It is impossible to say what basis there is for these and other such rumours, but they show the general very serious depression and dissatisfaction.  Of that there is no doubt.  Nor is there any doubt about grave differences in the Cabinet about conscription nor of grave fear in the public mind about the action of labour unions in hindering the utmost production of ammunition, nor of the increasing feeling that the Prime Minister doesn’t lead the nation.  Except Lloyd George and the Chancellor of the Exchequer[19] the Cabinet seems to suffer a sort of paralysis.  Lord Kitchener’s speech in the House of Lords, explaining the military situation, reads like a series of month-old bulletins and was a great disappointment.  Mr. Asquith’s corresponding speech in the House seemed to lack complete frankness.  The nation feels that it is being kept in the dark, and all the military information that it gets is discouraging.  Sir Edward Grey, as philosophic and enduring a man as I know, seems much more depressed than I have ever known him to be; Bryce is very very far from cheerful; Plunkett[20], whom also you know, is in the dumps—­it’s hard to find a cheerful or a hopeful man.

The secrecy of official life has become so great and successful that prophecy of political changes must be mere guess work.  But, unless good news come from the Dardanelles in particular, I have a feeling that Asquith may resign—­be forced out by the gradual pressure of public opinion; that Lloyd George will become Prime Minister, and that (probably) Sir Edward Grey may resign.  Yet I cannot take the prevailing military discouragement at its face value.  The last half million men and the last million pounds will decide the contest, and the Allies will have these.  This very depression strengthens the nation’s resolution to a degree that they for the moment forget.  The blockade and the armies in the field will wear Germany down—­not absolutely conquer her, but wear her down—­probably in another year.

In the meantime our prestige (if that be the right word), in British judgment, is gone.  As they regard it, we have permitted the Germans to kill our citizens, to carry on a world-wide underhand propaganda from our country (as well as in it), for which they have made no apology and no reparation but only vague assurances for the future now that their submarine fleet has been almost destroyed.  They think that we are credulous to the point of simplicity to accept any assurances that Bernstorff may give—­in a word, that the peace-at-any-price sentiment so dominates American opinion and the American Government that we will submit to any indignity or insult—­that we will learn the Germans’ real character when it is too late to save our honour or dignity.  There is no doubt of the definiteness or depth of this opinion.

And I am afraid that this feeling will show itself in our future dealings with this