"This world has just had a fiercer war than any one thought it was possible for man to wage. Millions have been slaughtered, millions have been wounded and crippled, millions have been starved to death, millions have been wasted by disease. The wonderful baying of the hell-hounds of war has been stilled, but a word would unleash the pack and they would harry man through air and earth and sea. Famine and Pestilence are feeding fat on the nations, and Lust, Greed, and Hate are revelling in all the capitals. To anyone wanting to start a private hell for his own amusement this is the greatest bargain ever offered. The work of building is almost complete. All that is needed is a little imagination and a consignment of sulphur. It is not ever necessary to provide a match. The world is full of fools, both high and low, who are only waiting for a chance to apply the match. Take my word for it, O Chaos, you will never again have such a chance to start a summer resort of your own, so consider well the price that you are willing to pay." Turning to the Soul of Man, who had been reduced almost to despair by this horrid recital, the face of the auctioneer glowed like the sun, and with a voice as musical as summer winds in the elms he whispered: "O Soul of Man, why art thou troubled? My words were but words of scorn and reproof. Behold now this world with the eyes of faith. Look at the fertile fields, flooded with sunshine--the rain-bearing clouds and the mystery of growth. Mark the little homes that dot the plains and cling to the wooded hills. Hear the laughter of children and the song of birds. Even the war was rich with deeds of heroic sacrifice. Charity, Mercy, and Science are striving to overtake Famine and Pestilence. Brotherhood waits for leadership. Truly there is here the matter for a new earth that will be a new heaven. Consider well the price that you are willing to pay." Lifting up his voice till the universe rang with it, the auctioneer shouted: "The sale is now on! What am I bid for this pendulous planet that swings forever from the throne of the sun? There is no reserve bid. The sale must be concluded to-day. What am I bid?" "Wealth!" shouted Chaos. "Gold, silver, paper, unlimited credit!" The nations roared applause. "Contentment," offered the Soul of Man quietly. The nations jeered. Then the two bidders made alternate offers. Chaos began: "Palaces!" "Homes." "Power!" "Brotherhood." "Idleness!" "Industry." "Extravagance!" "Thrift." "License!" "Order." While the bidding proceeded, tumult broke out among the nations. Some favored one bidder; some the other. As the tumult grew, the War God, who always walks before Chaos, tossed his plumed helmet and marshalled all his enginery. Once more his sword was to reap its harvest.