r Allies have failed, before the Huns unless somewhere she
can find the beauty and the strength of the human soul with which to
give battle. For the first time in history it is souls, not guns, that
will win the War, and remember, my dear friend, that Beauty is more
necessary than food that the soul may live._

_We are all but engulfed in error. We say that we do not hate the German
people; it is the Kaiser we are fighting. A pitiful self-delusion! It
must be the German people we hate as an overshadowing race, if our fight
is to have even the excuse of the inflamed passion of the survival of
the fittest. We must acknowledge the Kaiser as the symbol of the best
organized form of government, unless we are frankly anarchists; the most
efficient, the most powerful, the most nearly approaching a practical
socialism. Let us, therefore, start afresh. We hate the German people,
for they have threatened our complacent supremacy as lords of the world.
Now we are at least truthful._

_Thus far, the Allies have failed signally as a military force. The
Europeans have forgotten how to fight, and we in America have never
learned. We have put too much faith in materialism, and betrayed the
Soul and Beauty. There is more to life than living, and more to an army
than arms. The moment is here that demands we scrap the military
leaders, as such, and seek stronger. Why not then turn to the Poets to
direct the War, for, lo! it was the Poets who in seven days won the
Irish Revolution. None knows better than you how I begrudge giving the
ever-turbulent West Britons any praise, any glory, but there is the
simple truth. They vanquished the foe because they first had conquered
fear, and then nought could stand against them._

_If we could purge ourselves of our fear of Germany we should capture
Berlin. Could I enlist a Battalion of Irreproachables, whose uniforms
should be walking suit, top hat and pumps, and their only weapon an
ebony stick, and sail tomorrow, we should march down Unter den Linden in
a month, provided wrapped in our kerchiefs we carried the Gospel of
Beauty, and a nonchalance in the knot of our cravats._

_Verily, verily, men are killed solely because they fear death, and turn
their backs on Beauty, for only ugliness and error can destroy, and
ugliness in the end destroys itself._

_There is really no horror in the War. Even in the ridiculous way we are
now fighting it is all a shabby, stupid sham. That chap Griffith gave us