orts that the French Government were
starting for Bordeaux, Clemenceau overthrown, and Foch disgraced. But the
campaign of falsehood has proved powerless to shake France or impose on the
German people. Commandeered enthusiasm is giving place to grave discontent.
The awakening of Germany has begun, and the promise of a speedy peace falls
on deaf ears. In the process of enlightenment the Americans have played a
conspicuous part, in spite of the persistent belittlement of the military
experts in the official German Press. The stars in their courses have
sometimes seemed to fight for Germany, but they are withdrawing their aid.

[Illustration: "COMPLETE ACCORD"; OR, ALL DONE BY KINDNESS

IMPERIAL TRAINER (to his dog Karl): "Now then, no nonsense: through you
go!"]

[Illustration: THE CELESTIAL DUD.

KAISER: "Ha! A new and brilliant star added to my constellation of the
Eagle!"

GENERAL FOCH: "On the wane, I think."

(It is anticipated in astronomical circles that the new star, _Nova
Aquilae_, will shortly disappear.)]

The long struggle between von Kuehlmann and the generals has ended in the
fall of the Minister; but not before he had indicated to the Reichstag the
possibility of another Thirty Years' War, and asserted that no intelligent
man ever entertained the wish that Germany should attain world-domination.
There was a time when this frank reflection on the Hohenzollern
intelligence would have constituted _lese-majeste._ Coming from a
Minister it amounts to a portent. Now he has gone, but the growing belief
that military operations cannot end the war has not been scotched by his
fall, and Herr Erzberger vigorously carries on the campaign against
Chancellor Hertling and the generals. Austria has been at last goaded into
resuming the offensive on the Italian Front and met with a resounding
defeat. It remains to be seen how Turkey and Bulgaria will respond to the
urgent appeals of their exacting master.

The ordeal of our men on the Western Front is terrible, but they have at
least one grand and heartening stand-by in the knowledge that they have
plenty of guns and no lack of shells behind them. This is the burden of the
"Song of Plenty" from an old soldier to a young one:

The shelling's cruel bad, my son,
But don't you look too black,
For every blessed German one
He gets a dozen back--
But I remember the days
When shells were terrible few
And never the guns could bark and blaze
The