" History repeats itself. A fried sole was
the luxury which officers who served in the Boer War declared that they
enjoyed most of all after their campaigning.
_November, 1916._
Francis Joseph of Austria has died on the tottering throne which has been
his for nearly seventy years. In early days he had been hated, but he had
shown valour. Later on he had shown wisdom, and had been pitied for his
misfortunes. It was a crowning irony of fate which condemned him in old age
to become the dupe and tool of an Assassin. He should have died before the
War--certainly before the tragedy of Sarajevo.
The British Push has extended to the Ancre, and the Crown Prince, reduced
to the position of a pawn in Hindenburg's game, maintains a precarious hold
on the remote suburbs of Verdun. Well may he be sick, after nine months of
futile carnage, of a name which already ranks in renown with Thermopylae.
As the credit of the Crown Prince wanes, so the cult of Hindenburg waxes.
[Illustration:
HINDENBURGITIS; OR, THE PRUSSIAN HOME MADE BEAUTIFUL]
Monastir has been recaptured by the Serbians and French; but Germany has
had her victories too, and, continuing her warfare against the Red Cross,
has sunk two hospital ships. Germany's U-boat policy is going to win her
the War. At least so Marshal Hindenburg says, and the view is shared by
that surprising person the neutral journalist.
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