_First Pilot_. Well, I must tootle off now. I'm flapping from Northbolt at dawn if my old airship's ready--came down there with a konking engine--plug trouble. _Second Pilot_. Well, cheerio, old thing--weather looks dud--you're going to have it bumpy in the morning, if you're on a pup. _First Pilot_, Bye-bye, you cheery old bean. _[Exeunt._ [Illustration: THE POLITICIAN WHO ADDRESSED THE TROOPS] The Emperor Karl of Austria, by his recent indiscretions, is winning for himself the new title of "His Epistolic Majesty." His suggestion that France ought to have Alsace-Lorraine has grated on the susceptibilities of his brother Wilhelm. But a new fastidiousness is to be noted in the Teuton character. "Polygamy," says an article in a German review, "is essential to the future of the German race, but a decent form must be found for it." _May, 1918_. With the coming of May the Vision of Victory which had nerved Germany to her greatest effort seemed fading from her sight. With its last days we see them making a second desperate effort to secure the prize, capturing Soissons and the Chemin des Dames and pushing on to the Marne. This time the French have borne the burden of the onslaught, but Rheims is still held, the Americans are pouring in to France at the rate of 250,000 a month, and have proved their mettle at Cantigny, a small fight of great importance, as it "showed their fighting qualities under extreme battle conditions," in General Pershing's words, and earned the praise of General Debeney for the "offensive valour" of our Allies. [Illustration: The Threatened Peace Offensive GERMAN EAGLE (to British Lion): "I warn you--a little more of this obstinacy and you'll rouse the dove in me!"] The British troops have met Sir Douglas Haig's appeal as we knew they would: Their _will_ to _win_ let Boches bawl As loudly as they choose, When once our back's against the wall 'Tis not our _wont to lose_. Those who have gone back at the seventh wave are waiting for the tide to turn. To the fainthearted or shaken souls who contend that no victory is worth gaining at the cost of such carnage and suffering, these lines addressed "To Any Soldier" may serve as a solvent of their doubts and an explanation of the mystery of sacrifice: If you have come through hell stricken or maimed, Vistas of pain confronting you on earth; If the long road of life holds naught of worth And from your hands the last toil has been claimed; If memories of horrors none has named Haunt with their shadows your courageous mirth And joys you hoped to harvest turn to dearth, And the high goal is lost at which you aimed; Think this--and may your heart's pain thus be healed-- Because of me some flower to fruitage blew, Some harvest ripened on a death-dewed field, And in a shattered village some child grew To womanhood inviolate, safe and pure. For these great things know your reward is sure.