gramme, and with it an unprecedented shortage of officers in the fleet. In spite of active efforts to develop naval reserves, the Academy has remained the only reliable source from which the navy can draw competent officers. For this reason nearly six hundred additional appointments were created in 1916, and were followed soon after our declaration of war by the authorization of about nine hundred more. The latest increase, in December, 1917, was of five hundred and thirty-one. There are now five midshipmen authorized for each senator, representative, and delegate, besides fifteen appointments annually for the President and one hundred annually for the Secretary of the Navy.

Appropriations have increased as well as numbers. For the fiscal year of 1919 the people of the United States will spend on the education of some twenty-two hundred midshipmen about three million dollars. The larger items of expense will be, very roughly, as follows: upkeep, $700,coo; cost of practise ships, $500,000 (estimated); interest on money invested, $400,000; faculty, $600,000; pay of students, $1,320,000. A college would need a large endowment to be as well equipped as the Naval Academy, or command as highly trained a faculty as the Academic Staff. To teach the science of modern naval warfare is a special and necessarily costly part of national safety and defense. No college has so important a responsibility. None has met its obligation more successfully.

Yet even this enlargement of resources has not kept up with the school's responsibilities or with the demands made upon its faculty and administration. In view of the increased service rendered under the wise and inspiring guidance of RearAdmiral Eberle, the present Superintendent, the Academy might have asked for even more money than it has received. The stride has been lengthened until classes are completing four years' work in three. The instruction has proved to be so valuable, also even a few weeks of itthat hundreds of ensigns and lieutenants who have recently entered the navy from civil life are being sent to Annapolis for three to fifteen weeks of intensive train

ficers' Class was graduated, and their work since then has amply demonstrated the need and value of Naval Academy indoctrination for all officers in our navy. Two reserve classes have already been graduated, and the third numbers four hundred and fifty. Rumor has it that next summer's reserve class will have over a thousand members. Nowhere else can the initial training of naval officers be directed with so much thoroughness and balance, and with the benefit of so much experience. The Academy has many specialists in naval education. Nowhere else are the great traditions and ideals of the navy so well cherished.

The Academy's graduates who have seen active service in European waters during the last year have nobly lived up to the navy's best traditions. Our destroyers reached the other side in April, 1917, when the U-boat sinkings were at their maximum. As soon as they arrived the Americans were asked: "When will you be ready to put to sea again?" The reply was instant: "We are ready now." Still more gratifying is the record they have made for seamanship and alertness. Not one has failed to put out according to schedule, and not one has had to put in under stress of weather. It may have been a coincidence, but with the arrival of the American destroyers in the latter part of April the curve of U-boat sinkings began its downward trend with a sharp drop. For their skill and spirit Annapolis graduates have been tendered medals of honor by the British Government. For their exploits and their modesty they have been received by the British navy into full fellowship.

Foreign naval officers have often been frankly incredulous of any school's being able to accomplish in four years or less what our nation's Naval Academy has attempted. But their incredulity is being turned to enthusiasm. As the number of midshipmen mounts toward three thousand and the annual total cost toward four millions, there are critics in more than one country echoing the verdict of the Paris Exposition in 1889-that the United States Naval Academy is "the best educational institution in the United States and the best naval school in the

NE day some American military autotrucks were disembarked at a certain port in France. As they stood on the quay a group of British Tom

mies contemplated them.

"A-T-L-A-S," spelled one, regarding the cryptic letters in large capitals on the side of the huge vehicle. "ATLAS. That's its bloomin' name, I suppose," said he.

"U. S.," said another warrior, fixing his eye on a second inscription. "So they've come!" Then picking up a piece of chalk which lay hard by, he added the letter T to the first legend, and behold the proclamation read AT LAST!

We who were told the story should have laughed. But we could not. We well knew how, for more than two years of heroic stress, the man who wielded the bit of chalk, with legions of his grim, gay brothers, had watched and waited for the people of our land to wake and rise and stand beside him in the break-up of the world. No doubt there had been good reason for delay. But we felt conscious that these men we had come among had waited long, not quite understanding, but still strong in their faith that in the end we would see clearly and take our place "At last!" In one stroke of the piece of chalk was written a pæan, swift, triumphant-America and Britain, America and France had clasped hands and sworn to suffer and endure until the end.

Now in this crowded seaport the streets swarmed with thousands of troops marching-marching by day and by night, coming and going, and on the thronged pavements hundreds of American officers hurried in every direction. For a year

now their presence has been an old story. They no longer attract attention. America is in the war. The scene is new to us, however, and it is with beating hearts that we look on, and in our throats the words swell up grateful and hopeful: "At last."

Here, too, are hundreds and hundreds of alert, smart women dressed in khaki. Women are in the fight. These are the Waacs, or Women's Auxiliary Army Corps-clerks, chauffeurs, stenographers, all on business bent. The women of England, they, too, are soldiers, helping to win the war.

By day and night the city throbs with life. The streets are dark, but as we lie in our beds we hear the constant tramp of marching men. We rise and gaze into the gloom. There they go, the ghostly companies who will stand between us and the thing which would devour the world. The city never sleeps.

This night movement is one of the most impressive things of the war. As one travels from place to place, when evening falls, the great gray wagons which all day have lurked in villages and towns begin to move. The guns are limbered and the blue-clad Frenchmen take the road. As we approached them in our car they looked like the disembodied spirits of Napoleon's warriors in Rostand's play. They sprang from the mist and passed like figures in a dream, a vaporous multitude that came and vanished-silent, stern, and sinister, pressing along the highways to the front.

It was at the suggestion of General Pershing that Mr. E. C. Carter, the general secretary of the Young Men's Christian Association in France, requested that some men conversant with theatrical

matters should be sent abroad to investigate the possibilities for providing entertainment for the American troops. Thus it came about that Mr. Winthrop Ames and I were invited to look over the ground. We went, we saw, and we were conquered. The Y. M. C. A. has undertaken and is carrying out a stupendous task which is being developed victoriously amid dreadful obstacles. Its banners, emblazoned with the legend "Service," are borne by thousands of devoted men and women up to the devastated villages, into the farthest trenches. There is not a spot in France so remote or so fraught with danger that a Y. M. C. A. secretary is not there among the American and among the French soldiers ministering to their comfort, feeding their hunger, slaking their thirst, offering relief from the wearing and wearying monotony, and with small physical ministrations relieving the fearful strain of trench life. These secretaries are drawn from all the best manhood of America. They are men of wealth, many of them, too old, or unfitted for service in the army; men who have given up their business or professions to do this work, a great many college professors and students from the universities; many are clergymen, painters, writers. There are some actors

too.

The women who serve in the canteens and who live under conditions of considerable hardship are women of gentle nurture who submit with enthusiasm to every kind of discomfort, turning their hands to any sort of labor, always gentle and kind and indefatigable. No wonder they are an inspiration to the soldier boys. They represent home and all that is sacred in home ties mother, sister, sweetheart.

Often the tongue-tied warrior will sit and stare at the smiling canteen worker by the hour with a loving hunger in his heart.

"Can I do anything for you?" said a woman to one of these lonely ones one day. The soldier had approached the counter where the ruddy-cheeked lady was dispensing sandwiches and hot chocolate, and with several other fighting-men was gazing on her with wide eyes.

"Can I do anything for you?" "No, lady," said the shy son of Mars. "I just wanted to hear you talk."

So there they stood and listened to such phrases as "cheese or ham-packet of cigarettes-matches-two cups of chocolate"-as Romeo hearkened in Verona's garden to his lady's sighs. And why was the soldier so thirsty for this music? Listen, O scoffer of the Yankee twang, the Pittsburgh burr, the Southern drawl. His spirit yearned for the murmurs of his native land. No English, no French lips could spin the thread which linked his soul with home, which took him back in memory to some little Western town, some Southern village. But here was the magic clew, the "open sesame"; with a rush of remembrance the old scenes were before him and his heart was full. Once upon a time I visited Oberammergau to witness the Passion Play. I stood outside the house of Pontius Pilate, with whom I had lodged the night before. I watched the mighty audience on its way to the great auditorium wherein the sacred drama should be portrayed. The pathway on the other side of the road was raised some three or four feet, a grassy bank supporting it. The throng passed by, eager, excited, or devout. Suddenly a young man with a kodak slung over his shoulder paused and stared at me. He jumped down from the path and, rushing across the road, he seized my hand.

"American?" cried the young man.
"Yes," said I.

"Thought so," said the young man, and giving my hand a great shake he ran back to the path, sprang up the bank, and went on with the crowd.

Why? He was lonely-lonely amid the throng. The sight of a fellow countryman had sent the flood of remembrance surging in his veins. A word, a cry, he was alone no more.

Again, I stood in the Douane or custom-house on the border between France and Switzerland. A portly and prosperous-looking American paced to and fro impatiently as his wife and three grownup daughters fussed and fumed over a number of trunks full of clothing. My friend and I stood patiently awaiting the investigation of our small belongings. The portly man circled about us twice or thrice with inquisitive eyes. At length he approached.

"American?" said he.