ppears, however, that the results are not always
satisfactory, though no complaints have been heard on our side.

_July_, 1917.

The War, so Lord Northcliffe has informed the Washington Red Cross
Committee, has only just begun. Whether this utterance be regarded as a
statement of fact or an explosion of rhetoric, it has at least one merit.
The United States cannot but regard it as a happy coincidence that their
entry into the War synchronises with the initial operations. The dog-days
are always busy times for the Dogs of War, and the last month of the 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]