the reign of law and humanity in Europe.  What the future has in store we cannot see yet in detail; but the inevitable end is clear at last.  The man-power of Germany is failing, and with it the insolent confidence of her military caste; the man-power of the Allies, and the gun-power of the Allies, are rising steadily.  Russia is well launched on her return way to Warsaw, to Cracow, to East Prussia.  Italy, after the fall of Gorizia, is on the march for Trieste.  The Turks are fleeing across the desert of Sinai; and the Allies at Salonika are taking the first steps toward Sofia.

But it is in the “holy spirit of man” itself that the secret of the future lies.  On the Somme battle-fields, thousands and thousands of young lives have been again laid down, that England—­that France—­may live.  Here is a letter, written the day before his death in action, on July 1st, the opening day of the offensive, by a young English Officer.[C] One must read it, if one can, dry-eyed.  Not tears, but a steeled will, a purer heart, are what it asks of those for whom the writer died:—­

     “I am writing this letter to you just before going into
     action to-morrow morning about dawn.

     “I am about to take part in the biggest battle that has yet
     been fought in France, and one which ought to help to end
     the war very quickly.

“I never felt more confident or cheerful in my life before, and would not miss the attack for anything on earth.  The men are in splendid form, and every officer and man is more happy and cheerful than I have ever seen them.

     “I have just been playing a rag game of football in which
     the umpire had a revolver and a whistle.

     “My idea in writing this letter is in case I am one of the
     ‘costs,’ and get killed.  I do not expect to be; but such
     things have happened, and are always possible.

“It is impossible to fear death out here, when one is no longer an individual, but a member of a regiment and of an army.  To be killed means nothing to me, and it is only you who suffer for it; you really pay the cost.

“I have been looking at the stars, and thinking what an immense distance they are away.  What an insignificant thing the loss of, say, forty years of life is compared with them!  It seems scarcely worth talking about.  Well, good-bye, you darlings.  Try not to worry about it, and remember that we shall meet again really quite soon.

     “This letter is going to be posted if....”

The letter was posted.  But its message of Death is also a message of Victory.

MARY A. WARD.

[C] Published in the Times.