The fleet of Dutch merchantmen, which has been sunk by a waiting submarine, sailed under a German guarantee of “relative security.” Germany is so often misunderstood. It should be obvious by this time that her attitude to International Law has always been one of approximate reverence. The shells with which she bombarded Rheims Cathedral were contingent shells, and the Lusitania was sunk by a relative torpedo. Neutrals all over the world, who are smarting just now under a fresh manifestation of Germany’s respective goodwill, should try to realise before they take any action what is the precise situation of our chief enemy: He has (relatively) won the War; he has (virtually) broken the resistance of the Allies; he has (conditionally) ample supplies for his people; in particular he is (morally) rich in potatoes. His finances at first sight appear to be pretty heavily involved, but that soon will be adjusted by (hypothetical) indemnities; he has enormous (proportional) reserves of men; he has (theoretically) blockaded Great Britain, and his final victory is (controvertibly) at hand. But his most impressive argument, which cannot fail to come home to hesitating Neutrals, is to be found in his latest exhibition of offensive power, namely, in his (putative) advance—upon the Ancre.
A grave statement made by the Under-Secretary for War as to the recent losses of the Royal Flying Corps on the Western front and the increased activity of the German airmen has created some natural depression. The command of the air fluctuates, but the spirit of our airmen is a sure earnest that the balance will be redressed in our favour. Mr. Punch has already paid his tribute to the British infantryman. Let him now do his homage to the heroes whose end is so often disguised under the laconic announcement: “One of our machines did not return.”
[Illustration: ALSO RAN
WILHELM: “Are you luring them on, like me?” MEHMED: “I’m afraid I am!”]
I like to think it did not fall to earth,
A wounded bird that trails
a broken wing,
But to the heavenly blue that gave it
birth,
Faded in silence, a mysterious
thing,
Cleaving its radiant course where honour
lies
Like a winged victory mounting to the
skies.