instinctive to man, and which is more fully developed and exemplified in the British race than in any other. The natural bent of men's minds and their dispositions are most clearly seen in their hours of relaxation and amusement. Amongst us this love of the chase colours. our national life, and it may be traced in every class, from the highest to the lowest, in every age, from childhood to senility. From the peer, whose greatest pride is to be a master of hounds, to the peasant, whose keenest joy is in a rat-hunt-from the boy whose pet plaything is a toy sword, whose first mechanical effort is a watch-spring gun, to his great grandsire who sits in judgment on the breechloader he cannot carry, half in envy, half in disparagement, the ruling passion is manifest throughout. It's a fine day, let's go and kill something,' is the phrase put into an Englishman's mouth by the foreigner who would sum up the character of John Bull in an epigram. From Eton to the village green English boys of all ranks and ages delight in pugilism-the simplest, most primitive, and readiest species of combat known. In the lower ranks, debarred from the still more fierce and dangerous pastimes of the wealthy, the delight continues through life. In the highest it is replaced by searching the whole world for excitement, in sport, or in war itself.

Call this quality what we will-pluck, hardihood, or animal spirits—it is identical in essence with the

pugnacity which has achieved England's greatness, and which is the result of the great law of aggression adverted to.

This quality will, doubtless, always have great influence in determining the issue of battles; but as it is seen to the greatest advantage when the fight closes to a hand-in-hand struggle, so its importance diminishes as the distance is increased between the combatants. But warfare is becoming more and more a science of fighting at long distances, so that one of our former advantages is being gradually but surely withdrawn.

The more perfect the machinery of war, the less scope for individual strength and daring. The chief means we had for counterbalancing the odds against us is unquestionably diminished; yet the odds were never so great as now. Even granting that science and skill have done their best for us, they have done equally well for our neighbours. More masterly strategy and more brilliant tactics than those displayed by Germany in the recent war could hardly be.

When each individual soldier is carefully trained to a high degree of excellence, when he is armed with a weapon perfected by modern art, and when his efforts and movements are directed by a mind of the highest order, he is a foe not to be lightly regarded, be he of any nation.

When such foes number by millions,

even England may well inquire if she can match them. But with all her combativeness, and notwithstanding her fighting and aggressive instincts, perhaps because of them, she has an army which does not amount to onetenth of any one of those maintained by the great Powers. Confident of her strength, her valour, and insular position, she dispenses with the precautions essential to less considerable states, and, in point of available armed strength, she is inferior to them all. For actual defence of her island citadel we will even assume that she can provide, even against the colossal forces of the Continent; but, for service abroad, the idea of her contending on terms of equality with the great Powers cannot be entertained. The love of liberty in Great Britain, the self-confident feeling of strength and courage, is, in fact, the origin and root of her present incapacity for war. The notorious jealousy of the English people of a standing army unquestionably arises from two sources: one the fear that the army should be used as an instrument of oppression at home; the other, contempt of the characteristics of continental states whose constitution differs from ours in having none of the freedom of thought and action which we claim as a birthright. The first has made the army always unpopular in England. It is this which, in despite of the brilliant services her

1

1 Vide Clode's Military Forces of the Crown.'

D

armies have performed for her, making her what she is, has rendered enlistment the last measure of disgrace by which a lad of the respectable classes can fill up the list of youthful delinquencies. It is this feeling which makes it difficult for us to find space for a barrack, which causes smug Paterfamilias to object to the neighbourhood of a building whose inmates he learns to believe are useless, idle, worthless loungers, who eat bread they do not earn, and whose scarlet uniform, though it has blazed in the front of many a famous field for England, is here only, in his eyes, a badge of inferiority and a sign of peril to his female flock.

Rotund divines, sleek in broadcloth, and easy in study arm-chairs, twit commanding officers of regiments with indifference to the ruin of a thousand housemaids." Petitions are got up and numerously signed and addressed to Parliament, for the removal of soldiers from 'respectable' neighbourhoods. Purveyors of public amusements object to the presence of even non-commissioned officers in uniform in their seats for spectators, lest the dread of contamination from the hated garb should keep respectable' people away. So utterly discredited at home is the noblest service in the world. Whatever the grounds for this fear and jealousy may have been formerly, we shall see hereafter that they are baseless now, and the feeling

must be removed before we can hope for an adequate re-organisation of our national defences.

The soldier of modern days cannot be improvised. Very much more time is necessary for his production than was the case when every man flew to his arms if his country were in danger. For any modern emergency, raw recruits, even numbered by thousands, would be perfectly useless in the line of battle. Modern war crowds its incidents even more closely than does modern history. The year required to teach our defenders the use of their weapons might leave us nothing to defend. The few weeks in which a modern campaign runs its course would hardly suffice to teach men to move to their right or to their left at the word of command; to give them skill with the rifle would be impossible; and for the all important purpose of affording the reliance on discipline which is the main-spring of armies, for teaching trust in the guidance of leaders, and for inspiring mutual confidence in the ranks, there could be no opportunity. The time for this is now, while at peace, and all the nations of Europe know this but ourselves, and are taking measures accordingly.

Even admitting that our national self-confidence is justifiable so far as regards our defence of our island shores, granting that the regular troops kept in Great Britain and Ireland can, with the aid of our constitutional army the militia, and with the volunteers, keep