convince the world of the reality of the spirit life, following the death of the young son in the war. The volume is at once appealing and ineffective. One feels reverence for the grief of a father who is grasping after proof of a loved son's continuing life, though one feels here, as elsewhere, that the revelations given are scarcely worthy of spirit inspiration. The accounts of the other world given by this mediumistic dictation present incongruities, ideas that are oddly at variance with the ordinary concepts of spiritual life. For instance, Raymond is made to say that one who has been blown to pieces in an explosion has difficulty in gathering himself together after death,as if the spiritual entity were divided among the physical atoms. He says that souls who still have earthly appetites are given food, or something that has that appearance and effect. Hard drinkers will be comforted by the news that the heavenly laboratory furnishes alcoholics for those who have a thirst. Spirits of whiskey, no doubt! He also says, "A chap came over the other day who would have a cigar,"-and the wish was gratified. We should have supposed that one could smoke more appropriately in the lower regions! William Dean Howells's article on Raymond in the November Harper's Magazine is interesting, especially since Howells has used psychic material in one of his own novels, The Undiscovered Country. In addition to the stories, poems and articles telling of the supernatural given as fact, we find a mass of literature in all forms, dealing with the weird frankly as literary material, not claiming any right to the reader's faith. A considerable part of the literature dealing with the war introduces the unearthly in some way, either as specific complicating material or as atmospheric influence. The ghostly now colours and permeates everything, it would seem. We find the war supernaturalism in poems, stories, novels, and in the drama, and in the literature of all the countries involved in the conflict. This war supernaturalism shows an interesting diversity of creatures, angelic, deific, satanic. Various types of ghosts and super-ghosts, of angels, of diabolised beings haunt the pages and constitute the protagonists for mortal mortal struggles, whose scenes are laid in heaven and in hell as well as on earth. · The frequent and reverent use of the personality of God and of Christ. in the literature of to-day suggests a return to the old religious mysticism of mediævalism, wherein divinity figured much in literature. The appearances of God are related for the most part with scenes in heaven, while Christ generally walks the earth among men. A few of the instances of the appearance of God may be mentioned. In A Legend of Ypres, by Elinor Jenkins, the scene is in heaven, where the spirits of the slain are shown as looking down upon the battle-field. Seeing the line at Ypres about to fail, the newly dead beseech God to let them go back to help their comrades. God, smiling indulgently upon them, says, "Begone, then, foolish ones, and fight again!" And the shining hosts reinforce the Allies, saving the day for them. In A Wayside Calvary, by Owen Seaman, God reveals to the Kaiser what he has done in projecting the war, showing him that he has crucified Christ afresh. The climax consigns. the Emperor to the ultimate hell, along with Judas Iscariot. The Old Soldier, by Katherine Tynan, shows a considerate God, who makes heaven a homelike place for the young soldiers so suddenly thrust into immortality, arranging to have their loved commander there in advance to greet them. Across the Border, a war drama by Beulah Maria Dix, introduces a wounded soldier who in his delirium sees heaven, and talks with the Master of the House, who shows him the wrong and cruelty of war. The Only Son, by Katherine Tynan, is a touching poem of a mother in heaven, who cannot be happy for thinking of her boy and fearing lest some hurt may come to him with her away. At last God hears her prayer, and an angel returns from earth to tell her, "He fell in action yesterday." Another picture of heaven and God is found in The Poor Man in Paradise, by Sainte-Georges de Bonhelier, where an angel comes on wings of gold to carry a poilu to heaven. The Eternal Father welcomes the peasant who has died for others. The Vision, by Katherine Tynan, relates one of war's sweet miracles, wherein Private Flynn, who has the Celtic heritage of belief in the supernatural, lovingly cares for the grave of his dead captain. One night when the soldier comes to the place, Christ opens his eyes and shows him heaven and God. A moment later his eyes. are blinded by a volley from a hidden gun, but Private Flynn lives on and smiles, because he has seen God. These are merely a few of the instances of this motif in recent literature. Christ is an appealing figure in many poems of the war, as in various symbolic examples of fiction and of the drama. His compassion, His fellowship of suffering, His healing power of comfort, are expressed over and over again. His Coming, by J. C. Snaith, is a somewhat remarkable novel associated with the war, showing the Christ reincarnate in the person of a village carpenter, who embodies the divine love for mankind, enduring the scorn of an unbelieving world. The theme reminds one somewhat of The Passing of the Third Floor Back and The Servant in the House. Christ here is shown returning through metempsychosis, nowadays a frequent motif of the supernatural. as The Second Coming, by Frederick Arnold Kummer and Henry P. Janes, shows the return of Christ to earth in His own person, not through metempsychosis. The book is a On prophecy of the end of the war. the day before Christmas Christ walks among men on the battle-fields. He appeals to the Kaiser to end the war justly, but to no avail, for the Emperor orders a more terrible attack for Christmas Day. At Easter Christ comes again to the ruler, who now lies dying, while outside his palace may be heard the rioting of the people desperate because of their sufferings. The heart of the Emperor is softened at last, and he cries, "Lord, I have sinned! Let my people have peace!" The book is written with sincerity and simplicity. The White Comrade, by Robert Haven Schauffler, portrays a scene after a battle, where a wounded soldier crawls off to die alone. A stranger, clad in white, comes to him, ministers to him, comforts him, gathers him into his arms. Seeing that the stranger's hands clasped in prayer have been pierced, that his feet, too, are wounded, and that a stain of red is showing on the white. robe above the heart, the soldier cries, "You are hurt, White Comrade!" but already foreknowing the answer. "These are old wounds," he said, "But of late they have troubled me." There are various other poems of the White Comrade, which show the presence of the incarnate Christ in the trenches to comfort and to bless. The Old Road to Paradise, by Margaret Widdemer, shows Christ receiving the souls of the slain, welcoming troops of soldiers who have died in battle, leading them home. "The old road to Paradise is crowded now!" A similar scene is shown in Any Friend to Any Friend, by H. W. Bliss. Yea, God of battles, what a time to die! Thy courts are echoing to the tuck of drums. The wide days flame with comet souls that fly Triumphant at a bound from earth to heaven, The nights ablaze, with their swift passage riven, As, trailing clouds of glory, swift they come. Christ in Flanders, a widely reprinted poem from the Spectator, contrasts the attitude of the average man in times of careless peace and in days of war. Contrasted with the neglect of Him, the change that war has brought is shown. This hideous warfare seems to make things clear; We never thought about You much in England, But now that we are far away from England, We have no doubts, we know that You are here! Charles Rann Kennedy's drama, The Terrible Meek, employs the Christ character in a protest against capital punishment. The mother of a soldier who has been court-martialled for some slight offence, is weeping beside the gallows, and talking with the officer stationed to guard the place for the night. As the dawn slowly comes, we see that the man who has been slain is the Christ, the officer is the Roman centurion, and the mother is Mary. This play, while lacking the power Christ, has considerable force and of Kennedy's other drama of the beauty. Another embodiment of Mary and her son is found in Margaret Widdemer's And His Name Shall Be Called Prince of Peace. To illustrate the number and variety of the poems in our recent literature dealing with Christ, Martha Foote Crowe has just compiled an anthology, her investigations revealing a genuine and marked revival of the use of Christ in our present poetry. Many of the poems that she reprints are associated with the war, showing that the conflict has had much to do with this renascence of appreciation of Christ as literary material. The poems are reverent, introducing in a variety of ways the actual and symbolic presence of Jesus among men at war. Not only Deity and the Christ, but the devil as well, appears in various dramas, novels, stories and poems of the war. We may note an interesting change seen in this war diabolism from that of recent years, in that there is a reversion to type, a return of the old-fashioned, indubitable devil with physical make-up of horns, hoofs and tail, as well as with his demoniac character. The Satan of recent years-before the war, that is-had shown a levelling ten dency, a more human nature than of old. We had come to sympathise with the fiend, to feel that there is so much of the human in the devil and so much of the devil in us that it would be unbecoming for us to treat him harshly. But now the demon is again the convenient fiend whom we can loathe conscientiously. One devil makes a bid for sympathy, however, in this war literature in The Ultimate Hell, by Franklin Giddings, a satire against America's early position with reference to the war. Satan indulges in a monologue concerning events, hell, the world and God. He thinks that the old hell does not exist in name any more, but survives under a different terminology. He considers that the ultimate hell is a land "once dedicated to liberty," and pictures America as hammering gold beneath a sulphuring sky, careless of her own dead that went gurgling down to death. He ends by saying: I'm growing old. I do not relish quite That God would come again! Another satiric devil is found in B. U. Burke's Erasmus at the Court of Satan. Erasmus decides to come back to earth on the occasion of the anniversary of his publication of the first Greek Testament, in March, 1916. Arriving in Flanders, he feels that the devil has been at work there, so searches him out in his domain to demand an explanation. An interesting dialogue ensues. Satan is sarcastic, satirical, more like Iago than most demons. He explains the current conditions on the basis of too much nationalism. He says that he has produced a brand of patriotism of his own make, of which the emotional enthusiasms are potent and evil beyond belief. He satirises religion by saying that Christianity is an aid to the continuance of hostility, that, flourishing as never before, it has been reduced to such a science that it can be adapted to fit any need or prove any end. The devil rocks with mirth as Erasmus shrinks appalled from the horrid conditions. Stephen Phillips's last play, Armageddon, shows in its prologue and in its epilogue scenes in hell, where the war is represented as being planned. Other scenes introduce supernatural material, but the play, a fevered production, touched with the weakness of the dying poet's brain, will add nothing to Phillips's fame. These examples may serve to illustrate the types of diabolism current in the war literature. The demon is not the cultured gentleman he has seemed in recent years, but now is merely Kultured. The scenes from hell are not impressive for the most part, not dimming the diabolic glory that Dante and Milton have shown us. They are symbolic, satiric, rather than realistic or imposing, too much disposed to propaganda to be generally popular and with little literary value. In addition to the more obvious elements of supernaturalism, such as angels and demons, God and the devil, various other motifs appear in the war literature. The theme of metempsychosis comes in to a considerable extent. The dream element is also largely used, as in J. M. Barrie's drama, Der Tag, where it is employed in combination with prophecy. The Kaiser sees in his dreams the burning of Rheims Cathedral, hears the thundering cannon and views the ravages of war, argu ing with the spirit of Culture meanwhile, but deciding for war. This is not a strong play, not in the Bar rie manner. An answer to this, a phantasmagoria in four acts, called The Night, by one who signs himself Barrie Americanus Neutralis, is an example of magic vision. The Witch of Time tells King Edward VII that England's downfall is coming unless things take a change. She shows him by magic his foes in council, among them France and Russia, and when he asks if England has no friends, she draws the curtain on Bismarck and the Kaiser Wilhelm, who piously prate of peace. The last scene gives the report of cannon, shows the Belgium fortifications falling and reveals German soldiers swarming everywhere, German warmusic sounding off stage as the curtain falls. (The reader may decide for himself as to the neutrality of the writer.) Another dramatic representation of war is in The Metal Checks, by Louise Driscoll. The Counter, Death, sits at a table, cloaked and hooded in mystic grey. The Bearer represents the World that is made to bear the burdens of war, carrying on his shoulders a sackful of the metal discs used to identify the corpses of common soldiers. The scientific type of supernaturalism, of which we have had so much in recent years, is not so prominent as we might expect, but it does appear sporadically. Efficiency, a one-act play, is a satire on war methods. An inventor has perfected a plan of piecing together dismembered limbs of the slain, making living men out of fragments, thus sending more fighters back to the line. The ruler has one of these automa tons appear before him, praising the scheme, but the machine-made thing revolts at a system that puts efficiency above humanity and slays the autocrat. Another scientific example of the weird is Arthur Machen's The Terror, the story of an awful and insidious danger that sweeps over England during two years of the war. A series of murders, enveloped in dreadful mystery, occur, for which the scientists are unable to account. But at last the explanation is found to lie in the animal psychosis. The hate in human hearts has so affected the brute world that animals turn against men and murder them in sinister ways. Above all hovers a visible cloud of hate, of psychic terror that paralyses humanity till it is lifted. The story, which is told with Machen's usual uncanny effectiveness in dealing with the darker aspects of supernaturalism, suggests Maeterlinck's theory that the brute world is secretly hostile to mankind. Magic vision constitutes one of the interesting aspects of war unearthliness, of which Arthur Machen has given us various valuable specimens, akin to the type that Wells used to be fond of. Machen specialises in magic visualisation of the war before the event, as in The Dazzling Light, and The Little Nations. The latter tells of the prophetic vision of a clergyman, in whose garden one day a plot assumes strange shapes, the exact topography of the peninsula of Gallipoli, over which swarming hordes of ants fight in mad array. The story, which closes significantly, suggests the theory of The Terror. "There have been some who have held that the earthly conflict is but the reflection of a war |