Imperial eagle mask with half-mad military quasi-deity inside and dove of peace, on the German model, with calculating miscalculating statesman, you rang the curtain up, you cannot ring it down, either to the music of the Hymn of Hate or the Te Deum for peace--the eagle can no longer look boldly straight into the sun, looking for his place in it; the dove has taken permanent quarters in the German ark as it whirls round and round in the whirlpool of impotent effort, ever drawing nearer to the final crash. When the Dove of Peace does come, it will be a real bird of good omen, not a German reserve officer masquerading as one. ALFRED STEAD [Illustration: PAN GERMANICUS AS PEACE MAKER THE DOVE: “They say they do not want peace, as they have time enough.” THE EAGLE: “Alas! That is just what we haven’t got.”] Gott Mit Uns This picture is a perfectly accurate symbolic study of the German Empire. Therefore, naturally, it is one of the most dreadful that were ever drawn. In all the gruesome “Dances of Death” in which the fifteenth century took so grim a pleasure, no artist ever conceived the horrible idea of a fat skeleton. But we have not only conceived the thought, we have seen the thing--“a terror in the sunshine.” We know that chest, puffed up with a wind of pride, and that stomach heavy with slaughter and rich living; and above them the Death’s Head. We have seen it. We have felt its foul breath. Its name is Prussia. Look at a portrait of Frederick the Great, the “onlie true begetter” of this abortion. It oddly suggests what Raemaekers has set down here; the face a skull, the staring eyes those of a lost soul. But the skeleton has grown fat since Frederick’s day--fat on the blood and plunder of nations. Only there is no living flesh on its bones, nothing of humanity about it. “Can these dry bones live?” was the question asked of the prophet. It might have been asked of Frederick: “Can this nation live, created of your foul witchcraft, without honour, without charity, without human brotherhood or fellowship, without all that which is the flesh and blood of mankind?” The answer must have been that it could live, though with a life coming from below and essentially infernal. It could live--for a time. It could even have great power because its time was short. But now it has waxed fat--and kicked. And its end is near. CECIL CHESTERTON [Illustration: IT’S FATTENING WORK] Idyllic Neutrality In the picture opposite the best elements of the great cartoonist’s genius have full scope. One has the biting satire, the humour and the extraordinary gift of representing facial expressions with an economy of line reminding one of some of the best work of the late Phil May, that prince of humorous British caricaturists.