n 



In War. 



Not long ago I visited the town of 

 Novara, in northern Italy. There, in a 

 wheat-field, the farmers have ploughed 

 up skulls of men till they have piled up 

 a pyramid ten or twelve feet high. Over 

 this pyramid some one has built a 

 canopy to keep off the rain. These 

 were the skulls of young men of Savoy, 

 Sardinia, and Austria, men of eigh- 

 teen to thirty-five years of age, without 

 physical blemish so far as may be, 

 peasants from the farms and workmen 

 from the shops, who met at Novara to 

 kill each other over a matter in which 

 they had very little concern. Should 

 the Prince of Savoy sit on his unstable 

 throne or yield it to some one else, 

 this was the question. It matters not 

 the decision. History doubtless re- 



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