third year opened with the new Russian Offensive under Brusiloff, and closed with the beginning of the Third Battle of Ypres.  The War in the air and under the sea rages with unabated intensity, and in both Houses the policy of unmitigated reprisals on German cities has found strenuous advocates.  But Lord Derby, our new Minister of War, will have none of it.  British aeroplanes shall only be employed in bombing where some distinctly military object is to be achieved.  But this decision does not involve any slackness in defensive measures.  We have learned how to deal with the Zepp, and now we are going to attend to the Gotha.  As for the U-boats, the Admiralty says little but does much.  And we are adding to vigilance, valour, and the resources of applied science the further aid of agriculture.

In the old days the Kaiser was once described as “indefatigably changing Chancellors and uniforms.”  Dr. Bethmann-Hollweg has now gone the way of his greater predecessors—­Bismarck and Caprivi, Prince Hohenlohe and Prince Buelow.

[Illustration:  THE TUBER’S REPARTEE

GERMAN PIRATE; “Gott strafe England!”

BRITISH POTATO:  “Tuber ueber Alles!”]

The Princes and the Peers depart, and the Doctors are following suit.  Bethmann-Hollweg, immortalised by one fatal phrase, has been at last hunted from office by the extremists whom he sought to restrain, and Dr. Michaelis, a second-rate administrator, of negligible antecedents, succeeds to his uneasy chair, while the Kaiser maintains his pose as the friend of the people.  He has congratulated his Bayreuth Dragoons on their prowess, which has given joy “to old Fritz up in Elysian fields”: 

  Perhaps; but what if he is down below? 
  In any case, what we should like to know
  Is how his modern namesake, Private Fritz,
  Enjoys the fun of being blown to bits
  Because his Emperor has lost his wits.

[Illustration:  THE SCRAPPER SCRAPPED]

Delirant reges:  but there are bright exceptions.  On July 17 our King in Council decreed that the Royal House should be known henceforth as the House of Windsor.  Parliament has been flooded with the backwash of the Mesopotamia Commission, and at last on third thoughts the Government has decided not to set up a new tribunal to try the persons affected by the Report.  Mr. Austen Chamberlain has resigned office amid general regret.  The Government have refused, “on the representations of the Foreign Secretary,” to accept the twice proffered resignation of Lord Hardinge.  The plain person is driven to the conclusion that if there are no unsinkable ships there are some unsinkable officials.  For the rest the question mainly agitating Members has been “to warn or not to warn.”  The Lord Mayor has announced that he will not ring the great bell of St. Paul’s; but the Home Secretary states that the public will be warned in future when an air raid is actually imminent.

[Illustration:  BUSY CITY MAN TO HIS PARTNER (as one of the new air-raid warnings gets to work):  “If you’ll leave me in here for the warnings I’ll carry on while you take shelter during the raids.”]