. He makes such preparations for an attack as may be necessitated by the presence of warriors in the other tribe. He then attacks. He "makes war".

This may seem like a very crude way of making war. It is; but it is no more crude than the way in which Frederick the Great made war upon Silesia in 1740. It is true that Frederick had certain claims that he put forward as giving him a right to Silesia. But Frederick did not attack Silesia because he had those claims: he attacked Silesia because he wanted Silesia. claims were merely the excuse that he gave.

The

Many wars have originated in causes as simple as those of the savage chief just suggested, and the attack of Frederick on Silesia. Ordinarily, however, in modern times and among great nations, the causes have not been so simple; or rather they have not seemed to be so simple. But the reason why they have not seemed to be so simple has often been that the matter had gradually become involved in a bewildering maze of arguments. For, as time has gone on, especially among Christian nations, the desire to support every project with reasons based on right and justice has been keenly felt; so that cases like that of Frederick have been rare. Doubtless, this has had the effect of averting some wars; but in many instances it has had the effect merely of postponing them. In many cases, such as Prussia's war with Denmark in 1864, her war with Austria in 1866, and her war with France in 1870, the intense desire of one country to get something from the other has been retarded only slightly by the desirability of giving to aggressive measures the apparent sanction of right and justice.

It is interesting, though depressing, to note how a careful study of war, even among Christian nations, and even when religion has been invoked by all of the participants, brings out what seems to be a fact, that the coveting of some material possession, such as land, or mines in the land, or trade advantages, has been the fundamental cause of many wars. This may not have been consciously realized by the participants; for all candid people must