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anthill, on the ground floor_lays them, labeled and numbered, side by side, layer on layer, so that each day a new one may creep out of the egg. Then he puts us in a stable, pinches our hind legs, and milks us till we die. He has given us the prettiest name— Little milchcow!
"All creatures, who, like the ant, are gifted with common sense, call us this. It is only human beings who do not. They give us another name, and that we feel to be a great affront-great enough to embitter our whole life. Would you write a protest against it for us? Would you rouse these human beings to a sense of the wrong they do us? They look at us so stupidly at times, with such envious eyes, just because we eat a rose leaf, while they eat every created thingall that is green and grows. Oh, they give us the most humiliating name! I will not even mention it. Ugh! I feel it in my stomach; I cannot even pronounce it—at least not when I have my uniform on, and I always wear that.
"I was born on a rose leaf. And the whole regiment lives on the rose tree. We live off it, in fact; but then it lives again in us, who belong to the higher order of created beings. The human beings do not like us. They come and murder us with soapsuds—it is a horrid drink! I seem to smell it even now. It is dreadful to be washed when one was not made to be washed. Man! you who look at us with your severe soapsud eyes, think what our place in nature is: we are born on roses, we die in roses—our whole life is a poem. Do not give us the name which you yourself think most despicable, the name that I cannot bear to pronounce. Call us the ants' milch-cows—the rose-tree regiment—the little green things.”
And I—the man-stood looking at the tree, and at the little greenies—whose name I shall not mention, for I should not like to wound the feelings of one of the citizens of the rose tree, a large family with eggs and young ones—and at the soapsuds that I was going to wash them in, for I had come with soap and water, and murderous intentions. But now I will use it for soap bubbles. Look! How beautiful! Perhaps there lies a fairy tale in each, and the bubble grows so large and radiant, it looks as if there were a pearl lying inside of it!
The bubble swayed and swung, and flew to the door and then burst. But the door opened wide, and there stood Dame Fairy Tale herself! And now she will tell you better than I can about-I won't say the name—the little green things.
"Tree lice!” said Dame Fairy Tale. “One must call things by their right names; and if one cannot always do so, one must at least have the privilege of doing so in fairy tales!”
[From Essays By The Late Marquess of Salisbury, K. G., “Foreign Politics”,
BRAVE WORDS, BUT ONLY WORDS
By Lord Robert Cecil
(1864) Those who remembered the Great War refused to believe that England could not make good her threats or her promises if she thought fit; and, therefore, her representations in many negotiations of deep European moment were listened to with respect. Whatever the language in which they were couched, whatever the wisdom of the statesmen from whom they came, Foreign Ministers never forgot that they were backed up, in case of need, by the fleet that had baffled Napoleon and the army that had fought at Waterloo.
But this condition of things has lamentably changed. No one can be in the least degree conversant with the periodical literature of foreign countries, or hear ever so little of the common talk of foreign society, without being painfully aware that an entire revolution has taken place in the tone of foreign thought in regard to the position of England. Her influence in the councils of Europe has passed away. The reputation of material power upon which that influence was based has suddenly evaporated. It now fails to make even the faintest impression upon States that formerly yielded themselves absolutely to its spell. Our diplomatists are at least as active as they were at any former time. Their vigilance is as keen, their interference is as incessant, their language is bolder and far more insolent than it was in better times. But the impulse is gone which gave it force. That appearance of warlike power which used to give dignity to its imperious tones no longer imposes upon its hearers. Its vehemence of language falls dead and impotent upon minds penetrated with the conviction that the storm which is assailing them is nothing but words—brave words possibly, but still only words. ...
It may be worth while for those who are the subject of such a change of view to investigate its causes. However satisfied we may be that it has no just foundation in any real alteration of the national character, our repute with other nations cannot be a matter of indifference to us.
À nation which is known to be willing, as well as able, to defend itself will probably escape attack. Where the disposition to fight in case of need is wanting, or is dependent upon some casual and fleeting gust of passion, the political gamblers who speculate in war will naturally be inclined to invest in the venture of aggression. The policy which invites contempt seldom fails to earn a more substantial punishment.
(From "Through the Looking Glass" in The Annotated Alice, by Lewis Carroll.
Clarkson N. Potter, Inc., New York, 1960)
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER
By Lewis Carroll
Tweedledee smiled gently, and began again:
“The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
The billows smooth and bright-
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there
After the day was done'It's very rude of him,' she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!' The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
No cloud was in the sky:
There were no birds to fly.
Were walking close at hand: They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand: 'If this were only cleared away,'
They said, “it would be grand! 'If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
"That they could get it clear?' 'I doubt it,' said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear. 'O Oysters, come and walk with us!
The Walrus did beseech.
Along the briny beach:
To give a hand to each.'
But never a word he said:
And shook his heavy head-
To leave the oyster-bed.
All eager for the treat:
Their shoes were clean and neatAnd this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't
And yet another four;
And more, and more, and more
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And waited in a row. "The time has come,' the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things: Of shoes—and ships--and sealing
Of cabbages—and kings-
And whether pigs have wings.'
'Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!' 'No hurry!' said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that. A loaf of bread,' the Walrus said,
'Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeedNow, if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.'
Turning a little blue.
A dismal thing to do!' "The night is fine,' the Walrus said.
'Do you admire the view? ?
And you are very nice!
'Cut us another slice. I wish you were not quite so deafI've had to ask
twice! 'It seems a shame,' the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick. After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!. The Carpenter said nothing but
‘The butter's spread too thick! 'I weep for you,' the Walrus said:
'I deeply sympathize.' With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
'O Oysters,' said the Carpenter,
You've had a pleasant run!
But answer came there none-
They'd eaten every one. "I like the Walrus best,” said Alice: "because he was a little sorry for the poor oysters."
"He ate more than the Carpenter, though," said Tweedledee. “You see he held his handkerchief in front, so that the Carpenter couldn't count how many he took: contrariwise."
"That was mean!" Alice said indignantly. “Then I like the Carpenter best—if he didn't eat so many as the Walrus.”
“But he ate as many as he could get,” said Tweedledum.
This was a puzzler. After a pause, Alice began, "Well! They were both very unpleasant characters—"
[From Address at Chicago, Ill., April 2, 1903, in Presidential Addresses and Stale
Papers, Vol. I, by Theodore Roosevelt, The Review of Reviews Co., New York, 1904]
By Theodore Roosevelt
The Monroe Doctrine is not international law, and though I think one day it may become such, this is not necessary as long as it remains a cardinal feature of our foreign policy and as long as we possess both the will and the strength to make it effective. This last point, my fellow-citizens, is all important, and is one which as a people we can never afford to forget. I believe in the Monroe Doctrine with all my heart and soul; I am convinced that the immense majority of our fellow-countrymen so believe in it; but I would infinitely prefer to see us abandon it than to see us put it forward and bluster about it, and yet fail to build up the efficient fighting strength which in the last resort can alone make it respected by any strong foreign power whose interest it may ever happen to be to violate it.
There is a homely old adage which runs: "Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far." If the American Nation will speak softly, and yet build, and keep at a pitch of the highest training, a thoroughly efficient navy, the Monroe Doctrine will go far. .
(From a once Secret Foreign Office Memorandum by Mr. Eyre Crowe, January 1,
1907 in British Documents on the Origins of the War 1898–1914 HMSO 1928]
ON AVOIDING GRATUITOUS CONCESSIONS
By Eyre Crowe
History shows that the danger threatening the independence of this or that nation has generally arisen, at least in part, out of the momentary predominance of a neighbouring State at once militarily powerful,