It is a wonderful map to consider, this map of the world in 1916. A wonderful map to be studied by the mothers of the Fatherland who have suckled their children to manure the crops of the future, to feed the crematoriums and blast furnaces of Belgium, to fill the mad houses, blind asylums, and homes for incurables, when the frosts of Russia and the guns of the Allies have done with them.

And every cross marks the grave of a hope.

Paris Regrets eternels.

That wonderful inscription was the first to be cut. Galliene was the mason. Verdun was the last and will not be the least. But, whatever may come to be written on stone, on the heart of the mourner when he comes to die only one inscription will be found: "Calais." If he has a heart large enough to have even these six letters.

H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.



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"MY SIXTH SON IS NOW LYING HERE—WHERE ARE YOURS?"

There is a picture in Brussels that the Kaiser ought to study on one of his visits to the Belgian capital. It is Wertz's picture of Napoleon in Hades.

Wertz was a madman, he knew something of the horrors of war, but he knew, also, something of the grandeur and nobility of Napoleon.

Napoleon is surrounded by women holding up the mutilated remains of sons, lovers, and fathers, and still he remains Napoleon, the child of Destiny, the Inscrutable, the Calm, and, if one may say so, the Gentleman.

Women knew, at least, that their dead had fallen before the armies or at the will of a great man in those Napoleonic days; there was something of Fate in the business.

But to-day the widow or the mourning mother, whilst knowing that her son or her husband has fallen in defending Humanity from the Beast can find no quarter in their hearts for the form or the shape of manhood that stands, in the words of Swinburne:

"Curse consecrated, crowned with crime and flame!"

No taunt could be too bitter for their lips and none more bitter than the words of Raemaekers:

"My sons are lying here—where are yours?"

H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.



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BUNKERED

The Crown Prince is in a very awkward predicament. He has driven his ball into a deep sand-pit from which a very clever professional golfer might perhaps extricate himself by a powerful stroke with a niblick. But young William is not a professional, and indeed knows nothing about the game. So he takes his driver and his other wooden clubs, and smashes them all, with much bad language, while he whacks at the ball, which only buries itself deeper in the sand. He is pondering what to do next. There is, however, only one thing to do. He must take up his ball and lose the hole. The real players on his side must be disgusted at being saddled with such a partner. But what is to be done when a fool is born a war-lord by right of primogeniture? In a few years, in the course of nature, this fortunate youth will be the Supreme War-Lord himself; it will be his business to "stand in shining armour" by some luckless ally who has been selected to pick a quarrel for Germany's benefit, and to shake a "mailed fist" in the face of a trembling world. That will be a spectacle for gods and men. But perhaps something will happen instead.

W. R. INGE.



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GOTT STRAFE VERDUN

An impartial military verdict on the German strategy and tactics at Verdun has not yet been delivered. After the failure of the Allies to break through last year, the German higher command issued a paper, which has been printed in American newspapers, advocating "nibbling" tactics, instead of attempts to carry a strongly fortified line by a coup de main. The Germans have buoyed up their hopes by assuring each other that their troops have been making a slow but methodical progress toward the "fortress," according to program. But even if we grant that the disproportion in casualties is probably not so great as some of our critics have supposed, it is difficult to believe that the enemy was prepared for such resistance as he has met with. To all appearance, the Germans expected to break through in a few days, and hoped that this success would rehabilitate the credit of the paltry young prince whom we here see entangled in barbed wire, his uniform in rags, and despair depicted on his haggard face. Another confessed failure would finish the career of the Crown Prince; and yet there are limits to the endurance of any troops, and these limits have now been reached. There is nothing left to young William but useless imprecations. He swaggered into this war, for which he is partly responsible, expecting to win the reputation of a general; he will sneak out of it with the reputation of a burglar.

W. R. INGE.



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THE LAST THROW

The first throw, of course, was that great rush which was stayed at the Marne by the Genius of Joffre; then there was the throw of the great attack on Russia, that which laid waste Serbia, and that which would have thrust men down from the Alps on to the Italian plain. In each of these Raemaekers' symbolism is applicable, for in each case death threw higher than either Germany or Austria could afford.

But in none is the symbolism so terribly fitting as in this case of Verdun, where the fighting men went forward in waves and died in waves—here death threw higher in every attack than Germany could throw, and to such heights was the slaughter pushed that it was, in truth, the last throw of which these war-makers were capable. It is significant, now that Germany can no longer afford such reckless sacrifices as were made before Verdun, that the German press contains allusions to heavy sacrifices on the part of the Allies, and tries to point to folly in allied policy. Surely, in the matter of sacrifice of life, no nation is so well qualified to speak from experience as Germany.

There is clumsy anxiety expressed in every line of the figure that holds the dice box, and in every line of the figure in the background is nervous fear for the result of the throw—fear that is fully justified. But Death, master of the game, waits complacently to mark the score, knowing that these two gamblers are the losers—and that the loser pays.

E. CHARLES VIVIAN.



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THE ZEPPELIN BAG

Here the artist has depicted the Kaiser in one of his favourite roles, that of a sportsman. In pre-war times it was one of "The All Highest's" chief ambitions to be taken for an English sportsman! We believe there were people in those now seemingly remote days who took him at his own valuation in this regard. Our picture papers were full of photographs of him shooting at this or that nobleman's estate, lunching after the morning's battue, in the act of shooting, inspecting the day's "bag," etc.; and other pictures were reproduced from the German papers from time to time of a similar character showing him as a sportsman in his native land.

There is still, thank God, something clean about British sport and sportsmen of which the Kaiser never caught the inwardness and spirit. It has come out on the battlefields to-day as it has on those of past generations. It has taught the British soldier to fight clean, and even chivalrously though the foe may be a past master in "knavish tricks," and steeped in unspeakable methods of cruelty in warfare.

How thin the veneer of a sportsmanship was upon the Kaiser, which is after all but symbolic of the higher and sterner virtues, all the world has had a chance of judging. And in this remarkable and arresting drawing the genius of the artist has taken and used a sporting incident with telling and even horrifying effect.

In the old days it was pheasants, partridges, grouse, hares, rabbits, and other feathered game, with the nobler stags and boars that formed "the Butcher of Potsdam's 'bag.'" To-day he has his battues by proxy on sea, land, and from the air. Thousands of victims, as innocent as the feathered folk he slaughtered of yore; and women and little children form the chief items of the bag; and especially is this true of the "fruit of the Zeppelin raids."

He counts the bag and rewards the slayers of the innocent as he doubtless did the beaters, huntsmen, and keepers of the estates over which he formerly shot. It has been his ambition to make Europe one vast Kaiserdom estate. But the sands are running out, and each "bag," whether by Zeppelin or submarine, serves but to stiffen the backs of the Allies and horrify neutral nations. Some day the accumulated horrors of the Kaiser's ideas of sportsmanship will have taught the latter the lesson that Kaiserdom with Europe as a Kaiser estate means the death of liberty, the extinction of the smaller nations, and the setting up of a despotism as cruel as that of Attila and his Huns—the self-accepted and preached examples of William II of Germany.

CLIVE HOLLAND.



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"COME IN, MICHAEL, I HAVE HAD A LONG SLEEP"

Yes—a long and rejuvenating sleep! The expression upon John's face indicates an amazing determination and alertness. It is told of certain remarkable men—De Lesseps amongst the number—that they had the faculty of sleeping for several days and nights and then remaining wide awake and at full tension for an equally long period of time. We may confidently predict that John has this faculty. He is not likely to slumber again till his work is done, and done thoroughly. Michael's expression, I regret to note, is not quite so pleasing as John's. It gives "furiously to think," as our gallant and beautiful France puts it, that when Michael climbs through the window of the Happy Fatherland, he may, perchance, inspire terror in the heart of the Hun, who doubtless expects that his enemies, if they do invade the sacred soil, will display those Christian qualities of Mercy and Forbearance which have been so conspicuous, by their absence, in the treatment of unfortunate prisoners upon whom they inflicted the extreme rigour of "Kultur."

Our cartoonist, it will be noticed, has placed sledge hammers in the hands of both John and Michael, rather primitive weapons, but most admirably adapted for "crushing." And nothing short of crushing will satisfy the Allies, despite the futile wiles and whines of Messrs. Trevelyan, Ponsonby, Morel, and Macdonald. Crushed they will and must be to fine powder. The hammer strokes are falling now with a persistence and force which, at long last, reverberates in the cafes and beer gardens of Munich and Berlin. The Teuton tongue—a hideous concatenation of noise at its best—must be almost inarticulate to-day in its guttural chokings and splutterings. "Frightfulness" is coming home to roost.

With all our hearts we hold out the glad hand to Michael. Come in, and stay in—bless you!

HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL.



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FIVE ON A BENCH

All visions and poems of justice have been full of the refrain of deposuit potentes de sede; but the bracing reality of such a revolution is lost by certain effects of antiquity, by the mists which make the past somewhat monochrome, and by the exalted equality of death. To say that Belisarius became a beggar means little to us when it seems only the difference between a rich and a tattered toga. We do not picture Belisarius in a patched pair of trousers: but then we have no reason to be angry with Belisarius. But whenever real tyranny and honest wrath are reborn among men, there will always be an instant necessity to represent the great reversal in the graphic colours of contemporary fact. Raemaekers' cartoon, representing the tyrants of Europe reduced to that very hopeless modern beggary to which they have driven many thousands of very much better men, is perhaps of all his pictures the most grim, or what would be called vindictive. I think that such revenge is in truth merely realization. The victims of the war have to sit on such real benches in such real rags. And being one of the fiercest, it is also one of the most delicate of the Dutch artist's studies. Nothing could be truer than the insolent and swollen decay of the Jew Ferdinant; or the more effeminate collapse of the Kaiser, the very spike on whose helmet droops with sentiment.

G. K. CHESTERTON.



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WHAT ABOUT PEACE, LADS?

War—so certain of their own prophets have said—is a "national industry of Germany." Here we see a German chevalier d' industrie attempting to escape with his swag. Never in modern times has a nation gone to war with a more cynical and shameless determination to make the campaign pay for itself by the plunder of private property. Quite recently an order was found on the body of a German, enjoining all officers to assist in the "patriotic duty" of "draining financially the occupied territories." We are dealing, not with an honourable and civilized nation, but with a band of murdering brigands. The keepers of the national conscience have devised a monstrous and barbarous code of ethics, in which "patriotism" is the sole duty, and the tribal god the only arbiter of right and wrong. As in Roman law, the property of an enemy is for a German res nullius—it has no owner. And now the prospect of any further loot on a large scale seems remote. The speculation has turned out badly, and the robber would be glad to cut his losses. The guardians of the law are at his heels, and do not mean to let him escape. But will they be able to make him disgorge? That will not be easy; and what atonement can be made for the innocent blood which drops from those pitiful spoils?

W. R. INGE.



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THE LIBERATORS

This is one of those cartoons in which the neutral in Raemaekers speaks with peculiar force. Such a picture by a Britisher would reasonably be discounted as unduly prejudiced, for it is none too easy for us in our present stresses to see the other fellow's point of view—in this difficult business of the blockade for an instance.

That friendly championing of the rights of neutrals suffering under the outrageous tyranny of the British Navy is a thing to which only the detached humour of a neutral can do justice. He can testify to the way in which the giant strength of that navy, whether in peace or war, has been used in the main not in the giants' tyrannous way; he can make allowance for the exigencies which have caused occasional arbitrariness under the stress of war or even in some untactful moment of peace; he can contrast the two main opposing navy's notions of justice, courtesy, seamanship—which is sportsmanship.

He can recall that no single right whether of combatant or neutral, of state or individual, guaranteed by international law, which the Germans have found it convenient or "necessary" to violate has been left unviolated; that there is no single method or practice of war condemned by the common consent of civilization but has been employed by men who even have the candour to declare that they stand above laws and guarantees.

And therefore he can make grim, effective fun of the sinister bandit with his foot planted on the shackled prisoner that lies between two murdered victims fatuously taking in vain the name of freedom.

JOSEPH THORP.



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TOM THUMB AND THE GIANT

The reference in this cartoon is to an incident which, at the time of its occurrence, is said to have caused considerable indignation in Germany. A Zeppelin, having been on a raiding expedition to England, was hit on the return journey, and dropped into the North Sea. The crew, clinging to the damaged airship, besought the captain of a British trawler to take them off, but the captain, seeing that the Zeppelin crew far outnumbered his own, declined to trust them, and left them to their fate. Whether the trawler's captain actually "put his thumb unto his nose and spread his fingers out" is a matter for conjecture, but under the circumstances it is scarcely likely.

The whole point lies in the German view of the trawler's captain and his inhuman conduct. He knew, perfectly well, that if he rescued the crew of the Zeppelin, the probable reward for himself and crew would be a voyage to the nearest German port and interment in a prison camp for the remainder of the war—and plenty of reliable evidence is forthcoming as to the treatment meted out to men in German prison camps. He knew, also, that these men who besought his aid were returning from one of the expeditions which have killed more women and children in England than able-bodied men, that they had been sharing in work which could not be described as even of indirect military value, but was more of the nature of sheer murder. And Germany condemned his conduct by every adjective that implied brutality and barbarity.

The unfortunate thing about the German viewpoint is that it takes into consideration only such points as favour Germany, a fact of which this incident affords striking evidence.

E. CHARLES VIVIAN.



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"WE HAVE FINISHED OFF THE RUSSIANS"

Assuming that the statement with regard to finishing off the Russians was actually written—and there is every reason to assume it—one may conjecture what memories it recalled. The great battles of the Warsaw salient, the drive that lasted for many months through the flats of Poland, the struggles of the Vilna salient, and all the time the knowledge that mechanism, the guns in which Germany put her trust, were shattering Russian legions day after day. Then the gradual settling of the eastern line, well into Russia, with all the industrial districts of Poland firmly gripped in German hands, and the certainty that though Russia had not been utterly broken and forced to a peace, yet so much had been accomplished that there was no longer any eastern menace, but both Germany and Austria might go about their business of conquest in the west, having "finished off" in the east.

But that strong figure with the pistol pointed at the writer, that implacable, threatening giant, is a true type of Russia the unconquerable. It is a sign that the guns in which Germany put her trust have failed her, that the line which was to hold firm during the business of conquest in the west has broken—more, it is a sign of the doom of the aggressor. The writing of that fat, complacent figure—sorry imitator of the world's great conquerors—is arrested, and in place of stolid self-conceit there shows fear.

Well-grounded fear. History can show no crimes to equal the rape of Belgium and the desolation of Poland at the hands of Germany. The giant with the pistol stands not only as a returned warrior, but also as an avenger of unspeakable crimes.

E. CHARLES VIVIAN.



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MUDDLE THROUGH

Although this striking cartoon of Raemaekers may, since the consummation of Lord Derby's Scheme and the raising of the new armies, be said to have lost its sting it cannot be said no longer to have a lesson.

At the time of its first publication the sight of England assailed by the central Empires bent on her destruction for having thrown the weight of her trident and her sword into the scales on the side of Justice and Right against Lawlessness and Might, failed to evoke in many of her sons the spirit of patriotism which has since manifested itself in many glorious and immortal deeds.

It was difficult for us to realize that we were at war. And at war not merely to protect the weak and uphold ideals of national righteousness, but for national existence itself. The doctrine of "muddle through" was not confined to the War Office and other Government Departments, but seemed to permeate the whole nation to a lamentable extent. In the cartoon we have three typical men with that fatal "business (or pleasure) as usual" expression on their faces. That Germany should seek to wrest the trident and sovereignty of the seas from the hand of Britain, or should have devastated Belgium and the North Eastern Department of France was obviously no personal concern of theirs. Let the other chaps fight if they would.

Happily for England and for her gallant Allies the point of the cartoon has been blunted, if not entirely destroyed, by subsequent events. But the lesson? It is not far to seek. Is it not that had "business as usual" not been so gladly adopted as the national creed in the early days of war, we might have been happy in the blessings of Peace by now, or at least have had Peace much nearer.

We do not envy the men who might have gone but who stayed at home in those early days, when their earlier presence on the field of battle might have been the means not only of saving many thousands of valuable lives, but of shortening the terrible carnage. It would have been a thousand times better had the mind which conceived the phrase "business as usual" been acute enough to foresee the possible and disastrous misapplications of the phrase. Rather would it have been better had the idea crystallized in "Do it now."

CLIVE HOLLAND.



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MY ENEMY IS MY BEST FRIEND

These words of Emerson's express exactly the thought of this cartoon. The Netherlands is a country that has been slowly won from the ocean; the cruel sea has always been its enemy, at first completely triumphant, then gradually resisted and driven forth by the enterprise and toil of men; but it is always an enemy to be dreaded. Its inroads have to be guarded against by great dykes and by the never-ceasing care and industry of the nation. Now and again the floods come, and people barely escape in boats from the waters. Yet time and again the enemy has been the best friend of the Netherlands. This enemy has saved them from the domination of Spain, and now, as the refugees on the floods of last winter are escaping from the jaws of death they feel that the water which is now an enemy (vijand), may to-morrow be a friend (vriend); for an invasion by the Germans, that ever-dreaded danger to all patriotic Dutchmen, can be guarded against only by the friendly help of the ocean which can be invoked in case of need to save its own people. It was only in the last resort that William the Silent consented to let in the sea. He resisted the Spaniards as long as he could, and only when all possible chance of further resistance was at an end did he have recourse to the sea as the last friend. He saved the country by allowing the German Ocean to destroy it. In this cartoon the people in the boats regard the sea as their enemy; but an invasion by German armies could not be resisted except with the help of the friendly sea, whose voice is the voice of Freedom.

WILLIAM MITCHELL RAMSAY.



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HOW I DEAL WITH THE SMALL FRY

Perhaps only those who have the opportunity of reading the papers published in neutral countries, and have made a study of the mendacious "news for neutrals" issued by the notorious Woolf Agency and German Wireless Bureau, are able to grasp the powerful inner motive which actuates Raemaekers in the persistence with which he seeks to drive home the tragic stories of Belgium and Luxemburg. At this time of day it might seem superfluous to issue a cartoon of this kind. But is it? With neutral opinion apparently by no means convinced as yet of the sinister designs of Prussianism upon the liberties of Europe and especially of smaller nations a drawing of such poignancy and force cannot fail to arrest the attention and bring home the lesson of that creed which has for its gospel such phrases as "Necessity knows no law" and "Force shall rule." It is inconceivable to the thinking mind that there can be a man or woman who, with the story of the violation of Belgium and Luxemburg before them, can possibly hesitate to brand the German nation with the mark of Cain, and tremble at the mere possibility that might should triumph over right.

Our wonderment is all the greater when we remember how the Kaiser and his murderous hordes have made no secret of their methods. They may in the end seek to deny them, to repudiate the deeds of blood and of unholy sacrilege and violence which in the early days of war were avowed concomitants of their policy, but such disavowal is not yet.

Beneath the Kaiser's heel in bloody reality lie at the present time Belgium and unprotected Luxemburg every whit as much as is shown by the powerful pencil of the artist.

The reign of lust, cruelty, and destruction is not yet done, though the signs and portents of the end are not now a-wanting. The blood of men, women, and little children shall not cease to cry aloud for vengeance until the Prussian eagle is humbled in the dust, and its power for evil is utterly destroyed. This is a good cartoon to bear in mind and look upon should "War weariness" ever overtake one. It will be a good one to have upon one's wall when peace talk is head in the land.

Thomas Moore may be said to have composed an epitaph for Prussianism three-quarters of a century ago when he wrote the lines:

"Accursed is the march of that glory Which treads o'er the hearts of the free."

A great statesman has declared "the Allies will not sheathe the sword until Justice is vindicated." Let us add "and until reparation is exacted to the uttermost farthing from these responsible for this bloody conflict and its diabolical crimes, whether the perpetrators be high or low."

CLIVE HOLLAND.



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THE TWO EAGLES

A double-edged satire on both political birds. Neither is a true eagle. They have talons but nothing of the noble air proper to the king of birds. The German bird is not an eagle but a vulture; and he is in a sorry plight, with torn and ruffled feathers, dishevelled, dripping blood. He is disappointed, angry, soured, and unhappy. Yet he is straightforward about it. He makes no attempt to disguise his feelings, but glares at the other with the indignation of one who has been deceived written on his face and vibrating in his voice.

And his reproach gets home. The American bird, who is bigger and stands on a bigger rock, is sleek enough except about the head which is a bit ruffled. But he is more of a raven than an eagle in his sable plumes of professional cut, and he is obviously not at ease. He does not look the other in the face. He stares straight in front of him at nothing with a forced, hard and fixed smile, obviously assumed because he has no reply to make.

During the war many indiscreet phrases have dropped from the lips of prominent persons who must bitterly regret them and wish them buried deep in oblivion. But they stand on record, and history will not let them die. "Too proud to fight" is the most unfortunate of all, and when others are forgotten it will remain, because it has a general application. Mr. Raemaekers exposes its foolishness here with a single masterly touch and he puts the exposure in the right mouth. The cartoon is an illuminating epitome of the interminable exchange of notes between the two Powers on submarine warfare.

A. SHADWELL.



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LONDON—INSIDE THE SAVOY

At first glance this cartoon would seem to imply that the people inside the Savoy had little interest in the war, for the figures in evening dress are well in the foreground; a count of heads, however, will show six, and possibly seven men in uniform and only four in civilian attire, and of the soldiers not one is dancing—they are lookers-on at these strange beings who pursue the ordinary ways of life.

Of such beings, not many are left—certainly not this proportion of four to six, or four to seven. Compulsion has thinned the ranks of the shirkers down to an irreducible minimum, and a visit to the Savoy at any time in the last six months of 1916 would show khaki entirely preponderant, just as it is in the streets. These correctly dressed and monocled young men have been put into the national machine, and moulded into fighting material—their graves are thick in Flanders and along the heights north of the Somme, and they have proved themselves equal and superior to what had long been regarded as the finest fighting forces of Europe.

It is in reality no far cry from the Somme fighting area to the light and the music of the Savoy, and a man may dance one night and die under a German bullet the next—many have already done so. Here the artist shows the lighter side of British life to-day, but one has only to turn to the companion cartoon to this, "Outside the Savoy," to see that he realizes London as thoroughly in earnest about the war.

E. CHARLES VIVIAN.



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LONDON—OUTSIDE THE SAVOY

The newsboy, under military age; one man, well over military age; three women—and all the rest in uniform—even the top of the bus that shows in the distance is filled with soldiers. Thus Raemaekers sees the Strand, one of the principal thoroughfares of the heart of the British Empire.

For the sake of contrast with the companion cartoon, "Inside the Savoy," there is a slight exaggeration in this view of London street life in war-time—the proportion of civilians to soldiers is necessarily greater than this, or the national life could not go on. A host of industries are necessary to the prosecution of the war, and it falls to some men to stay behind—many of them unwillingly.

There was a time, in the early days, when Britain suffered from an under-estimate of the magnitude of this task of war—a time which the cartoon "Inside the Savoy" typifies in its presentment of careless enjoyment. But that attitude was soon dispelled, and it is significant of the spirit of the nation that only when nine-tenths of the necessary army had been raised by voluntary—indeed, this is a certainty, for not until long after the cartoon was published did any conscripts appear in the streets. Though, in the proportion of soldiers to civilians, the cartoon may exaggerate, in its presentment of the spirit of the nation, and of the determination of the nation with regard to the war, it is true to life.

E. CHARLES VIVIAN.



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THE INVOCATION

This drawing touches the highest level of the draughtsman's art and demonstrates the unique power of the pencil in a master hand. So simple, so true, so complete, so direct and so eloquent is the message that words can add nothing to it. They can only pay a tribute of appreciation.

Everybody can read the meaning at a glance; none can read it wholly unmoved. For here is pure humanity, which none can escape, the primal instinct without which man that is born of woman would not be. Before this weak, bowed, and homely figure Knowledge is silent, Pride and Passion are rebuked. Strength is shamed. Motherhood and mother-love transcend them all.

There is here nothing of anger, no thought of hostility or revenge, no trace of evil passion. Only a mother yearning after her son and pleading to another mother, the Divine type of motherhood, the Mother of God. And what she asks is so little, only to see him again. She has given him, as the mother to whom she prays gave her Son, and she does not demand him back. She reproaches no one, accuses no one, makes no complaint and no claim for herself, but meekly pleads that she may be allowed to see him again to still the longing in her breast. She is a woman of the people, a simple peasant, but she personifies all mothers in every war, as she bows her silvered head in humble prayer at the way-side shrine.

A. SHADWELL.



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THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

THE END