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 their lives for our safety. How could it be otherwise? There is, and there has always been, a sense of comradeship with the departed. It is a noble and a still comradeship, untarnished by illusions, unvulgarized by extravagant details. Newman has portrayed it in "A Voice from Afar"; and Mr. Rowland Thirlmere has made it the theme of some very simple and touching verses called "Jimmy Doane." The elderly Englishman who has lost his friend, a young American aviator, "generous, clever, and confident," and who sits alone, with his heart cold and sore, feels suddenly the welcome nearness of the dead. No table heaves its heavy legs to announce that silent presence. No alphabet is needed for his message. But the living man says simply to his friend, "My house is always open to you," and hopes that they may sit quietly together when the dreams of both are realized, and the hour of deliverance comes. 54