A DROWNING man catches at straws. The Kaiser, when the rising waters threaten to overwhelm his bark, looks for salvation to the dove.

At fairly regular intervals through the length of the war the German Chancellor, speaking in his master’s name, has announced to an unsympathetic world—to the western as well as to the eastern hemisphere—that Germany is ready, nay is longing, for peace—for peace on her own terms. None can doubt the sincerity of the declaration. Her powerful preparations have yielded her, in the field and on the sea, successes of a kind, but they are successes which decide nothing. Her reiterated pleas for peace acknowledge that only the voluntary withdrawal of her foes from the fray can assure her a final triumph. The Kaiser and his friends profess from time to time that they are weary of war’s brutalities and are eager to enjoy its spoils unmolested. The fatuous cry rings very hollow in the ears of the Allies and neutral peoples alike, and humanity outside Germany and her impotent kinsfolk in America marvel at the Kaiser’s and his Chancellor’s waste of breath.

Mr. Raemaekers’ cartoon supplies the key to the situation. The tide, despite all local and temporary appearances to the contrary, is running against the Kaiser. His men and money are dwindling. Foolhardy exploits, which speciously look like victories, are straining his resources to the breaking point. The waves are buffeting him, and unless the dove, which he releases from his hand, brings back to him tidings of a falling flood—tidings beyond all rational hope, his doom is sure.

SIDNEY LEE.