thusiasm waxed to a veritable Whitsuntide fraternizing with the Turks.

The Chief Mayors delivered addresses at every station, or children recited poems amid the Turkish sounds of which only the words "Allaman" (Germans) and "Emden" were intelligible to us. One little child was specially courageous, and recited in German. The flags were wreathed with laurel, and prettily dressed little children brought up to the crew great baskets full of cherries and the first strawberries; but the eyes of the sailors hung more fondly upon beer and tobacco, which they received in large quantities. Even at those stations where the train whizzed past without stopping, Oriental applause floated up to us, and everywhere stood honorary reception committees.

When we at last drew near HaidarPasha, the final station of the railroad on the Asiatic side, the railway station seemed to be transformed into a festive hall. Lieut. Capt. von Mücke ordered his men, who had only now transformed themselves again into blue lads, since navy uniforms had been sent to them on the way, to step up, and he led them up to a group of navy officers who, with Admiral Souchon at their head, remained quietly standing.

Then this young "triumphator," who even a moment ago stood amid cheers and a shower of acacia blossoms, bowing and shaking hands on the platform, the man who for fourteen days has been the one man wherever stopped, now steps up in military order to the little Admiral and lowers his sword:

"Beg to report most obediently, Herr Admiral, landing corps of the Emden, 44 men, 4 officers, 1 surgeon."

Admiral Souchon received the announcement just as a daily report. Only then did he press the Lieutenant Captain's hand, bid him welcome, and marched along the front of the company.

No sooner had the column with the Emden flag appeared at the entrance of the station than there burst from 10,000 throats a rousing "Hurrah!" On a torpedo boat that had been waiting for them the crew crossed the Bosporus, in which all ships had decked themselves with flags, and landed on the wide parklike point of the seraglio. There, surrounded by new countless crowds, were the Ministers Enver Pasha and Talaat Bey, the German Ambassador, Freiherr von Wangenheim, and Marshal von der Golz Pasha, the combined navy corps of officers, General Bronsart von Schellendorf, all waiting their arrival.

new

Amid the strains of the German national anthem, played by the Turkish military band, Lieut. Capt. von Mücke, together with the War Minister, Enver Pasha, paced along the long German and Turkish fronts. Then he led forth his forty-four men and marched, amid ovations, all through Stamboul, across the great bridge to Galata, to the deck of the steamship General, at the head of his little band, now grown epic, amid the cheers of Byzantium, on which he and his officers had never set foot before-always in the clear blue and sunlight of this war-heavy Whitsuntide day.

But nothing stirred me more deeply on the whole journey than that cold official report of the man who was being celebrated, before his Admiral, and I saw in that lowered swordpoint the symbol of the old and incorruptible Prussian spirit.

T

HE submarine and aircraft have put a new proposition before the world. It is a proposition that will be stated here as plainly and simply as possible. These two inventions present mankind with a choice of two alternatives, or, to vary the phrase, they mark quite definitely that we are at the parting of two ways; either mankind must succeed within quite a brief period of years now in establishing a world State, a world Government of some sort able to prevent war, or civilization as we know it must break up into a system of warring communities, perpetually on the warpath, perpetually insecure and engaged in undying national vendettas. These consequences have been latent in all the development of scientific warfare that has been going on during the last century; they are inherent in the characteristics of the aircraft and of the submarine for any one to see.

They are so manifestly inherent that even before this war speculative minds had pointed out the direction to which these inventions pointed, but now, after more than three-quarters of a year of war, it is possible to approach this question, no longer as something as yet fantastically outside the experience of mankind, but as something supported by countless witnesses, something which the dullest, least imaginative minds can receive and ponder.

What the submarine and aircraft make manifest and convincing is this point, which argument alone has never been able to hammer into the mass of inattentive minds, that if the human intelligence is applied continuously to the mechanism of war it will steadily develop destructive powers, but that it will fail to develop any corresponding power of decision and settlement, because the development of the former is easy and obvious in comparison with the development

of the latter; it will therefore progressively make war more catastrophic and less definitive. It will not make war impossible in the ordinary meaning of the word, the bigger the gun and the viler the lethal implement the more possible does war become, but it will make war "impossible" in the slang use of five or six years ago, in the sense, that is, of its being utterly useless and mischievous, the sense in which Norman Angell employed it and so brought upon himself an avalanche of quite unfair derision. No nation ever embarked upon so fair a prospect of conquest and dominion as the victorious Germans when, after 1871, they decided to continue to give themselves to the development of overwhelming military power. And after exertions unparalleled in the whole history of mankind their net conquests are nothing; they have destroyed enormously and achieved no other single thing, and today they repeat on a colossal scale the adventures of Fort Chabrol and Sidney Street, and are no better than a nation of murderous outcasts besieged by an outraged world.

Now, among many delusions that this war has usefully dispelled is the delusion that there can be a sort of legality about war, that you can make war a little, but not make war altogether, that the civilized world can look forward to a sort of tame war in the future, a war crossed with peace, a lap-dog war that will bark but not bite. War is war; it is the cessation of law and argument, it is outrage, and Germany has demonstrated on the large scale what our British suffragettes learned on a small one, that with every failure to accomplish your end by violent means you are forced to further outrages. Violence has no reserves but further violence. Each failure of the violent is met by the desperate cry, the heroical scream: "We will not be beaten.

If you will not give in to us for this much, then see! We will go further." Wars always do go further. Wars always end more savagely than they begin. Even our war in South Africa, certainly the most decently conducted war in all history, got to farm burning and concentration camps. A side that hopes for victory fights with conciliation in its mind. Victory and conciliation recede together. When the German-who is really, one must remember, a human being like the rest of us, at the worst just merely a little worse in his upbringingwhen he finds he cannot march gloriously into Paris or Warsaw, then, and only then, does he begin to try to damage Paris and Warsaw with bombs, when he finds he cannot beat the French Army and the British fleet, then, and not till then, does he attack and murder the slumbering civilians of Scarborough and Dunkirk, and lies in wait for and sinks the Lusitania. If war by the rules will not bring success, then harsher measures must be taken; let us suddenly torture and murder our hated enemies with poison gas, let us poison the South African wells, let us ill-treat prisoners and assassinate civilians. Let us abolish the noncombatant and the neutral. These are no peculiar German inquities, though the Germans have brought them to an unparalleled perfection; they are the natural psychological consequences of aggressive war heroically conceived and bitterly thwarted; they are "fierceness "; they are the logical necessary outcome of going to war and being disappointed and getting hit hard and repeatedly. Any military nation in a corner will play the savage, the wildcat at bay, in this fashion, rather than confess itself done. And since the prophetic Bloch has been justified and the long inconclusiveness of modern war, with its intrenchments and entanglements, has been more than completely demonstrated, this is the way that every war in the future is likely to go. Fair and open conquest becoming more and more out of the question, each side will seek to cow, dismay, and subjugate the spirit of the other, and particularly the spirit of the noncombatant masses, by more and more horrible proceedings.

To

"What do you think of that?" said the German officer, with a grin, as he was led prisoner past one of our soldiers, dying in agonies of asphyxiation. that point war brings men. Probably at the beginning of the war he was quite a decent man. But once he was committed to war the fatal logic of our new resources in science laid hold of him. And war is war.

Now there does not appear the slightest hope of any invention that will make war more conclusive or less destructive; there are, however, the clearest prospects in many directions that it may be more destructive and less conclusive. It will be dreadfuller and bitterer; its horrors will be less and less forgivable; it will leave vast sundering floods of hate. The submarine and the aircraft are quite typical of the new order of things. You can sweep a visible fleet off the seas, you can drive an invading army into its own country, but while your enemy has a score of miles of coast line or a thousand square miles of territory left him, you cannot, it seems, keep his aircraft out of your borders, and still less can you keep his submarines out of the sea. You can, of course, make reprisals, but you can not hold him powerless as it was once possible to do. He can work his bloody mischief on your civil life to the very end of the war, and you must set your teeth and stick to your main attack. To that pitch this war has come, and to that pitch every subsequent war will come. The civil life will be treated as a hostage, and as it becomes more and more accessible, as it will do, to the antagonist it will be more and more destroyed. The sinking of the Lusitania is just a sign and a sample of what war now becomes, its rich and ever richer opportunities of unforgettable exasperation. Germany is resolved to hurt and destroy to the utmost, every exasperated militarism will come naturally to such resolves, and only by pain and destruction, by hurting, shaming and damaging Germany to the point of breaking the German spirit can this inflamed and war-mad people be made to relinquish their gigantic aggression upon the world. Germany, that great camp of warriors, must be broken as the Red In