THE NATION'S DEBT.
[TO THE EDITOR OP THE " SPECTATOR."]
SIR.—" War is a young man's game," says Authority. True, but I beg to raise a word for those who, in the afternoon of life, waited for no childish posters, no political rhetoric, but just fell in quietly when the national call rang out during that fateful August of 1914. Many, many of these older men, married in most cases, have already laid down their lives; many again are serving in the ranks of the Home Army, suffering from those aches and pains which come to most of us when we lie on rubbei sheets laid on the cold ground at a time of life when a man has rightly earned a little otium cum dignitate. Still, through it all their buttons are bright, and if these old boys do swear occasionally, their rifles are kept clean in spite of the touches of lumbago and rheumatics. Though the arm may be a bit stiff, Heaven help the man who runs against that bayonet! I know a unit every man of whom has been " up " for two years and more, and yet the youngest bugler " boy " in that unit will never see fifty-one again. In our mutual admiration for the splendid spirit of the youthful Britisher I trust that we shall never forget the debt we owe to those " old boys " who sacrificed their home comforts, gave the " missus " and the kids an extra kiss, took down their hats, and then stepped out to face those hardships which, by reason of their riper years, they knew would have to be faced at a very great sacrifice. " God bless them 1 " say I. Perhaps some day we may carve in stone, alongside the youthful bomber, something to com- memorate the great sacrifice of the older men.—I am, Sir, &c.,
Hosto.
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