“It is obvious that he is still labouring under the hallucination that the War was a duel between him and the KAISER; that he ‘downed’ his antagonist single-handed, and that the prospects of a stable peace have been shattered by my failure to include him among the British Peace Delegates.  So, all in a moment, the ‘Welsh Wizard’ is converted into the miserable creature of the Tory Junkers—­a man without ’high moral courage,’ ‘wide knowledge’ or ‘large ideas.’

“Personally I have no illusions about my consistency, but I do think that here I displayed some moral courage, also some unselfish consideration for CLEMENCEAU and WILSON and others.  Just think of the panegyrics that would have been showered upon my head in the Press which he controls if he had been invited to the Table!

“But with all deductions he is a man to be reckoned with, if not counted upon.  He is a man of large type—­almost of “Pica” type.  And sometimes he deviates into sound and just criticism; as for example when he says that I ‘depend greatly, upon others.’  It is true.  What is more, I know on whom I can depend; and I have learnt that his support can only be secured on terms which would reduce the PREMIER to the level of one of his minor editors.”

* * * * *

SHAKSPEARE WILL BE PLEASED.

  “CZECHO-SLOVAK REPUBLIC. 
  PROBLEM OF OUTLET TO SEA. 
  Port at Prague or Dantzig.”

—­Scottish Paper.

  “...  Our ship hath touch’d upon
    The deserts of Bohemia.”

The Winter’s Tale, III. 3.

* * * * *

“At the Dogger Bank fight, Lion, the flagship of Sir David Beatty, was crippled.  Some people say she was torpedoed, almost miraculously, by a Hun destroyer from five miles’ range (which version is probably tripe).”—­Scottish Paper.

Like so many things that we read in the Press nowadays.

* * * * *

NOUVELLES DE PARIS.

(WITH ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO THE “SOCIETY” PRESS).

Paris, Feb., 1919.

Dearest POPPY,—­Que la vie est drole! Who was it said that there are two great tragedies in life—­not getting what you want, and getting it?  I never understood that saying until now.  For instance, when I left London most people I knew seemed to have a feverish desire to get to Paris.  They were ready to move heaven, earth and the Ministry of Information to obtain the desired passport.  They would go to any lengths to prove how necessary their presence is here during the Peace Conference.

And now I find my countrymen over here longing with an equal feverishness to go home again. Ils s’attristent.  Ils s’ennuient. They have nostalgie in its acutest form.  It quite goes to my heart to hear the pathetic questions they put to newcomers:  “How is London looking?  What shows are running now?” And they go on to speak of dear dirty dark London, its beloved fogs, how adorable is the atrocious climate of England, in a way that would bring tears to your eyes.  Why don’t they go back? you ask, ma chere.  It’s just because they want to be “in at the death” and say they were here when la paix etait signee.