Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1918-03-14
HOW DID IT STRIKE Y0U7

ONCE yesterdays newspapers were, as
~ the saying goes, on the street, the
time had passed for space at least
when men needed to turn to books or
prophecies or pulpits for sermons Of
guidance. The front page Of any paper
will serve that ancient need for the pres
ent. The staccato paragraphs cabled
from the French sector where the Amer
leans have been making their first lunges
at the astonished Germans cry out to
every one, epic and imperative. And
they bring intimations that should numb
the heart of any man with touch OF
the Stacker remaining in his mind or his
disposition.
The casualty lists have been growing a
little longer. but they have not been ade--
quate, apparently, to concentrate general
attention upon the inevitable fact. The
first war photographs came through on
Tuesday and they were adequate. There
they stood, the first of our own men over
whom the fire had passed. There were
half dozen of them. Those pictures
were SOLDERING experience. So hard
ened have we become to the sight of
French and British soldiers hurt and
manned that it was necessary to look
twice to be sure that the young man with
one foot shot away and an odd touch of
sorrow in his eyes actually wore the
familiar blouse and the wide-brimmed
hat Of our own service. They stood re-
vealed, these first serious casualties, as
If by the hand of an ironic destiny in
land where there are men still grumbling
ND h,1 hacot1ca n
their bread is not white or because they
are denied their accustomed chops on one
day Of the week.
The types of these soldiers were easily
recognizable. We had seen them in the
war pictures of few months ago march
ing up from the quays, swinging along
in the pride of strength, waving cheerful
hands to the welcoming French They
shall march no more. And yet it was
not for comforts or pride or possessions
or for any of the lesser passions that
they delivered themselves up. They were,
in that final experience of theirs, the
compassionate heart of their own far
country. So it was pity that drove them
on; wish that the little and the weak
as yet unborn shall live free from ter
rors; that homes may be established and
kept in green peace; that the mothers of
France may smile again in years to come
and sing above their cradles.
For these things they went-these
children of the light, who looked out
from printed pages into the eyes of mil
lions of Americans as they stood, some
of them broken forever, against the side
of one Of the French base hospitals. High
causes surely! Yet it is for little else that
these soldiers and the others who kept
the wires busy with their bithe attacks
yesterday and the day before have been
listeners at the believing gates of very
real and actual hell or cheerful adv.a-
turers into the fires from which so many
have to be carried back. High causes,
indeed, and far remove. from the dis
comforts of war bread and taxes and
fuelless days and lightless nights.
Well, it had to come, this intimate real.
ization of what is actually going on. The
news from France and the pictures that
have already arrived have had something
of the warning quality of a gun shot
| There were, in the faces of the men pho
tographed, intimations that should touch
and stir sensitive min like blast OF
music. They had suffered greatly, but
you never would have known it! Euro.
peans have always said this sort of spirit.
ual experiences would wake us from
lethargy. Perhaps it will. Perhaps we
shall hear less, as the casualties grow
of kicks and complaints; less about
dodgers of the food regulations. Anc
from this on at least every man whose
routine and habits of life are not read
justed to the common purpose must con.
tinue to realize with a deadening GER.
tainty how unutterably far he is in com
mon decency below the vast majority Of
his 'humblest countrymen.