Hear the gray, old Northern mother, Blessing now her dying children,-- God keep ye safe for me, Christ watch ye in your sleeping, Where ye have died for me. And when God’s own slogan soundeth, All the dead world’s dust awaking, Ah, will ye look for me? Bravely we’ll stand together I and my sons with me. L. MACLEAN WATT. The most notable novel that has been published during the past year is “SALT OF THE EARTH” by Mrs. Alfred Sidgwick. For months it has consistently headed the lists of best selling novels and deservedly so, for nothing has been written that shows the soul of Germany as this remarkable book does. “We are the Salt of the Earth. God has chosen us to regenerate the world. We are the apostles of Progress,” said the Kaiser in his famous speech at Potsdam. Mrs. Sidgwick has spent most of her life among these “supermen”--studying, observing, assimilating. She is the most competent person to write this type of novel and that she has done her work well is best proven by the success of her book. Here are a few specimen pages. “SALT OF THE EARTH” is for sale wherever books are sold. XI All through the night it had been touch and go with Brenda. She had undressed and gone to bed, but not to sleep. She had got up, half dressed again, and sat at her open window staring at the silent summer darkness of the garden. Suppose she did it! Suppose she stole out of the house with the few pounds she possessed and sent a telegram to her mother or left a note assuring her that she was alive and well, but could not marry Lothar. It had been done before, and still the world went round. But she would have to walk up and down London all night, and probably be molested or taken up by the police; and the police were so stupid and yet so knowing that they would probably find out who she was and bring her back in time for the civil wedding which was to take place at the nearest Registrar’s office at eleven. There was no hurry. If she decided to go, six o’clock would be time enough, just before the servants were up. The quiet coat and skirt she meant to put on for the morning lay ready for her. Her wedding gown was in a wardrobe with her veil and wreath of orange blossom. She was wearing no myrtle. She knew that German brides invariably wore myrtle, but she was English and wished to remain English. She had taken her country for granted till now, when she was going to leave it for ever. All the liberty and sweetness of life here she had taken as a matter of course, and even joined in the laughter against England that seems amusing while you live there enjoying all it gives. She had thought it would be a pleasant adventure to set up house in a foreign land and taste its strangeness; but she had not thought enough of the way back, a way closed by marriage. She could never come back except as a visitor and by permission of Lothar. He had promised her that she could come back