themselves heard in the presidential decision of the coming year. Hence he was content to wait, always providing that no major issue imperatively called for an expression of policy. For a time, too, Germany seemed more inclined to respect the dictates of humanity. Locally, Jeremy found the atmosphere clearing. The Governor’s triumphant reëlection had pleased and appeased the Germans, and they were inclined to accord a certain measure of credit to The Guardian. Jeremy was sensible of an improved temper in many members of the Deutscher Club as he met them casually. But Blasius was still out of the paper; Stock-muller as well. And Emil Bausch, when he encountered Jeremy on the street, became absorbed in the contemplation of the Beautiful as exemplified in cloud-shapes. Virtuously unconscious of any backsliding or suspicion thereof, Jeremy was surprised at being made the target of a direct attack by Miss Letitia Pritchard, whom he was passing with a bow on Bank Street one March day of 1916, when she held him up with a lowered umbrella. “Mr. Robson, have you gone over?” she inquired, her eyes snapping fire into the query. Naturally, Jeremy asked what she meant. “I’ve been taking The Guardian again ever since the Lusitania editorial, because I just had to have an American newspaper in the house. Are you still that?” “Do you doubt it?” “Could anybody help but doubt it!” challenged the vigorous lady. “Politics, politics, politics! Nothing but stupid politics! Don’t you know the greatest war in history is coming closer to us every day?” “I hope not closer to us.” “A fool’s hope! Do you know your Bible, Mr. Robson?” “Not as well as I ought.” “Better read it more. Those writers were n’t afraid to speak their minds in a good cause.” At the ugly adjective Jeremy flushed. “But that’s beside the matter,” she pursued, twinkling at him suddenly. “I came across a quotation that the Deutscher Club ought to send you, suitably illuminated. Isaiah, 14, 8; the last sentence. Look it up.” “I will,” promised the editor. “And you can come and tell me how well it fits,” she threw back at him over her departing shoulder. Important telegrams claimed Jeremy’s attention on his return. Having disposed of them, his mind reverted to Miss Pritchard’s suggestion for a Deutscher Club quotation for him. ‘“Buddy,” he said to the industrious Mr. Higman, “look up the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah, copy the last sentence of the eighth verse and bring it to me.” Protesting under his breath that this was no time for Sunday-School exercises, Buddy interrupted the composition of a Social Jotting, and set about the errand. When he returned there was a pleased expression upon his face. He presented his chief with a slip of paper thus inscribed: “Since thou art laid down, no feller is come up against us.” “What’s this, Buddy?” demanded the chief sternly. “I said the Bible.”