To share their glory who have gladly died
Shielding the honour of our island shores
And that fair heritage of starry pride,—
Now, ere another evening's shadow falls,
Come, for the trumpet calls.
This message for an everlasting stain?—
"England expected each of all her sons
To do his duty—but she looked in vain;
Now she demands, by order sharp and swift,
What should have been a gift."
To stand by England in her deadly need;
If still her wounds are but an idle tale
The word must issue which shall make you heed;
And they who left her passionate pleas unheard
Will have to hear that word.
Your right to rank, on Memory's shining scrolls,
With those, your comrades, who made haste to choose
The willing service asked of loyal souls;
From all who gave such tribute of the heart
Your name will stand apart.
Shall be their certain portion who pursue
Pleasure "as usual" while their country's claim
Is answered only by the gallant few.
Come, then, betimes, and on her altar lay
Your sacrifice to-day!
O. S.
Sire,—You will pardon me, I know, if for a moment I break in upon the serious occupations and meditations in which your time must be spent. I like to picture you to myself in the midst of your Staff, working out for them and your armies great problems of strategy and devising those movements which, so far, have overwhelmed not your foes so much as the minds of your fellow-countrymen. You too, Sire, sanguine and impetuous as is your nature, are no doubt beginning to realise that a great nation—let us say France, for example—is not to be overcome by mere shouting and the waving of sabres, or by the making of impassioned speeches in which God, having been acclaimed as an ally, is encouraged to perform miracles for the benefit of the Prussian arms. I do not deny that your soldiers are brave and that your armies are well equipped; but Frenchmen too have guns and bayonets and swords and shells and know how to make use of them, and their portion of courage is no smaller than that of the Prussians, or even of the Bavarians whom you have lately been vaunting. Moreover—and this you had perhaps overlooked—they have something which is deadlier and more enduring than shot and shell and steel—the unconquerable spirit which leaps up in the hearts of men who are gathered to defend their country from invasion and their national existence from destruction.
Oh, Sire, how little you have understood France and her people; how little you have understood the minds and motives of men! "France," your Professors and your Generals told you, "is degenerate; her population is smaller than ours; she has lost her skill in fighting and her courage; she has no culture, never having heard of Treitschke and having neglected the inspired writings of Nietzsche; she will be an easy prey, for no one will lift a hand to help her. England is lapped in ease behind her ocean and will never fight again; Russia is distant and slow, and we can despise her; Belgium will never dare to deny us anything we care to ask. Let us make haste, then, and crush France to the earth for ever." So you planned, and your legions set out to trample us down, with the result that is now before the eyes of the world.
Only a few words more. There is at Sampigny, in Lorraine, a modest country-house, which was, in fact, my home. Your troops passed through the place, and for no military reason that I can discover they reduced this house to ruins. I know that that is a small price to for the honour of being allowed to represent the French nation in this hour of peril and glory, and I pay it willingly. When so many are laying down their lives with joy why should I complain because a few walls have been shattered? But I am reminded and I wish to remind you of another story. One hundred and eight years ago, in October, the Great Napoleon, having scattered your predecessor's armies to the four winds of heaven, proceeded to Potsdam, where he visited the tomb of the great Frederick. They showed him the dead King's sword, his belt and his cordon of the Black Eagle. These Napoleon took, with the intention of sending them to Paris, to be presented to the Invalides, amongst whom there still lingered a few who had been defeated by Frederick at Rosbach. Certainly the relics took no shame from such a seizure and such a guardianship. But the palace at Potsdam was not destroyed and stands to this day. I do not wish to liken myself to Frederick, nor do I compare you with Napoleon, but I tell you the story, which is true, for what it is worth. I wonder if you will appreciate it?
Agree, Sire, the expression of my distinguished consideration.
THE IRON CROSS.
(For German looters.)
S' appiccavan' i ladri in sulle croci;
In tempi men barbari e più leggiadri
S' appiccano le croci in petto ai ladri.—Giusti.]
The thief was hung up on the cross for his crimes,
But Culture to savages offers relief—
The cross is now hung on the breast of the thief.
"Amended and more stringent regulations concerning the lights of London have been issued by Sir E. R. Henry, the Commissioner of Police. A number of them are in the same as which were published in The Globe nearly a month ago, but others make important changes. For example, the third order, as originally drafted, ran: 'The intensity of the inside lighting of shop fronts must be reduced from 6 p.m. or earlier if the Commissioner of Police on any occasion so directs', but it is now as follows:—
The intensity of the inside lighting of shop fronts must be reduced from 6 p.m. or earlier if the Commissioner of Police on any occasion so directs."—Globe.
The italics ought to make it a lot darker.
Gifts of money for the purchase of blankets are being made in Germany not less than here, and we understand that a large sum has been sent out to South Africa addressed: "De Wet Blanket Fund."
