This war may last a long time; the western armies are at a deadlock.
Since November of 1914 the line has varied only slightly here and
there; has been pushed out or back only to straighten again.

Advances may be counted by feet. From Nieuport to Ypres attacks are
waged round solitary farms which, by reason of the floods, have become
tiny islands protected by a few men, mitrailleuses, and entanglements
of barbed wire. Small attacking bodies capture such an outpost, wading
breast-deep--drowning when wounded--in the stagnant water. There are
no glorious charges here, no contagion of courage; simply a dogged and
desperate struggle--a gain which the next day may see forfeited. The
only thing that goes on steadily is the devastating work of the heavy
guns on each side.

Meantime, both in England and in France, there has been a growing
sentiment that the government's policy of silence has been a mistake.
The cudgel of public opinion is a heavy one. The German propaganda in
America has gone on steadily. There is no argument where one side only
is presented. That splendid and solid part of the American people, the
German population, essentially and naturally patriotic, keeping their
faith in the Fatherland, is constantly presenting its case; and
against that nothing official has been offered.

England is fighting heroically, stoically; but her stoicism is a vital
mistake. This silence has nothing whatever to do with military
movements, their success or their failure. It is more fundamental, an
inherent characteristic of the English character, founded on
reserve--perhaps tinged with that often misunderstood conviction of
the Britisher that other persons cannot be really interested in what
is strictly another's affairs.