engineers will make France the great manufacturing force and the
richest people in Europe. The Napoleonic wars were wars between
political ideas. The collision was between autocracy and bureaucracy and
French democracy and radicalism. The new antagonism grows out of
economic conditions. Germany wants to supersede England upon the seas,
and Germany wants the iron mines of France, and this is the whole
situation in a nutshell.

"No, I am not sinning against the law of neutrality. I am trying to
freshen the old American ideals of self-government for the young men and
women in Plymouth Church. If the whole-hearted support of America's free
institutions involves indirectly a dissent from imperialism and
militarism, I am not responsible. I admit there is a necessary
condemnation of autocracy involved in the mere publication of the
Declaration of Independence. Ours is a Government of laws and not of
men, and I have been discussing the principles of self-government and
not rulers who represent imperialism.

"Neutrality does not mean the wiping out of conviction. There are some
men who think that neutrality means adding God and the devil together
and dividing by two. And there are some statesmen who seem to think that
neutrality means adding together autocracy and democracy, and halving
the result. I do not share that view. I believe it is the first duty of
the German-American and the native-born American to uphold the
fundamental principles of self-government, and of an industrial
civilization as opposed to a military machine, and if this means protest
and criticism, then that protest must be accepted."

TIPPERARY.

By JOHN B. KENNEDY.

(At the other end of the long, long road.)

Who is it stands at the full o' the door?
Mary O'Fay, Mother O'Fay.
An' what is she watching an' waiting for?
Och, none but her soul can say.

There's a list in the Post Office long an' black,
With tidings bad, and woeful sad;
The names of the boys who'll ne'er come back,
An' one is her darling lad.

We showed her the list; but she cannot read,
So we told her true, yes, we told her true.
Her old eyes stared till they'd almost bleed,
An' she swore that none of us knew.

She's waiting now for Father O'Toole,
Till he goes her way at the noon of day.
She's simperin' white--the poor old fool,
For she knows what the priest'll say.

*