could picture such surroundings as I was really amidst. It is but a sad time, Christmas, when we are no longer children. There seemed no Gluckliche Weihnachten about it somehow.
We discuss on the ship many subjects, ranging from Goethe and Schiller to the politics of to-day.
And Bismarck—he never dies—even in this hot weather he is with us. ‘‘ Bismarck would never do this or would have done that”; but there would have been no German Colonial Empire, no dream of this Weltpolitik, had Bismarck had his way.. He was the man of his time, but his time is not this time. And there is the Boer War! How kind it was of us to present such an interesting spectacle to the world, and how keen and sym- pathetic towards us was the feeling displayed! “‘ All the world may wonder,” they hum here, but they do not wonder at the admirable way in which we do it, but at the long time we take about it, and what hard work we find it.
“Never mind,’ I say amiably, “now you have got colonies and can show us how to manage things properly—just as you are doing now in South Africa and in New Guinea.”
This produces silence, but it does not seem a pleased silence.
“But, you know,” I go on, “you really must make a road or two so that people can get about and see how much you have colonised and all you have done; and how you use all that mag- nificent timber for your public buildings—but it is the Bishop does that—I forgot, of course he is French—how enterprising he is with his sawmill, his electric light, and his brewery, or whatever it is. I wish you would have a big war and show us how it is done; we know so little, you know—of course you have fighting in Africa— but somehow, you know—well, somehow it does not
