'And when the sun shall set in Heaven,
Dark with the clouds of steaming blood,
A ghastly, woeful, dying murmur
Will be the Briton's last salute.

'Then shall we start our jolly banquet,
And toast the first "the British blood."'

No doubt a decent Boer would be as ashamed of this as we are of some of
our Jingo papers. But even their leaders, Reitz, Steyn, and Kruger, have
allowed themselves to use language about the British which cannot,
fortunately, be matched upon our side.

Mr. Methuen is severe upon Lord Salisbury for the uncompromising nature
of his reply to the Presidents' overtures for peace in March 1900. But
what other practical course could he suggest? Is it not evident that if
independence were left to the Boers the war would have been without
result, since all the causes which led to it would be still open and
unsolved. On the morrow of such a peace we should be faced by the
Franchise question, the Uitlander question, and every other question for
the settling of which we have made such sacrifices. Is that a sane
policy? Is it even tenable on the grounds of humanity, since it is
perfectly clear that it must lead to another and a greater struggle in
the course of a few years? When the work was more than half done it
would have been madness to hold our hand.

Surely there is no need for gloomy forebodings. The war has seemed long
to us who have endured it, but to our descendants it will probably seem
a very short time for the conquest of so huge a country and so stubborn
a foe. Our task is not endless. Four-fifths of the manhood of the
country is already in our hands, and the fifth remaining diminishes week
by week. Our mobility and efficiency increase. There is not the
slightest ground for Mr. Methuen's lament about the condition of the
Army. It is far fitter than when it began. It is mathematically certain
that a very few months must see the last commando hunted down. Meanwhile
civil life is gaining strength once more. Already the Orange River
Colony pays its own way, and the Transvaal is within measurable distance
of doing the same. Industries are waking up, and on the Rand the roar of
the stamps has replaced that of the cannon. Fifteen hundred of them will
soon be at work, and the refugees are returning at the rate of 400 a
week.

It is argued that the bitterness of this struggle will never die out,
but history has shown that it is the fights which are fought to an
absolute