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When Germany declared war on Russia and France, it was her intention to seize France at once, for use as an indemnity to defray the cost of the war. With the failure of this attempt, and with the wholly unexpected prolongation of hostilities, German thinkers have come to see bankruptcy staring them in the face. Since it has been proven that German treaties cannot be relied upon, even those nations not actually allied against Prussia know that she must be thoroughly crushed. What guarantee of stable peace, they ask, can be obtained from treating with Kaiser Wilhelm; or in case of his death, with his successor, the present Crown Prince? This precious pair and their ilk are too well known to be trusted. In full self-government by the German people lies the only hope of a permanent pacific adjustment. But the end cannot be far off. The ruling element of Germany know that they have thrown the last great group, the volunteers, into the maelstrom of battle, and that nothing more remains. They know that lacking a miracle, England and her brave Allies have won. British, French, and Russian generals are not fighting for empty geographical progress; they are fighting to kill men, the human serpents that have been arrayed against civilisation; and before the present great offensive movement shall have attained its climax, they will have killed more Germans than Germany can spare. The Kaiser and his satellites will be more than ready to make peace before the inevitable collapse begins. They desire to save appearances before their subjects, whose independent will they have come to fear. As a whole, this war can mean to Germany but one thing; the dawn of a new liberty for the people; for the majority of Germans will no longer tolerate a Prussian dictator who values them only as "kanone-futter."
Twilight
The ruddy sun, his garish lustre shed,
With milder radiance lights the vesper scene;
Big-looming o'er his hilly western bod.
He beams a benediction on the green.
'Tis then my spirit sweetest comfort knows;
Then that my heart has respite from its pain:
Those cares are soften'd at the day's glad close,
That burn'd, when noon's hot ardour parch'd the main.
Yon purple peaks, and lines of dark'ning hills,
An equal peace at touch of evening own;
Departing Phoebus with affection thrills,
And soothes the heights he soon must leave alone.
Adown the valley, and across the mead,
The welcome shades of gentle dusk unfold;
The lullabies of brook and crooning reed
My weary thoughts in dreamy rapture hold.
In vap'rous bow'r, just o'er th' horizon's edge.
The sun and sky enjoy a last embrace;
Recounting each, with many a solemn pledge.
Fair deeds perform'd to light the world with grace.
