recent notorious book. Most of his observations--excepting, perhaps,
the statement that he had "no sentimental tenderness for the Germans"--were
marked with the brand of KEYNES, and his assertion that the utmost Germany
could pay was two thousand millions came bodily from that eminent
statistician. To the same inspiration was possibly due the unhappy
suggestion that our chief Ally was pursuing a policy of revenge.

For this he was promptly pulled up by Lord ROBERT CECIL, who warned him not
to judge the policy of France by the utterances of certain French
newspapers. Lord ROBERT had, however, his own quarrel with the Government,
who, according to his account, had done nothing to set Central Europe on
its legs again, except to send it a certain amount of food--not, one would
would have thought, an altogether bad preliminary.

It was a pity that Mr. BALFOUR had not a stronger indictment to answer, for
he was dialectically at his best. After complimenting the Opposition leader
on his "charming tones and anodyne temper" he proceeded to take up his
challenge--"if I may call it a challenge." If Germany was in doubt as to
the amount she might be called upon to pay, she had her remedy, for the
Peace Treaty especially provided that she might offer a "lump sum." The
list of war-criminals was long, no doubt, but we had limited our own
demands to those who were guilty of gratuitous brutality. As for the
condition of Central Europe, that was not the fault of the Peace Treaty, it
was the fault of the War, and this country had done all it reasonably could
to remedy it.

The Opposition insisted on taking a division, and were beaten by 254 to 60.
So far the "doomed Coalition" seems to be doing rather well.

* * * * *

A SINGLE HOUND.

When the opal lights in the West had died
And night was wrapping the red ferns round,
As I came home by the woodland side
I heard the cry of a single hound.

The huntsman had gathered his pack and gone;
The last late hoof had echoed away;
The horn was twanging a long way on
For the only hound that was still astray.

While, heedless of all but the work in hand,
Up through the brake where the brambles twine,
Crying his joy to the drowsy land
Javelin drove on a burning line.

The air was sharp with a touch of frost;
The moon came up like a wheel of gold;
The wall at the end of the woods he crossed
And flung away on th