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                   By FRANKLIN B. HUSSEY, of Chicago.

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The war is over. Now let us rejoice. Now erect your tablets and
monuments to the heroes of the war--the living and the dead. Write their
names on the long roll of honor: Dewey, Schley, Hobson and Wainwright,
Roosevelt, Lee, Wheeler and all the rest, and alongside their names
write those of the private soldier and the "man behind the guns." They
"remembered the Maine." And while we rear our symbols of marble and of
bronze to commemorate their brave deeds, there is one we must not, we
cannot, forget.

When our brave boys left home and marched proudly down to war they did
not go alone, for the gentle presence of woman walked beside them, to
assuage with her soft touch the grim horrors of carnage. A few days ago
the busy thoroughfares of our city resounded with the music and fanfares
of a great jubilee. I saw the towering fronts of the thronging palaces
of trade put off their accustomed garb of work-a-day gray and drab and
bedeck themselves in carnival attire, while stretched across from roof
to roof for miles hung festoons of glittering lights, banners and flags
in a bewildering chaos of red, white and blue. I saw triumphal arches
spanning the streets, adorned with the portraits and names of patriots,
but I saw not hers of whom I speak.

Under those arches, attended by all the pomp and splendor of the
trappings of war, keeping step to the glad music of victory, marched ten
thousand men, at their head the Chief Executive of the nation. I saw
senators and judges, diplomatic representatives and statesmen, generals
and heroes of the army and navy, veterans and volunteer soldiers pass in
glittering procession, while a million voices shouted loud huzzas that
told of a nation's tribute of gratitude to all those who had contributed
to the great victory; but for her I looked in vain.

At night I saw a great feast spread, honored by the presence of the
nation's leader and all those who had ridden in the grand pagean