We are diligently given to understand that all these "Princes" and all the German people have entered heart and soul into this war, and without the slightest doubt as to its righteousness and as to the destiny of the empire, this modern military autocracy, ultimately to be completely victorious. This is hard to believe, although it must be admitted that the cowardice of the Socialists and the obsession of the professors are remarkable phenomena. As to the latter, however, we must remember their dependence on the Government, not only for their information and their "call" to speak, but also for their positions in the Government system of education. As to the significance of the two names most prominently quoted in this connection, I am not at all impressed, as so many of my colleagues appear to be. An intimate friend of mine some twenty years ago was several weeks en pension in the same house where Haeckel had his apartment, and even then he was notorious for his hatred of foreigners and of women. Those of us who have followed closely his career know how often he has written with more than German professorial virulence against those who differed from his theory of evolution, and that he is at present scarcely more abusive of England than he has several times been of his own Government and of the State Church because his system was not made a matter of compulsory teaching. As to Eucken, the reasons for his obsession are quite different. In his case the feeling and the utterance are due to intellectual weakness rather than to virulence of passion. After all, however, the temper of military and imperial Germany under the dominance of Prussia has been essentially the same from the beginning. In illustration of this, let me quote for your readers from a poem of Heine, written as long ago as 1842. I do this the more readily because I have recently seen, to my astonishment, Heine placed beside Goethe as representing the better temper of the Germanic civilization as opposed to the blinded judgment and immoral hatred of the modern German Empire: Germany's still a little child, But he's nursed by the sun, though tender; He is not suckled on soothing milk, But on flames of burning splendor. One grows apace on such a diet; It fires the blood from languor; Ye neighbor's children, have a care, This urchin how ye anger! He is an awkward infant giant, The oak by the roots uptearing; He'll beat you till your backs are sore, And crack your crowns for daring. He is like Siegfried, the noble child, That song-and-saga wonder, Who, when his fabled sword was forged, His anvil cleft in sunder! To you, who will our Dragon slay, Shall Siegfried's strength be given; Hurrah! how joyfully your nurse Will laugh on you from heaven!