I have before me seventeen very abusive letters that have come to Charles Noel Douglas, of Brooklyn, who edits a department in "Comfort," a magazine having a very wide circulation in the West and South. These letters were written to Mr. Douglas, a former Socialist, because he is a thoroughly patriotic American, because he hates the Bloody Kaiser, and because he writes with the inspired Punch of Conviction and Courage.

These letters are extremely interesting, partly because of their wide geographical distribution. Here are the localities represented:

Without one exception, these 17 letters indicate a remarkable depth of ignorance regarding the real causes of the war, of the reasons why America has joined the Allies, of the reasons why President Wilson is no longer for "peace," and of the danger to liberty and human rights. Several of them violently express the same old hatred of England that was fairly common during the first ten years after the Civil War, but which

with intelligent people for forty years at least has been a dead and forgotten thing.

I regret to state that the most of these sample letters were written by native Americans, and that only a few bear the earmarks of German descent. The ignorance they reveal is positively alarming, because such people are so difficult to reach and to influence. Long ago they should have reacted to the patriotic editorials of Mr. Douglas.

At the present time there are many things in sight to hearten and encourage those who have the most faith in the stability of the American people. Our President, our Cabinet and Congress are at last awake, and going full speed ahead. A million or so of America's best business and professional men are eagerly, joyously and determinedly devoting themselves, their time, their labor and their money to causes calculated to "help our government," to help win this war quickly, and to secure a peace that will last. When I see before me the magnificent examples of the sometimes-flouted men of "Wall Street," and of the lawyers and doctors and professors and business men of a hundred kinds, I would be ashamed to do any less than "my best"!

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Let the voice of the alien socialist who says, "This is a capitalist's and rich man's war!" be still, forever; for he is an unmitigated liar, and the truth is not in him. This is a war of all the American People cept the alien socialists, the I. W. W. miscreants, the slackers and the militant pacifists The manner in which rich" men and women, and their sons and daughters, have enlisted to fight, to build hospitals at the front and to take care of the wounded, is

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beyond all ordinary terms of praise. Assuredly "The rich," so zealously hated by the anarchists and their associates have made good, and the blatant alien socialists are all in the ranks of the slackers and pro-Ger

mans.

The success of the huge Liberty bond loans is very gratifying, but, save for our money, "We have not yet begun to fight!" A little later on we can and cheerfully will duplicate all those Liberty bonds; and we will bear the war taxes without whining.

One excellent sign of the times has been the cheerful and even joyous spirit in which our drafted young Americans have donned their uniforms, shouldered their guns and marched away. When it was a case of volunteering, many of the boys lingered shivering on the brink, and feared to launch away. But when Uncle Sam came up, put his hand on the shoulder of the Boy, and said: "Son, I need You!" the Boy instantly was born into new life. His hesitancy dropped away like a falling garment. He straightened up, clicked his heels together, saluted, and reached for the gun.

All that the Boy needed was the assurance, from the Government itself, that Uncle Sam needed him personally.

As Soldiers and as Men, our Boys are the flower of our young manhood, and as fine as the Finest. We know that they are fit to fight alongside the Belgians who already have won imperishable fame, the gallant Britons from the Isles and the Colonies of the Seven Seas, the glorious soldiers of France who have stopped and held back twice their number of Huns, and the incredible mountain-peak fighters of Italy.

In our situation here at home, there is one great, ever present fear and cause for fear. It is the large and dangerous collection of cranks and pacifists that are crazy for quick peace, already advocating and keen to accept peace at any price," and peace sans honor. They reck not of the future of our nation and our people, of the rights of the world at large or the future liberty of man.

Three years ago I shouted at the top of my individual voice, and from every high point I could command, "Awake! Prepare!" Nobody paid any attention to me; but for all that, I was right!

Now, I shout again: "No peace talk until Germany is WHIPPED! And even then, no talk of peace 'without annexations and without indemnities.' Germany must PAY for her war and her crimes."

If the Huns get back their lost colonies, there will be hell in Africa forever after. If they pay no indemnities, then Germany is not whipped; and she will emerge from the war a three-quarters winner, and keen to finish the job. Make no mistake about that!

In 1916" the Leper of Potsdam" had the effrontery to say to our Ambassador, Mr. Gerard:

"After this war I will stand no nonsense from America!"

Now, after that insulting menace and threat will all the people of our land awake, or not?

CHAPTER II

Acid Tests of National Honor

Across the continent of North America, from the Atlantic Ocean to Puget Sound, there stretches an international boundary line 3,000 miles long. It is almost wholly imaginary. It is not defended by a single gun, nor even a canoe of war. It never has been violated; and it never will be violated.

It represents a "gentlemen's agreement"; and it is as strong as the Rock of Gibraltar.

England and America have had, since 1812, many disputes and differences; but all of them have been settled in a gentlemanly way. There was neither bluff nor bluster; and the loser always has paid up like a gentleman.

That international boundary reminds me of another, of a very different character, which lies between little Belgium and the Big Bully of Europe..

It must have been about 1904 that King Leopold II foregathered with Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany, for a peace-promoting love-feast. They met in a quiet spot, fell upon each other's necks, and wept tears of joy and fidelity down each other's backs.

Now, Leopold II was no saint; but he knew a hawk from a handsaw. In the parting moment he got a whiff of Wilhelm's warlike breath; and it gave him chills of fear. He hurried back to his capital, sum