Volume 147 — OUR DAILY BREAD.
Reading edition
[The London correspondent of a German paper announces that London is on the verge of starvation, his own diet being "reduced to bread and rancid dripping."]
"There is a languor in this alien air; We are reduced, in fact, to famine fare; Mine, I may say, is dripping based on bread (Ugh!), and I gather I shall soon be dead. It is the same all over, East or West; Hungry each hollow just below the chest. Daily, I'm told, they rake the very dust, Hoping in vain to come across a crust. And, when our God-born Wilhelm brings his Huns Here, he will find a few odd skeletons." Such is the tale a Teuton lately writ. How, then, I ask, does London look so fit? This is the reason, mainly, I surmise— We are fed up, of course, with German Lies.