April, 1917.

Once more the rulers of Germany have failed to read the soul of another nation.  They thought there was no limit to America’s forbearance, and they thought wrong.  America is now “all in” on the side of the Allies.  The Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack are flying side by side over the Houses of Parliament.  On the motion introduced in both Houses to welcome our new Ally, Mr. Bonar Law, paraphrasing Canning, declared that the New World had stepped in to redress the balance of the old; Mr. Asquith, with a fellow-feeling, no doubt, lauded the patience which had enabled President Wilson to carry with him a united nation; and Lord Curzon quoted Bret Harte.  The memory of some unfortunate phrases is obliterated by the President’s historic message to Congress, and his stirring appeal to his countrymen to throw their entire weight into the Allied scale.  The War, physically as well as morally, is now Germania contra Mundum.  Yet, while we hail the advent of a powerful and determined Ally, there is no disposition to throw up our hats.  The raw material of manpower in America is magnificent in numbers and quality, but it has to be equipped and trained and brought across the Atlantic.  Many months, perhaps a whole year, must elapse before its weight can be felt on the battle front.  The transport of a million men over submarine-infested seas is no easy task.  But while we must wait for the coming of the Americans on land, their help in patrolling the seas may be counted on speedily.

[Illustration: 

THE NEW-COMER:  “My village, I think?”

THE ONE IN POSSESSION:  “Sorry, old thing; I took it half-an-hour ago.”]

[Illustration:  SWOOPING FROM THE WEST

(It is the intention of our new Ally to assist us in the patrolling of the Atlantic.)]

The British have entered Peronne; the Canadians have captured Vimy Ridge.  But the full extent of German frightfulness has never been so clearly displayed as in their retreat.  Here, for once, the German account of their own doings is true.  “In the course of these last months great stretches of French territory have been turned by us into a dead country.  It varies in width from 10 to 12 or 13 kilometres, and extends along the whole of our new positions.  No village or farm was left standing, no road was left passable, no railway track or embankment was left in being.  Where once were woods, there are gaunt rows of stumps; the wells have been blown up....  In front of our new positions runs, like a gigantic ribbon, our Empire of Death” (Lokal Anzeiger, March 18, 1917).  The general opinion of the Boche among the British troops is that he is only good at one thing, and that is destroying other people’s property.  One of Mr. Punch’s correspondents writes to say that while the flattened villages and severed fruit trees are a gruesome spectacle, for him “all else was forgotten in speechless admiration of the French people.