came, we volunteered in tens of thousands, every kind of woman, young, old, middle-aged, rich and poor, trained and untrained, and today we have 1,250,000 women in industry directly replacing men, 1,000,000 in munitions, 83,000 additional women in Government Departments, 258,300 whole and part-time women workers on the land.  We are recruiting women for the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps at the rate of 10,000 a month and we have initiated a Women’s Royal Naval Service.  We have had the help of about 60,000 V.A.D.’s (Voluntary Aid Detachment of Red Cross) in Hospitals in England and France, and on our other fronts, in addition to our thousands of trained nurses.

The women in our homes carry on—­no easy task in these days of shortages in food and coal and all the other difficulties, saving, conserving, working, caring for the children, with so many babies whose fathers have never seen them, though they are one to two years old, and so many babies who will never see their fathers.

Some of our women have died on active service, doctors, nurses and orderlies.  Our most recent and greatest loss is in the death of Dr. Elsie Inglis, the initiator of the Scottish Women’s Hospitals, who died on November 26th, three days after she had safely brought back her Unit from South Russia, which had been nursing the Serbians attached to the Russian army.

One who was with her at the end writes, “It was a great triumphant going forth.”  There was no hesitation, no fear.  As soon as she knew she was going, that the call had come, with her wonted decision of character, she just readjusted her whole outlook.  “For a long time I meant to live,” she said, “but now I know I am going.  It is so nice to think of beginning a new job over there!  But I would have liked to have finished one or two jobs here first!”

She told us the story of the breaking of their moorings as they lay in the river in a great storm of wind and of how that breaking had saved them from colliding with another ship.  “I asked,” she said, “what had happened.”  Someone said “Our moorings broke.”  I said, “No, a hand cut them!” Then, after a moment’s silence, with an expression in face and voice which it is utterly impossible to convey, she added, “That same Hand is cutting my moorings now, and I am going forth!” The picture rose before you of an unfettered ship going out to the wide sea and of the great untrammelled, unhindered soul moving majestically onwards.

[Illustration:  Miss Edith Cavell]

[Illustration:  Dr. Elsie Inglis]

There was no fear, no death!  How could there be.  She never thought of her own work—­she knew unity.  “You did magnificently,” was said to her within an hour of her going.  With all her wonted assurance and with a touch of pride she answered, “My Unit did magnificently.”

Her loss is irreparable to us, but there is no room for sorrow.  She leaves us triumph, victory, and peace.