Soldier Silhouettes on Our Front

e in Paris one sees wonderful silhouettes which tell the story of the horror of the Hun better tha

rals, homes, towers, and forests are better pictured in black silhouettes than an

. There it stands outlined against the sky. Rheims that was once the wonder of the world is now naked ruins, tottering walls, wi

ome place aga

l the

of the soldiers that when the figure of the Virgin fell to the earth the war would end has been dissipated, for during the last drive that figure fell, and the tower with it. But for

ntil it was in ruins. Only the tower and the walls of a beautiful little church remai

uins, that stood out like a gaunt ghost of the vandal Hun. There was the little God's acre along the road which we passed every day. There were always the observation-balloons against the evening sky. There were always the fleet-winged birds of the air outlined against the evening. There were always the marching men and the ambulance trains. But standing out above them all, etched with the acid of regret

et where the ruined homes lay, the village that it had mothered and fathered, the village that had worshipped within its simple walls, the village that had brought its joys and sorrows there, the village that had buried the dead within its shadows, the village that had brought its

dest road in Christendom," because more men have been killed along its scarred pathway than

ried them in a little cemetery. Above the sacred remains of their comrades these French soldiers erected a simple b

e Hun, too, gathered his dead together and buried them side by side with the French. Then he did a characteristic thing. He got

ng expression of his philosophy, the philosophy of the brut

the causes are placed. One is the cause of the cross, the cause of men willing to di

e on the Baupaume Road, stand out as

rced the side of the Master so long ago. On the very hour that Jesus was crucified back on that other and first Good Friday the Hun

acrilege happened. Never can one forget the scene.

of the shell. Three feet of solid stones covered the floor. Men and women were being carried out

this scene of death and destructi

f the temple wa

ll remain as one of the

at the film of one's memory has brought away fro

ell so close to where I was walking that it broke the windows around me, and I was nearly thrown to my feet. In my soul I cursed the Hun

g. I followed the crowd. My uniform got me past the gendarmes in through a little cour

hat room shall make m

either their wives or those new babies, when I saw the blood that smeared the plaster and floors of that room, when I saw the little twisted baby beds, a flush of hatred swept over me, as it did ov

ze cross; there was the desecration of the most sacred day in Christendom, Good Friday, and then the desecration of little children, mothers of new-born b