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THE KING’S BUSINESS We have recently received a letter from a friend who has taken his vacation by going to preach among the peoples of Prince Edward Island, where he was born, and of Nova Scotia, where he was once a minister, that
The Immeasurable Sorrows' of War.
brings home very vividly the immeasurable sorrows of war. He writes: “ I am just now on Prince Edward Island, among the country scenes of my early boyhood. Usually it is a very pleasant place to spend the summer, hut this year to' be here is literally, to move in the shadow of death. It is awful to, think of the number of fair young fellows who are blown to pieces on the field of battle, but we are apt to forget the thousands of poor mothers, in these quiet country places, who are simply crushed and literally dying by inches. Women who were nice and fresh-looking four years ago, when I was last here, are today broken old women. This is especially true of those whose lads have been killed in the war. Among them are sons of my own people, who seem to be hopelessly broken. When this is true of this place, what must it be in Ger many, England, Scotland and France, not to say anything about countries that have been literally turned into a graveyard.” The guilt of all the Neros, Caligulas and all the most infamous monsters of the past, pales into nothingness before that of the devil or devils incarnate who are responsible for the present war. And yet there are those in our own land who for the sake of paltry financial interests in Mexico or political inter ests at home or for the sake of gaining a high military title, are doing their utmost to foment war between this country and poor, unfortunate Mexico. If you are really men and not monsters, pause and think what war means! had three fine sons. They were all pronounced Christians. At the very begin ning of the war they all enlisted and were given commissions—the oldest as captain, the other two as lieutenants in the same regiment. They had all joined the “ territorials” several years before the war began. At the time of the out break of the war the youngest, Paton, an under-graduate at Cambridge, presi dent of the Cambridge Inter-collegiate Christian Union, was only 19 and the military authorities hesitated to accept him because of his youth, but at last, to his great joy, decided to give him a. commission. For nearly two years we received^ frequent cheery letters from the father and mother, telling how the sons, though in the front trenches, had escaped unscathed. Some weeks ago such a letter arrived from the mother, but even while she was writing an explod ing shell had done its awful work. The life of the youngest son was taken, and by the same mail came a letter bringing the sad intelligence. Now comes this letter, from the oldest son, telling the sequel: “ I am sure you will be very sorry to hear that for the past ten days father has been very seriously ill and that it is now only a question of time. The doc tors have for a week held out no ray of hope, and since he suffers terribly a large part of the time, one can but hope and pray that Cod in His mercy will take him soon. You can imagine how brave my mother is,,for you know her, but I fear this long-drawn-out agony will seriously affect her and Dorothy (an A letter recently received from England gives a glimpse of what war means not only in the trenches but in the home. One of the noblest Christian men and most indefatigable soul-winners we met in England What War Means.
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