E

XHAUSTED as she was by the Balkan wars, it was much against her will that Serbia entered upon the world war, and she would never have done so had she not trusted in the support of the great powers of the Entente. It was with great satisfaction that she saw-an occurrence without precedent in her history-Russia, France, and, above all, England, the three countries she most loved and admired, undertaking to defend her. The depression that weighed upon Serbia during the first days of mobilization gave way to an outburst of joy when the news came that England herself stood by her side, and I myself saw the Serbian soldiers, on hearing it, throw their caps high into the air, wild with delight.

Yet Serbia realized that, in spite of this valuable help, she must undergo a fearful ordeal. Well she knew that in this long, cruel war-a veritable war of giants her slender forces could not endure as long as those of her powerful allies. When a poor man is by chance obliged to live at the same rate as others who are richer, his resources soon give way. The feeble convalescent cannot hope to accomplish the feats of endurance that are well within the power of the strong and healthy whom he meets upon his road.

Serbia was conscious that it was herself, and not her allies, who would suffer the greatest misfortunes. But she was resigned. Alone, she twice expelled the aggressor from her country and for a long time she stood firm. Bleeding from her wounds, wearied by her immense efforts, she saw fresh danger threatening her and asked for help. But no help came. On the contrary, she was asked to cede Macedonia. It is difficult to realize what Macedonia meant to her and the immense sacrifice its cession entailed, but she saw clearly what the outcome of

the war would be, were it to be complicated by another Balkan campaign; so she made the needful sacrifice. When Bulgaria mobilized, Serbia sought permission to attack Bulgaria immediatelyfrom a military point of view this was the only possible thing to do but the permission was refused.

It was then that Serbia prepared to die. Over and over again the enemy offered peace, but she refused it. She chose the path of honor rather than that of interest. In the words of the poet, she was "pale in her suffering, yet faithful and without reproach." Like Abraham of old, she was ready to sacrifice her sons, only because the Voice from on high had commanded it. And the sacrifice was made, no angel appearing at the moment when the sword flashed in the air. All this happened to Serbia quietly, and she made no protest, no accusation against any one. And today she has the same faith in her allies that she had before. But now that the sacrifice is made what will be the reward? What will be the future of Serbia? In the month of December, 1914, the Serbian Government declared that its program consisted in the deliverance from the Austrian yoke of all Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, so that they should be united with Serbia and Montenegro into one State.

This program is, indeed, that of all Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes. Every one who is acquainted, however little, with the recent history and actual conditions of the Southern Slavs must recognize it as a matter of fact. Serbia's program was always to deliver her brothers groaning beneath the foreign yoke and to unite them to her in one single State. The wise Prince Michael made it the principal object of his policy, with the enthusiastic approval of all Serbian and Southern Slav people outside Serbia. The Croats, since their national awakening,

soon recognized that they were the same nation as the Serbs, speaking the same language and having the same aspirations of deliverance and union. The great Croatian patriot Bishop Strossmayer was the very incarnation of the noble idea of the Serbo-Croatian unity. The Slovenes at last, in a similar manner becoming conscious of their nationality, adhered also to the same idea, fully recognizing that their national existence, too, depended on it. Moreover, the common sufferings of the last few years closely united the dispersed members of the same family and strengthened the faith in the national unity and the confidence in the leading rôle of Serbia.

What is, then, more natural and more just than the program of the Serbian Government? Is not the latter alone the spokesman of the whole Southern Slav race? And when other nations have been helped to realize their political union, why not allow Serbia to achieve the same purpose?

I wish especially to emphasize that England, too, has every interest in assisting my country in her aspirations. England has not realized till now the importance of Serbia. She needed the whole Serbian tragedy to be enacted before her eyes for her to comprehend that, at the decisive moment, Serbia alone of all the Balkan States is ready to fight at her side, no matter what the cost. Serbia must needs drain the cup of poison to its dregs for this country to understand that it is she who holds the gate of Britain's Eastern Empire. For she is indeed the holder of that gate, and it was not till she had fallen that England began to see that Egypt was threatened from that quarter. It has been said that the first German guns fired across the Danube were aimed not at Serbia but at Egypt, and the saying is the bare truth.

No one knows what will be the extent of victory. If the Allies enter Berlin as conquerors they can dismember Germany at their leisure. If, however, they merely expel the foe from the countries he is now occupying, their greatest object will be to prevent Germany from being a permanent danger to them. And wherein

lies this danger, for England especially? It is one that threatens the British Eastern possessions and them alone. Germany is forcing open the gateway to the East that she may threaten the British Empire. Let her, then, close that gate with strong steel bars, and as for Serbia, who holds the key, make her so strong that she can successfully resist any German aggression in the future. In doing that England will be performing an act of justice. She will also be saving her prestige, which has been badly shaken in the Balkans, where it was hoped she would have acted with greater energy. She will also safeguard her vast interests. By creating a strong Southern Slav State she will strengthen, firstly, the military power of Serbia, and secondly, by the same stroke, will deprive the enemy of an equal amount of power, for today Austria compels to fight for her those who tomorrow will be citizens of Serbia.

What, however, is disconcerting is when we see that in England there is still some misplaced feeling for the Bulgarians, which is quite the reverse of all right political understanding. Bulgaria is the enemy of the Allies just as much as Germany, Austria, and Turkey. She is their foe exactly in the same way.

An enemy such as that must be punished. While Serbia bars the road to the east against the Germans, Bulgaria throws it open. All that Serbia strives to do for England Bulgaria destroys. Bulgaria is England's only inveterate enemy in the Balkans, as Serbia is her only faithful friend. And as England's paramount interest is to close the gateway to the east, it is likewise her interest not only to strengthen Serbia but also to weaken Bulgaria. Never again commit the error of demanding Macedonia for Bulgaria, but force Bulgaria to restore to Serbia all that of which she has so treacherously robbed her. It is England's duty to make Bulgaria powerless to work evil on England and on the Allies. If she cannot be sure of entering Berlin, she can be absolutely sure of entering Sofia and crushing Bulgaria. This also must be the first objective of the Allies' armies.

IAN

AN HAY, widely known as a breezy novelist, comes before the public in this book under his real name and new title, Captain Ian Hay Beith. Immediately upon the outbreak of the war he enlisted and joined a Highland regiment, becoming one of the first hundred thousand of General Kitchener's army in France. He is still in the trenches, and "for some mysterious reason" was recently recommended for the military cross. His experiences as a raw recruit and as a seasoned soldier make a unique war book, a verbal moving picture of the whole "licking into shape" process through which other hundreds of thousands of British civilians are still passing today.

Captain Beith writes with the light, bright, humorous touch of a cheery novelist, and at the same time he makes one breathe the very air of the drill ground and of the battle-swept trenches. Though the names he uses are fictitious, the men are real and become familiar friends of the reader long before the climax in the fighting near Loos is reached. From the humors of the awkward squad to the cool courage of the battlefield the book is a delightful revelation of the British or Scottish Tommy as he is in real life.

One of the more dramatic battle episodes must serve here as a sample of Captain Beith's graphic pages:

Still the enemy advanced. His shrapnel was bursting overhead; bullets were whistling from nowhere, for the attack in force was now being pressed home in earnest.

The deserted trench upon our left ran right through the cottages, and this restricted our view. No hostile bombers could be seen; it was evi

dent that they had done their bit and handed the conduct of affairs to others. Behind the shelter of the cottages the German infantry were making a safe détour, and were bound, unless something unexpected happened, to get round behind us.

"They'll be firing from our rear in a minute," said Kemp between his teeth. "Lochgair, order your pla toon to face about and be ready to fire over the parados."

Young Lochgair's method of executing this command was characteristically thorough. He climbed in leisurely fashion upon the parados; and standing there, with all his sixfoot-three in full view, issued his orders.

Face this way, boys! Keep your eyes on that group of buildings just behind the empty trench, in below the Fosse. You'll get some target practice presently. Don't go and forget that you are the straightestshooting platoon in the company. There they are "-he pointed with his stick "lots of them-coming through that gap in the wall! Now, then, rapid fire, and let them have it! Oh, well done, boys! Good shooting! Very good! Very good ind—”

He stopped suddenly, swayed, and toppled back into the trench. Major Kemp caught him in his arms, and laid him gently upon the chalky floor. There was nothing more to be done. Young Lochgair had given his platoon their target, and the platoon were now firing steadily upon the same. He closed his eyes and sighed like a tired child.

DAY

BY

DAY WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY. By Bernard Pares. With Maps. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company.

BERNARD PARES, who in peace

times is Professor of Russian History in the University of Liverpool, has long had close connection with Russia. At the outbreak of the war he joined the Red Cross work in that country and was made by his own Government official British observer of the Russian armies in the field. His book contains his diary from the time of his departure from England in August, 1914, his observations in Petrograd and Moscow, and at the front in Poland and Galicia. Much of the time he was with the Third Army in Galicia, at the main curve in the Russian front, where the German and Austrian forces joined hands. Of the general atmosphere of the army he remarks:

It was a delight to be with these splendid men. I never saw anything base all the while that I was with the army. There was no drunkenness; every one was at his best, and it was the simplest and noblest atmosphere in which I have ever lived. Of the attitude of the Russian peasants toward the war, he says:

When the news of war came, the peasants, who were harvesting, went straight off to the recruiting depot and thence to the church, where all who were starting took the communion; there was no shouting, no drinking, though the abstinence edict had not then been issued; and every man who was called up, except one who was away on a visit, was in his place at the railway station that same evening. In other parts the peasants went around and collected money for the soldiers' families, and even in small villages quite large sums were given. The abstinence edict answered to a desire that had been expressed very generally among the peasants for some years. It was thoroughly enforced, both in the country and in the towns. In the country the savings banks at once began steadily to fill, and the peasants, who would speak very naïvely of their former drunkenness, hoped that the edict would be permanent. * In all this time I saw only one drunken man.

* **

At the Galician front he had much conversation with Russian staff officers, and his account of the army operations reflects the viewpoint of general staff headquarters. He thus describes the methods of the German army as it forced the Russian army back:

The German method is to mass superior artillery against a point selected and to cover the area in ques、 tion with a wholesale and continuous cannonade. The big German shells, which the Russian soldiers call the "black death," burst almost simultaneously at about fifty yards from each other, making the intervening spaces practically untenable.

***

It is the wholesale character of these cannonades that makes their success, for there is nowhere to which the defenders can escape. The whole process is, of course, extremely expensive. When a considerable part of the Russian front has thus been annihilated and when the defenders are, therefore, either out of action or in retreat, the enemy's infantry is poured into the empty space and in such masses that it spreads also to left and right, pushing back the neighboring Russian troops.

The German hammer, zigzagging backward and forward, travels along our front, striking further and further on at one point or another, until the whole front has been forced back. The temper of this corps, as of practically all the others, is in no sense the temper of a beaten army. The losses have been severe; but with anything like the artillery equipment of the enemy, both officers and men are confident that they would be going forward.

Mr. Pares was allowed to question the prisoners and had much conversation with both Austrian and Prussian men and officers. He mentions some members of the Prussian Guard as speaking with small respect of the Austrians, while the Austrian soldiers he often found discontented with the war and willing for it to stop upon almost any conditions. The Austrian Slavs, when captured, showed more sympathy for the Russian than for the Austrian cause, while the Slavonic troops were often, under German direction, moved from one point to another to keep them away from the infection of

Russian sympathy, which otherwise often caused them to desert and go over to the other side. Some twenty pages are filled

with the diary of a captured Austrian officer, which indicates a remarkable inferiority of spirit in the Austrian army.

OPENI

PENING

in a German hospital in Brussels, where an English officer has been practically brought back from the dead by a skillful German surgeon, this novel of war and of love moves through scenes in the hospital, a German prison camp, in the steerage of an Atlantic liner, in New York, and thence to the Pacific Coast, where finally it ends in happiness. The scenes descriptive and reminiscent of war experience are very graphic, but the book differs from most war novels in the profound spiritual significance that informs the whole story. Its theme is the power of love, the human love of man for woman that is also so fine and unselfish and noble that it becomes almost Christlike in its expression and its influence upon his life.

The opening paragraph, in which Captain Denin returns to life again, after eight months of unconsciousness, gives an idea of the author's ability to put into words fugitive sensations and strange experiences:

In dim twilight a spark of life glittered, glinted like a bit of mica catching the sun, on a vast face of a gray cliff above a dead gray sea. There was nothing else in the world but the vastness and the grayness of the cliff and the sea, till the spark felt the faint thrill of warmth which gave to it the knowledge of its own life. "I am alive," the whisper stirred, far down in the depths of consciousness. Next the question came, "What am I?"

For a long time he cannot remember who he is, but at last his whole past comes back to him when he sees his picture in an old London paper with the story of his life and the account of his death on the field of battle, together with the picture of the girl he had married an hour or two before his regiment had marched away. A little later he learns

that she has married again, believing him dead. Feeling sure that her welfare and happiness demand that he should not make himself known, he does not reveal his identity, but takes another name. Finally he escapes from the German prison camp and makes his way in the steerage to New York. Possessed with the idea that if he will put into words the belief that has come to him as the result of his sensations and dreams in the mid-world between life and death-" where the path breaks "-he can make it a message of helpfulness to the woman he loves, he writes a book in story form, "The War Wedding," which achieves immediate success because of its philosophy of war and suffering, life and death. It is the tale of a soldier marrying just before going to the war, but:

The story did not end with the ending of the soldier's life. The part before his death was no more than a prelude. The real story was of the power of love upon the spirit of a man after his passing, and his wish that the adored woman left behind might know the vital influence of a few hours' happiness in shaping a soul to face eternity.

The book is read by his wife, who gets from it consolation and reassurance, but of a different kind from that which he had expected it would give her. In deep trouble and unhappiness she writes to the author of the book and a long correspondence develops between them, in which he carries out still further the philosophy of his novel. He writes to her also of the vision he had brought back from that land of dreams as to the causes of the war and its function in the evolution of civilization:

Those young soldiers I tried to write about, who had thrown off their bodies, and even their enmities, with the rags and dirt and blood they left on the battlefield-they were listening to the great music, and hearing in it the call to some