three great countries which are engaged in “this incredibly horrible, absolutely unnecessary war, easily avoided war,” to quote a British Statesman.

Not only have I seen the Wonder of Work in these three lands—but before the war I saw it in Belgium, Germany and Italy. I have drawn it everywhere, save in Luxembourg, and there, too, I have seen it—but made no drawings—for it was so easy to get to that land—and so that country was put off for a more convenient season—a season I fear which will never come again. I am not going to make comparisons—but I am going to say that the Wonder of Work is more wonderful in the United States than anywhere else in the world to-day. True, we are not working with that unbelievable energy which the French and English—yes, the English—have put at last into their work—but we do so much more—with so much less—appearance of work—we are working for the Allies—but they are not working for us. And we are doing for them what they cannot do for themselves. In Europe the war worker works all day and every day in the year. Here most of the great industrial works have only added war work to their peace work, in Europe scarce anything else but war work is being done.

And also in America the women have not to any extent gone into the factories, mills and shipyards of the country. And I hope they never will. I have never seen a woman shell maker here, yet I know of factories in France and England where there are scarce any work people, save women, one where there are ten thousand women. Here they are only making fuses and doing other light work, but I have not seen a woman at a lathe as I have seen them in France and England. I have never seen a woman ship builder here—yet I have seen women in shipyards abroad doing work that men would have grumbled at when put to it—because it was thought hard work—before the war.

And I am glad that our women are not forced to undertake such work, and hope they never may be, for I have seen the black side of this work, which already has led to strikes and labour troubles in Europe—and when the war is over, will lead to greater trouble—for the Captains of Industry in Europe tell me that women run machines better than men—they devote themselves to the machine—never try to improve it—to make changes in it—only to keep it going and in good order, while the man is always trying to improve it, to make it do more, so that he can do less. “Stick matches in it,” one manager said—while the women just run the machines as they are shown how.

But making shells is more interesting than washing dishes, or waving flags and marching in parades—and more exciting—but there will be an end to that some day; and the lathes—which have been turned to war work—will be turned back to peace work—and the question is, will the women go back to their dishes?—and if they do not there will be more trouble. I have seen a women’s strike—or a little of it—for with the manager who was showing me around, I left at once. It was not an orderly, peaceful, or womanly strike. That shop was no place for me. Those women were not lady-like.

But just as the greatest human energy has been given to war work, given to make things to explode, to kill, to destroy; so the greatest machines have been turned to do this work with the greatest skill and accuracy and the greatest speed—the workers are but a necessary detail—and it is the working of the great machinery in the great mills which I find so inspiring—so impressive—for the mills are shrines of war. The mills are the modern temples and in them do the people worship. And if only the engines turned out were engines of peace—how much better would the world be—but everything made in a war factory is made to destroy and to be destroyed. But one must not think of that, for if one did the war would stop, and not every one wants it to stop—or it would stop to-day—a universal demand for peace would make peace,—really