Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/95

 be fascinating reading for anyone. These so called comfort kits were all that their name implies and more. They contained underwear, socks, sewing kits, razors, combs, shaving cream, talcum powder, vaseline, bandages, writing paper, pencils, wash cloths, laundry and toilet soap, towels, handkerchiefs and candy. Many had coffee, dry sausage, boullion cubes, canned goods, etc., etc. Very often a patriotic donor would enclose a nicely folded American flag. The letters were such as will be cherished by the recipients all their lives.

The above description of the comfort kits sent to Russia seems almost an exaggeration, but when it is considered that the majority were not just ordinary comfort kits, but bags measuring 20x36 inches, and were valued up to $28.00, it can readily be seen that the above statements are facts. Every kit was a voluntary contribution, some of those most generously filled coming from men and women in the humblest circumstances. The variety in size, contents and value may not have been a fair division to our soldiers, but that happened through inexperience in providing for an army—where all are equal. However, this did not worry us, as we know that the Czechoslovak Army is one huge brotherhood and that our men share everything in brotherly fashion; so it was unnecessary for us to do the dividing here.

To Russia we shipped 306 cases, valued at approximately $68,397.

We will continue our work until the men are home again; and even then our work is not finished. Ours was a double responsibility, but we have reaped a twofold reward; victory for the United States and independence for Czechoslovakia. Our gratitude spurs us on to renewed effort. We are now preparing to take part in the coming Victory Loan and already our women are busy knitting and sewing garments for returning soldiers, convalescents, widows and orphans of Czechoslovakia. Funds continue to be raised to help meet the many needs of the new republic whose statesmen are bringing order out of chaos in such an admirable way.

We Czechoslovak women cherish the watchword given by President Thomas Garrigue Masaryk to Czechoslovaks the world over: “We shall remain steadfast until the end.”

Among the many nations that the relatively recent tide of immigration has brought to our country Poles, Czechoslovaks and Italians far outnumber the others.

The Czechoslovaks are in a sense the youngest of the nations, inasmuch as their separate government has only been recognized within the past few months by the governments of the modern world.

Here is the irony of history, one of those curious co-incidences that make us stop with a gasp of astonishment and realize that the gods must sometimes smile at the childish games we would-be wordly-wise children of the 20th century are playing.

Here in America we are preaching, writing, often screaming, of the overwhelming heed of universal education—especially as applied to the newly-arrived strangers from the old world who have come to make part of our civilization. This education, we urge, is essential in order to Americanize them, and yet the corner stone, the principles, the ideals of our own system of education today were laid more than three hundred years ago by one of those Czechs, whom we are endeavoring to “convert” to our ideals in this country.

Comenius, known in his own country as John Amos Komensky, was practically the founder of the highest plans of education which have been in use since the 16th century. His life was given to the advancement of education among his own people, as well as to the teaching of the principles of Christ, as interpreted by the Moravian Church of which he was a faithful pastor for many years.

His road was a stony one and he never attained his great ambition of putting into actual practice his scheme of universal