To the Editor, SlR, — Some recent references to Scotland in the pages of the Welsh Outlook seem to me to demand a little attention by way of criticism. When a writer does not define his exact political standpoint, and leaves this to be collected from the atmosphere which his observations generate, rather than from a frank avowal of his sentiments, it as is difficult to direct criticism, with any degree of certainty, to particular points as it is to confine it within just limits. Moreover, few standpoints are so utterly devoid of ground as to provide no appreciable foot-hold whatsoever for those adventurers who think them good enough for public purposes. These remarks are called forth by a paper that appeared in the January number of the Welsh Outlook, in which the writer (a Welshman), had a good deal to say touching the past political history of Scotland. I judge the author to be a Whigg but, whilst so stigmatising him, I desire to do him the compliment of saying that I am come to this conclusion rather by reason of what he does not say, but suggests," than because of any positive explosion of devilry on his part. Now, though Whiggery was, and is, a political creed, having a very large following, yet it seems to me that its strength principally consists in the fact that it constitutes a certain cast or temper of mind. In fine, to be born a Whigg is the only true passport to pure Whiggery. Any man who has so contracted a double dose of original sin should discover no great difficulty in colouring political fact and tincturing historic cir- cumstances so as to render his genius and his political faith all of a piece. Most of the later historians of Scotland have been Whiggs. But whether they were so fashioned by reason of predistination, or were made so by the operation of political adoption and grace, the Whiggish tem- perament and idiosyncracies have flourished and prospered in no common degree. They have caught up in their net, as it were, thousands whose persons, were they examined never so narrowly, would discover no traces of the birth-mark of the father of all terminological inexactitude. They have fomented a disposition-conspired to generate certain psychological phenomena-which are by no means confined to Scotland, but are to be found, in more or less active eruption, wherever the shop-keeping habit prevails. Your contributor though a Welshman, has obviously succumbd to the influences of which I speak, having doubtless freely imbibed Whiggery along with his temperamental father's substitute for mother's milk. Whiggery, as a political creed, is susceptible of the common forces of disintegration-assault, reputation, ridicule, controversial disembowel- ment and so forth-but, in capacity of temperament, it is as elusive and as difficult to extinguish as any other kind of ignis fatuous. Far be it from me, on the present occasion, to go up against the one, or to set out The February number of the Welsh Outlook has been completely sold our. Many of the admirable features of that issue are continued in the present number-notably the discussion as to the Political Future of Wales, and the Symposium on the relation between Church and Labour. It is impossible, owing to the shortage of paper, to print extra copies for casual sale. May we appeal to our readers to help us in one of two NATIONALITY AND HOME RULE A SCOT ON HIS ELBOW I come then, Death, with a good grace. My body flames to thy embrace. Rough and red as barbed strands I grip thy hair with slim, white hands. I twine it round my naked arm Coil on coil in a snaky charm. I swing thee to my knee, I grasp Thy body in a lover's clasp. I watch the gleam, the passion white Of eyes inscrutable as night. Sudden, on thy swollen lip I press my own with eager grip. in pursuit of the other but there is one piece of characteristic Whiggery, passed by your contributor, which I crave permission to nail to the counter. The Union of 1707-what a vast spate of twaddle has been poured out over this particular incident in the knavish story of Whiggish political achievement! It is commonly supposed to have been a blessing in disguise for my country. The dour canny Scots (these epithets are part of the common political armoury of English temperamental Whiggery) are supposed to have looked the Union searchingly in the mouth and, after having detected a decayed tooth or two that needed drawing in the national interests, to have retired from the scrutiny per- fectly satisfied that this John-Bull-staffed gift-horse from over the Border was a genuine specimen of the equine species, and sound in political limb and wind. Curious, is it not, if this were so, that the whole nation raged against the Union as a degrading dishonourable and abominable thing, and that it could only be procured to be passed through the Scots Parliament by dint of the most shameless bribery and corruption ? A day of solemn thanksgiving, on account of the signing of the Treaty, was appointed to the nation by the Parliament that had sold and dis- honoured it. Not a single celebration took place throughout the length and breadth of the land For my own part, I am an Internationalist, subscribing to the principles of a set of men who design to make the world an exceedingly unsafe and unpleasant place for Bourgeoisdom, if, after the War, it does not smartly toe the line of self-determination for all nationalities, together with the complete suppression of imperialism. But, though I am an Internationalist, and therefore, necessarily, a Nationalist, yet I hasten to assure another of your contributors, Mr. J. A. Lovat Fraser, Banister-at-Law, that present-day Scotland is not thinking along lines of gushing adulation of Mr. Asquith, and other Englishmen that have been imported into political Scotland, but rather on those of how best and how speediest we may rid our country of these useless and uninteresting back numbers." At the same time, I agree with Mr. J. A. Lovat Fraser that a policy of Wales for the Welsh," or Scotland for the Scots," however reasonable and sound in theory those principles may appear, might, if carried too high, or pushed too far, breed inconvenient, and even injurious results. What would the Principality do without the stimulating presence of Mr. J. A. Lovat Fraser, or how could Scotland exist if it ceased to afford a parliamentary seat to that brilliant ornament of the House of Harmsworth (as Mr. Gordon Selfridge would doubtless style it), Leicester of that ilk ? These surely are pregnant questions, well calculated to reduce the temperature of our more febrile hot-heads. TO OUR READERS ways (1) Order your copy early in advance, or (2) become an annual postal subscriber-7s. per annum, post free, payable in advance. Will readers who do not keep their copies for filing please send them away at once to soldiers at the front? Readers who desire the cloth cover and index for Volume IV. would be well advised to order at once. We have but a short supply left on hand. THE KISS OF DEATH R. Erskine of Marr. Ha Death, in thy surprise, Within those jealous, guarding eyes There dawned a radiance, a far glow, The wash and surge and sure flow Of something living, breathing free Beyond thy dim obscurity. Thy lips are but the portals then Where through those million warrior men Have faded to a something bright That is not utter, hopeless night. So clog my heart and rot my brain, I know, I feel that dim Again. Howell Davies.