Juvenal’s well-worn tag echoes down the centuries. We ask ourselves once more the eternal question: What makes life worth the living? None of us, to-day, dares to answer that question lightly, but all--even our enemies in the field--know by bitterest experience that Man is greater than the Machine, that he soars high above it and may be crushed but not killed by it. Humanity may be torpedoed, but it remains immortal. Our beloved dead still live. And what message do they send us? Surely the gospel of kindness, which has always triumphed gloriously over cruelty. Indeed, the supreme lesson of the war would appear to be this, and this only: that kindness is the supreme virtue and cruelty the supreme vice. If our enemies could be made to realize so fundamental a truth, if the men who control the destinies of the Allies could make it plain to the Central Powers that we are fighting against the Machine in life and not against men, the Dove of Peace might begin to preen its wings for flight. Humanity has been torpedoed, but we look for its resurrection. Petard must be hoisted by petard; that, for the moment, is inevitable. A patched-up peace is unthinkable. Such a conclusion, most happily, has become almost universal. And afterward? If the hopes and aspirations of to-day bear fruit to-morrow, may we not envisage a brighter future during these dark hours? To think otherwise, to maintain, with whatever specious argument, that Force must dominate mankind, is not merely a negation of Christianity, but a negation of Humanity. Such is the creed of the Hun. By it he has been judged and found wanting. HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL. [Illustration] _The Super-Hooligans_ The suggestion of this caricature is perhaps not so obvious to Englishmen as might be wished, for it represents the Kaiser, and the forces behind him, as more broken down than we have reason to think they were, or at any rate, than they appeared to us at the time this cartoon first appeared. It may be that to the neutrals their cause seemed less hopeful, and more out-at-elbows, as here depicted. The continuous fall of the mark in neutral countries may mean this. The figure of President Wilson is at any rate exceedingly clever. Detached, professorial, contemplative, slightly academic, not to say donnish, he contemplates “Mr. Turveydrop” and “Bill Sykes,” for such characters they appear to be, with pensive, amused speculation. He certainly cannot expect more than swagger and sham gentility, scarcely disguising brutal ruffianism, from such figures. But is not the reality more serious and murderous?