It is strange how apparently callous this universal carnage has made the noblest and the tenderest of men and women.

We cling passionately to the lives of those near and dear to us.
But as to those near and dear to others, who are killed--well--we pay them the passing tribute not even of a tear, but only of a sign.

They died gloriously for their country.

What can we say more?
If we--we survivors, not only invalids and women and other stay-at-homes, but also comrades on the field--were riven to our souls by the piteous tragedy of splendid youth destroyed in its flower, we could not stand the strain, we should weep hysterically, we should be broken folk.

But a merciful Providence steps in and steels our hearts.