was to a large extent the counterpart of the Government. The spirit of partisanship was somewhat less keen among its members, the sense of national responsibility higher, the interest in problems of Imperial strength and security greater. But, on the whole, their horizon had been almost equally limited, and their constructive faculties almost equally paralysed, by years of party strife. Their chief idea at the outset was to lend a loyal support to the Government, to abstain from criticism, and to rejoice that they were not such an Opposition as the Radicals might have been if they themselves had been in power. When the Government showed signs of tottering last spring, and Mr Asquith appealed to their patriotism to help him out of his difficulties by forming the Coalition, they accepted his proposal without further ado. They apparently made no stipulations either as to the control of the really vital offices of State or as to the policy to be pursued. To have done so might have appeared lacking in that good form, about which the Unionist Front Bench has always been as sensitive as a maiden lady about her reputation. Besides, it would have implied that they had thought out a definite policy, which there is no reason to assume.

In effect they deprived the House of Commons and the country of a responsible Opposition and of a potential alternative Government, without securing any equivalent guarantees as to a change in the methods to be adopted. They were inserted in the Cabinet, without affecting its general character, much as bits of meat may be inserted in a jelly without giving the whole a muscular texture. They have attended to their departments zealously and conscientiously. They have loyally stood by the Government in public. Mr Bonar Law has recently enhanced an already great reputation. His temporary leadership of the House, in the absence of the Prime Minister, gave evidence of remarkable parliamentary skill in a difficult position. More than that, his recent speeches have been marked by a directness and sincerity, and by a capacity of appeal to lofty motives, which have given him a real authority over his former opponents as well as over his old supporters. Behind the scenes the Unionist Ministers have, it is believed, generally been in favour of more vigorous measures, and

one, at least, of them, Lord Curzon, has been indefatigable in pressing the necessity for universal military service upon his colleagues. His great administrative experience, his wide range of knowledge of conditions abroad, within and without the British Empire, his immense industry, his lucid eloquence, may well mark him out for work more important and more prominent than that which has so far been assigned to him. The whole deportment, in fact, public and private, of Unionist Ministers has been unimpeachably correct and patriotic. They have neither intrigued nor wire-pulled, nor attempted to 'nobble' the Press. On the other hand, it cannot be affirmed that they have achieved great results; to a large extent they have participated, no doubt unwillingly, in the continuance of procrastination and drift.

To this rule there was, however, one exception. Sir Edward Carson joined the Coalition Cabinet with reluctance. If general rumour is to be believed, he found himself at issue, almost from the very start, with the whole method and temper of the Cabinet, and continually upset the equanimity of that friendly debating society by declaring that it should be reduced to half a dozen members and sit daily, by urging immediate decisions on recruiting, or by warning them of the dangers of the Dardanelles enterprise. The lamentable delays and oscillation of our Balkan policy, culminating at the beginning of October in our acquiescence in the defection of Greece and in the destruction of Serbia, brought matters to a climax. More than one member of the Cabinet, it is believed, had for weeks past talked of resigning. Only Sir Edward Carson had the decision requisite to achieve resignation in the face of all Mr Asquith's blandishments and delays. He now stands outside, the strongest personality in the House of Commons and an arresting figure in the public eye. Like Mr Asquith, Sir Edward Carson is a lawyer. But in his whole political life before this war he had defended only one single political cause-the maintenance of the integrity of the United Kingdom-and he is conspicuously lacking in the characteristics generally associated with the lawyer politician. Like Mr Lloyd George, he suffers under the disability of never having seriously studied the problems of war in peace, but like him he has made up

by concentration of purpose upon victory, by natural quickness of mind, and by a sure instinct. Above all he possesses that gift of leadership, as distinct from political advocacy, which can only be acquired by courage, sincerity and concentration of will, and which can only be proved in times of crisis and anxiety.

There is only one other man in England to-day who has had the opportunity of displaying that same gift of what Carlyle called 'Kingship' over a people engaged in a great struggle. During the critical years of the longdrawn South African crisis the Loyalists of South Africa, British and Dutch, hung upon Lord Milner with that same unquestioning faith and devotion that the Ulstermen have shown to Sir Edward Carson, and with that same implicit confidence in the loyalty of their leader to them. That he has not since then become a popular figure in our party politics is only natural. No man so terribly sincere, so intolerant of shams and unrealities, could possibly have taken a share in the party game, unless compelled by an intensity of personal ambition which Lord Milner does not possess. Even now the honest party man on both sides hesitates at the mere mention of his name. He admits Lord Milner's knowledge and grasp of precisely the kind of problems with which we are confronted, his strength of will, his lofty patriotism. But he is frightened of the effect that his unqualified definiteness of purpose, his habit of calling things by their real names, his hatred of pretence, might have on a public habituated to the soothing syrup of the popular platform. The honest party man is mistaken. What the nation wants to-day is not soothing syrup but the tonic of truth. What it is longing for is not tentative enquiries as to what it would or would not like to do, but marching orders. The man who is not afraid to give those orders will find behind him a strength and unity, a power of effort and a readiness to bear sacrifices that are undreamt of to-day.

It is just that directness and definiteness of appeal which have enabled Lord Derby to make of his recruiting campaign the remarkable success it undoubtedly has been; and these same qualities have helped no less, when even this remarkable manifestation of public spirit was found to have fallen short of our military

needs, to prepare the public for the acceptance of that moderate measure of compulsion which has necessarily followed. Whom the crisis will produce as our leader among the men who have been mentioned, or others, no one can say. Nor is it possible to forecast when or how the necessary change of government will come about. The Parliament and Registration Bill, by prolonging the life of this Parliament for eight months, has done away with an opportunity, which might otherwise have automatically presented itself to the nation this January, for considering the fitness of its rulers and the possibility of an alternative. As it is, we must now wait for the collapse of the Government either from its inherent internal weakness or in face of a growing unanimity of public disapproval. But that can only be when hard experience has completed the process of weaning the public from the fond delusions in which it has acquiesced so long, and nerved it to face the bracing shock of looking steadfastly at the true aspect of things.

It is truth and leading that England needs most at this moment. We have lived far too long, like Plato's cavedwellers, in a world of shadows and shams, so long, indeed, that even now we shrink from hard facts, and peevishly resent the counsel of those who would bid us face those facts and act upon them. But the light will not hurt us, and in our hearts we know it. The surface of our national life may be cankered and corroded with makebelieve and sloth. But the core of the nation is sound, and its soundness has been proved on many a field of suffering and glory. Our so-called leaders are mere puppets, dry husks rattling on the stalk. But England only needs to feel the hand of a man at the helm, and to hear the voice of a man in her ear, in order to spring to action mightier, more enduring, more unconquerable than ever before.

Art. 15. THE DANISH AGREEMENT AND THE FEEDING OF GERMANY.

THE British Foreign Office has quite recently entered into an agreement of which the substance is that all imports into Denmark shall be consigned under the direction of two Danish trading associations, and that all re-exports into Germany of imported goods shall be prohibited save as to specified articles. Among these are certain foodstuffs which are unlimited in amount except by operation of the general modifying principle that there shall only be permitted such total imports into Denmark as constituted her customary supply prior to the war.*

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The importance of these provisions in themselves may readily be magnified, even when it is remembered that foodstuffs have been declared to be conditional contraband. But when one recalls the Prime Minister's words to Parliament on March 1, 1915, and reads in the Order in Council of March 11: His Majesty has therefore decided to adopt further measures in order to prevent commodities of any kind from reaching or leaving Germany,' the phenomenon of the Foreign Office, by its signature to a formal document, assenting to the conveyance into Germany of sea-borne goods, such as coffee and tea and cocoa (albeit of Danish manufacture), creates in the mind a sense of bewildered unreality. A hundred questions arise. Has the Order in Council proved an impracticable undertaking? Has the policy of the Foreign Office changed while we knew it not? How far has the change operated; how much further will it go? Must we give up our hope of a Germany blockaded into submission? And, if this be only a necessary and partial surrender, can we in International Law so limit our concession? The significance of the Danish Agreement is therefore immense. It is a revelation of the workings of the mind of the Foreign Office; it is a landmark which, suddenly seen after long days upon a dark sea, tells of the great distances that have been traversed toward an unforeseen port.

The explanation of the course that has been laid by

*The writer has had access to a complete copy of the Agreement.