which has little to boast of except that it is not " the Old Gang.' The Old Gang are probably in difficulties concerning the pre-war crisis, which is accountable for the silence of the Liberal Imperialists. The Potsdam section of the Cabinet was by July 1914 infinitely stronger than is realized by chroniclers with whom the wish is father to the thought, and who, like Professor Gilbert Murray, would have us believe that Liberal foreign policy, though aiming at a friendly understanding with Germany, was absolutely loyal to France in the event of unprovoked aggression. This would have been an intelligible and honourable attitude, but unfortunately the Professor forgets the size and strength of the faction, which not only meant to desert France whatever happened, but by August 1, 1914, had done so, as is clear from all the available facts, including documents published by that Government. Hitherto it was neither wise nor patriotic to dot the i's and cross the t's of this harrowing episode, but as there is considerable danger of these same influences ruining the peace, our immediate national interests coincide with the claims of history in demanding that the story shall be told, if only to put a spoke in the wheel of any future operations that the frienas -open and secret-of Potsdam contemplate.

There is little mystery about our shame, set forth as it was day by day in the British Diplomatic Correspondence, which if not exhilarating reading when first published, is yet more poignant to-day now that we have authentic information of the Potsdam War Council of July 5, 1914. It is never pleasant to see one's Government made a complete fool of by the foreigner, especially when he is a deadly enemy, though by this time we should be accustomed to the experience. Germany having finally adopted war at all costs as her policy at the beginning of this crucial month on the assumption, confirmed anew by Baron Wangenheim, that Great Britain would remain neutral -it is humiliating to find Sir Edward Grey at the end of the month treating the enemy as a Power from whose thoughts war was as far as it was from his own, and pressing upon her one proposal after another, which so far as it could have any effect on those who had made up their minds must be exactly the opposite to that desired by the British Government, whose "morbid love of peace," as it was described by one of their number, could only act as a red rag to a bull.

IV. A FATEFUL BREAKFAST

NONE of us will ever forget those terrible days-far worse than anything that has happened since--as Europe was then much nearer enslavement than at any other time, even at the worst moment of the Russian collapse. I was naturally not behind the scenes and knew nothing of the feverish negotiations from July 23 to July 31 between a Germany resolved on immediate war and an England equally wedded to peace. It was, however, evident to outsiders like myself, with no special knowledge, that "Der Tag "-upon which so much had been written in the National Review-was at hand. But I had ceased going to the Foreign Office after the Haldane Mission to Berlin in February 1912, which seemed to me to be a piece of mingled folly and treachery that made one hopeless of our foreign policy. I was, therefore, at the outset out of touch with events, except as a newspaper reader. I could not help being encouraged by the robust and uncompromising tone of well-informed journals whose conductors were likely to know what was going on. The attitude of the Times, Morning Post, the Daily Mail, and other papers, including the Daily Telegraph, which had not too good a record on the Anglo-German question, left nothing to be desired. From the moment Germany threw off her pacific mask and began stripping for the fray, these journals left no doubt that Great Britain would be prepared to do her duty. But they were Opposition" organs. On the other hand, it was decidedly ominous that not a single Ministerial journal struck one strong note, while one heard on all hands the worst accounts of the moral of Parliament, where Little-Navyism, No-Armyism, Potsdamism, and every other rotten ism were rampant.

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Germany's stupendous success in bamboozling British statesmen concerning her intentions, was brought home to me in a casual conversation with one of the most brilliant and eminent of our public men, who though always amiable and charming could hardly conceal his astonishment when I said to him on July 29— things having gone very far---" So Germany means war; to which he replied, "You don't mean to say you mean that seriously," while afterwards he quoted this opinion as an eccentricity on my part. As we learnt subsequently, it was on July 29 that the German Imperial Chancellor made his impudent bid to the British Ambassador in Berlin for British neutrality by undertaking not to dismember France in Europe if Germany was allowed to strip her of her colonies! Prince Lichnowsky and Herr von Kühlmann, though now under a cloud in their own

country, may congratulate themselves on their diplomatic spadework in London, where such an atmosphere had been created that men of experience and authority were thus blissfully unconscious of the storm that was already brewing. As we know, Lord Rosebery, who is an historian as well as a statesman, subsequently expressed the considered opinion that "fear" was the animating motive of Germany's wanton aggression, so perversely was the whole Pan-German programme misread by those whom Great Britain relied upon to protect her interests against hostile Powers. There is only too much reason to dread that our statesmen still prefer to cultivate the harmlessness of the dove rather than the wisdom of the serpent in all dealings with the Boche, who is to be invited to enter a League of Nations should his murderous onslaught on his neighbours finally fail. Can we be surprised that the arch criminals of Berlin and Potsdam should remain secure in the consciousness that no harm can possibly befall them, because German diplomacy will always be able to retrieve in the Council Chamber whatever the Great General Staff may have lost on the stricken field. If Hindenburg and Ludendorff do not " deliver the goods," Lichnowsky and von Kühlmann will be requisitioned to repeat their performance of the Black Week of July 27 to August 1, 1914, when, thanks to the cooperation of confederates in the British Cabinet, they reached the ideal position for which Germany had long manoeuvred. By Saturday morning (August 1)—the blackest of black Saturdays -Great Britain was detached from France and Russia, upon whom Germany was raining ultimatums, more confident than ever in the conviction that England would remain neutral until it was too late to prevent the Pan-German triumph West and East.

The situation is as plain as a pikestaff to every one who reads the diplomatic papers intelligently. It was known at the time to far too many persons for there to be any hope of keeping a secret, which, moreover, the Government of the day disclosed to the world in its utterly unworthy terror of the Pacifist Party to whom it was alone concerned to justify itself in going to war. The anxieties of that week to outsiders as well as insiders may be imagined. Everything for which England stood in the world, including her own self-respect, was at stake. The whole story has not yet been told, and some parts of it may never be known, but the more vividly we realize our hairbreadth escape, the better is the chance of our preventing a ruinous war from being crowned by a yet more ruinous peace. By Friday afternoon (July 31) His Majesty's Ministers had wobbled into this position. A small party containing the less bad elements of the Cabinet were Waiting to See--preferring to move in the right direction, i.e. to the sup

port of France, but afraid to do so-while another faction of dangerous dimensions was definitely treacherous and active and determined in its perfidy. Alone at this date stood Mr. Winston Churchill, who, as First Lord of the Admiralty, had already burnt his boats and was doing his duty. I cannot be suspected of partiality to this politician in saying what angers many of my friends, but such a narrative is perfectly useless unless one is prepared to record what one believes to be true without fear or favour, and it is a fact that this week--and the following week-was the great fortnight of Mr. Churchill's career. It is only regrettable that he has not succeeded in the interval in living up to those spacious days, but if once more he can manage to pull himself together, and prevent his Defeatist colleagues from selling the pass at the Peace, much will be forgiven him. On Friday evening, though feeling miserable as to the course of affairs, after a conversation with my friend George Lloyd (Member for West Staffordshire), who was in touch with the situation and shared my uneasiness, I played an unforgettable game of lawn tennis with an eminent statesman-it was that awkward combination a three game, as the others may remember. The situation at the moment was that the patriotic Press was thundering away on the assumption that Great Britain would stand by her threatened partners of the Entente. There were, moreover, significant naval movements corroborating this assumption, while the organizers of the British Expeditionary Force at the War Office were decidedly doing their bit," all the more because a genius among them had invented the phrase "precautionary period," which permitted certain measures to be taken on the ipse dixit of the Secretary of State without reference to the Cabinet and without a civilian's realizing how important they were when time was the only thing that mattered. Everything was ripening for decision, but my lawn-tennis friend in reply to my obvious remark, "There seems to be a certain amount of naval and military activity," replied, "Yes, but I fear the Government have come to no decision upon the question of policy." In other words, the

Unionist Press, with the best intentions in the world, was being misled on the facts and was misleading the public by assuming that all would be right on the night. I rang up one journalistic friend after another--but by this time they had become so carried away by their own optimism that a caution could hardly get a hearing, and some of them politely intimated that I must be crazy in imagining that even this Government could abandon France. I implored them to be on their guard as everything now depended on the Press, and pointed out that so far there had not been a whisper of a suggestion in any Ministerial newspaper that we should support France. I made myself

a nuisance, and returned again and again to the charge and ultimately instilled some doubts, though I could not quote any authority. It was, at any rate, encouraging that during these most painful hours nowhere did I meet on the part of a single soul with whom I exchanged opinions the faintest shadow of a doubt or hesitation as to the only possible rôle of England at this crisis. It was merely that my friends simply could not believe that there could be any faltering in any Government, however composed, when the path was so plain, and they discounted my fears as political prejudice.

One particularly hopeful friend, who thought himself en rapport with the Foreign Office, conceived that he had had "the straight tip" from Sir Edward Grey, and declared that there was nothing to worry about. But I was not reassured, as I had traced a certain amount of mystification to the Foreign Office-probably attributable to a loss of nerve. That night (July 31) I dined with friends connected with a leading Mugwump organ that was likely to keep step with the Head of the Government. After dinner we rang up the editorial office, which returned a most uncertain sound that sent our hearts into our boots, indicating, as it did, a wobble preparatory to a scuttle. When I got home I rang up General Henry Wilson, then living in Draycott Place. To my anxious inquiry he answered, "We are in the soup." Hoping against hope, I asked, "What soup?" as there was a good sense in which we might be "in the soup.' His answer was disquieting, and he suggested a meeting at breakfast the following morning.

It was a most melancholy little company that forgathered round the hospitable board of General and Mrs. Wilson on Black Saturday morning (August 1). It will remain graven on my memory so long as I remember anything. Nor are the others likely to forget it, if only because it was productive. The party consisted, besides our host and hostess, of Lady Sybil Grey, Lady Aileen Roberts, L. S. Amery, M.P., and myself. At first we were speechless. We simply hung our heads. England was to look on while Germany attacked France. Such was the policy. Mr. Lloyd George has since admitted that the fate of our brilliant neighbours was of such indifference to the Liberal Party that unless the attack came through Belgium-which at the moment had not been mentioned-we should abstain. As he told an American interviewer:

If Germany had been wise she would not have set foot on Belgian soil. The Liberal Government, then, would not have intervened. Germany made a grave mistake. (Mr. Lloyd George, in an interview with Mr. Henry Beach Needham, Pearson's Magazine, March 1915).

We were naturally in despair. No one could see any daylight