_they_ who won the war--_they_, who through God, have given us the victory! Not the talkers, but the doers; not the politicians, but the fighters, among whom you, brave Canadians, held your part like the heroes of an epic. You are rough, perchance, but you are ready! Some there are who say you have not received half your rightful share of honour in this country; if this _is_ so, then your Motherland is indeed unworthy of your prowess! But I hardly think this is, or can be so. You do not get the true voice of the British People in the British Press--always remember that! The People know their best men, and honour them accordingly. And if, by chance, they are misled occasionally, and those leaders whom they have believed their “best” prove false to the trust placed in them, none so swift, sure, and deadly as the British People to rend them for their broken word. They know you, Canadians, as their blood-brothers; and as such will resent any wrong inflicted on your liberties and commerce. They applaud your patriotism and rejoice in your courage; you are the younger sons of the Empire, and in the name of one Throne, one Flag, we salute you and give you our heart’s gratitude! SHELLS; AND OTHER SHELLS (_Written by request for the Magazine published on behalf of the Munition Workers of Georgetown, Paisley_) A THOUGHT In one of the finest and tenderest poems ever written by our last great Laureate, Alfred Tennyson, whose departure from this world closed, for the time, the reign of true English lyrical melody, there occur these delicately beautiful lines:-- “See what a lovely shell Small and pure as a pearl Lying close at my foot, Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairly well With delicate spire and whorl How exquisitely minute! A miracle of design. The tiny cell is forlorn,-- Void of the little living will That made it stir on the shore. Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house, in a rainbow frill? Did he push, when he was uncurl’d, A golden foot or a fairy horn Through his dim water-world?”