_Woe! Woe! Woe, to him by whom this came! His house shall unto him be desolate. And, to the end of time, his name shall be A byword and reproach in all the lands He rapined.... And his own shall curse him For the ruin that he brought. Who without reason draws the sword-- By sword shall perish! The Lord hath said.... So be it, Lord!_ JOHN OXENHAM [Illustration: TO THE END WAR AND HUNGER: “Now you must accompany us to the end.” THE KAISER: “Yes, to my end.”] “U’s” It is the essence of great cartooning to see things simply, and to command the technical resources that shall show the things, so simply seen, in an infinite variety of aspects. No series of Raemaekers’ drawings better exemplifies his quality in both these respects than those which deal with Germany’s sea crimes. In the cartoon before us the immediate message is of the simplest. The Kaiser counts the head of British merchantmen sunk. Von Tirpitz counts the cost. But note the subtlety of the personation and environment. The Kaiser has those terrible haunted eyes that have marked the seer’s presentment of him from quite an early stage of the war. There can be no ultimate escape from the dreadful vision that has set the seal of despair on this fine and handsome visage. He is shown, not as a sea monster, but as some rabid, evasive, impatient thing, dashing from point to point--as from policy to policy--with the angry swish that tells the unspoken anger failure everywhere compels. For the victories do not bring surrender, nor does frightfulness inspire terror. The merchant ships still put to sea--and the U boats pay the penalty. The futility of this campaign of murder is typified by making von Tirpitz, its inventor, an addle-headed seahorse, the nursery comedian of the sea. Stupid and ridiculous bewilderment stares from his foolish eyes. Another submarine has failed to find a safe victim in a trading ship, but has been hoisted with its own sea petard. The impotence of the thing! This conference of the Admirals of the Atlantic, held in the sombre depths, is a biting satire, in its mingled comedy and tragedy, on the effort to win command of the sea from its bottom. ARTHUR POLLEN [Illustration: “U’S” HIS MAJESTY: “Well, Tirpitz, you’ve sunk a great many?” TIRPITZ: “Yes, sire, here is another ‘U’ coming down.”] Mater Dolorosa You thought to grasp the world; but you shall keep Its crown of curses nailed upon your brow. You that have fouled the purple, broke your vow, And sowed the wind of death, the whirlwind you shall reap. Shout to your tribal god to bless the blood Of this red vintage on the poisoned earth; Clash cymbals to him, leap and shout in mirth; Call on his name to stay the coming, cleansing flood.