THE WEEK.

Otago Witness, Issue 3308, 8 August 1917, Page 56

THE WEEK.

Three years. In the history of humanity it is a very little, while in the span of human life, even, it is not so very long; but were there ever three such years in the history of the world before? Looking back over all that has happened in then, they seem to be ages long, and one realises the truth of the lines— We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not ;n figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. Counted in deeds and in heart-throbs those three years mount up to almost an eternity. And yet do you remember the incredibility with which we read Kitchener's words in his first speech as Secretary of State for War: "If the war lasts three years ." Even as a supposition the thing was unthinkable then. Now three years have passed, and all we feel certain about is that, having survived those three years, we shall go on for yet another three, and,another, and another, and as long after that as is necessary to finish the task we have undertaken. What was considered a joke at the beginning of the war—the question flung from the German trench: "How long is this war going to last?" and the English Tommy's cheerful reply : "They say the first five years will be the worst" —looks like becoming a stern reality. With Russia such an uncertain quantity, we may have to wait till America is ready to put forth her full strength before we can achieve anything decisive, and that will take a year or two; and then there will be a kind of "clean-ing-up" process which may go on for an indefinite time. But it is useless trying to look ahead into the future. The thing that matter's is that as a nation we haye once more recorded our inflexible determination to see this business through to

the desired end; and if the other meetings throughout the Empire are like the one hold in Dunedin on Saturday night, then I'm sorry for the Germans, that's all. I was really very much impressed by the spirit of that meeting. There was an earnestness and a solemnity about it, an absence of boastful and flamboyant patriotism, a sober pride in what had been accomplished, and a quiet determination to go on with the war until the tyranny of Germany is broken, that augured well for the future of the struggle. The speeches were in a high key, and the audience were well attuned to it—so well that I could not help noticing that when one of the speakers made a slip in a word that gave almost a comical turn to his sentence, there was not a ripple through that crowded hall, and his quick correction was hardly needed. We were too deeply intent to be disturbed by anything like that, knowing what he meant. The note of the meeting was reverence for the men who had fallen for our sakes, and desire to prove ourselves worthy of them lest their sacrifice should be in vain. That will be no easy task. It means an attempt to emulate, if possible, something of the courage, the endurance, the heroism, the self-sacrifice which seems to come so naturally to the men who are going through hell that we may live securely. It means helping to purge our national life of many things that are hampering our efficiency and lowering our character. It means putting aside all personal considerations, and considering everything from the point of view of the good of the whole community; and that is a very very difficult thing to d&. I do not suppose any one of us achieves it wholly. How many of us even try? Yet until we get into the way of doing it, not only will this war be long in the finishing, but

there will always be the risk of 'other wars to follow; and one does not care even to think of that just now. If you are not sure sometimes of the need for all this effort, think for a moment of what the character of the German nation has shown itself to be during these three years. Think of their assertion that 1 might is right," think of their claim" to rule over other peoples by virtue of their supposed superiority, whether these peoples will or no; think of the horrible things that they have done, and that they cannot see to be horrible—the murders, the outrages, the senseless destruction, the filthiness, the cruelty that they claim to be military necessities. Nothing is sacred to them, whether it be truth and honour, churches and shrines, women with child, or the bodies of their own dead. Think for a moment what it would mean for the world if a people such as this were allowed to do as they think fit, and find faith and hope in the fact that thev have not been so allowed, that they have come upon something that they did not expect—some thing invisible, intangible, but mightier than the strength of all their armies—the something divine in the soul of humanity which will not let these horrors be. Natio* after nation has ranged itself against them and their allies, determined not to cease their efforts until they have driven into the heads of those Germans who have some intelligence and sense of decency left the fact that aggression and tyranny do not pay—that the rest of the world will not have it. Then, and only then will humanity have breathing space and time to devote itself to better things than slaughter and destruction. What are the sufferings and sacrifices of a few short years—and ours here have been so small compared with other countries—compared with the freeing of future generations trom an ■. ever-constant nightmare? Will you not do your part, however small it may be, through the coming months so that August 4, 1918, may at least find us nearer to our goal? ELIZABETH.