these maidens with quiet eyes who give me greeting as we pass
by in the winding lanes between the hedgerows; the gentle, patient
horses nodding gravely on their homeward way; these tiny cottages
behind their trim bright gardens; this lilliputian riot round the
schoolhouse door; the little timid things in fur and feather peering
anxious, bright-eyed from their hiding places! Suppose the miracle to
happen. Suppose the weather-beaten board nailed to the old beech tree
warning us in faded lettering as we pass beneath it of the penalties
awaiting trespassers were to be superseded by a notice headed
"Verboten!" What essential difference would there be--that a wise man
need vex his soul concerning? We should no longer call it England.
That would be all. The sweep of the hills would not be changed; the
path would still wind through the woodland. Yet just for a name we are
ready to face ruin and death.

It certainly is not business. A business man would stop to weigh the
pros and cons. A German invasion! It would bring what so many of us
desire: Conscription, tariff reform. It might even get rid of Lloyd
George and the Insurance act. And yet that this thing shall not be,
Tory Squire and Laborer Hodge, looking forward to a lifelong wage of
twelve-and-six-pence a week, will fight shoulder to shoulder, die
together, if need be, in the same ditch. Just for a symbol, a faith we
call England. I should say Britain.

Can we explain it even to ourselves? Thousands of Germans come over to
England to live. They prosper among us, take their pleasures with us,
adapt themselves to our English ways, and learn to prefer them.
Thousands of Englishmen make their homes in German cities; find German
ways of living, if anything, suit them better. Suddenly there arises
the question, shall English ways of life or German ways of life
prevail: English or German culture--which shall it be? And the English
who have lived contentedly in Germany for years hasten back to fight
for England, and the desire of every German in England is to break up
his pleasant home among us and fight to bring all Europe into German
ways of thinking.

Clearly the definition is a right one. It is just a game.

Just as all life is a game; joy and sorrow the zest of it, suffering
the strength-giving worth of it. Till Death rings his bell, and the
game is over--for the present. What have we learned from it? What have
we gained from it? Have we played it to our souls' salvation