It is a hymn and chant, and has rhythm, hiss, and fight in it.

It runs to the sentiment,-- "French and Russian, they matter not, A blow for a blow, a shot for a shot," but ends,-- "We love as one, we hate as one; We have one foe, and one alone-- ENGLAND!" And when that last line and that last word burst from thousands of German throats, as in the crowded cafes of Berlin, it is the fullest German damn that can find expression in German consonants.

I believe the Prussians of Berlin would be as pleased to megaphone that line from Calais to Dover as they would be to throw their first shell across the English Channel.

But if enforced international law did not permit them to strive for that shot as the expression of their passion, they would soon forget their hot hate and put their shoulder again beneath the progress of the world.
Man has come up from the dug-out or the cave where in primordial condition he won his food by his own hands from the uncut forests and the unfarmed waters.

As family policeman he had no incentive to accumulations of food, clothing, or luxuries.