the wealth of nations. Considering that, if England is not a nation of shopkeepers-a name to be proud of-she is nothing"the greatest of British interests in peace." If even that bloodsucker, Napoleon, the Great or the Little, described war in his retirement as "the business of barbarians," the ordinary English paterfamilias should be greatly provoked before taking for his motto armo virumque cano. Although Falstaff's soliloquy should not, and would not, influence the conduct of a single man of our brave defenders, it may well be reflected on by those who, from a stay-athome, easy-chair position, are willing to have battle fought for "honour,' glory," and "prestige." Even monkeys must feel some pity for the cat's-paw they make use of. "Honour pricks Air. What is honour. me on. Yea; but how when honour pricks me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is that word 'honour?' it? He who died o' Wednesday. he hear it? No. No. Is it insensible, then? will it not live with the living? No. not suffer it; therefore, I'll none it. and so ends my catechism." A word. Those who converse with our soldiers know that they never put themselves through such a catechism as that of Falstaff. Their indifference as to the probabilities of England going to war is surprising. "A man," say they," can only die once, and it's as good to go that way as any other!" And they think of being maimed with as much coolness as did Lord Raglan, who, while the surgeons were amputating his arm, did not utter a single groan or syllable until he saw the dissevered limb being removed, when he called out, "Don't take that arm away until I have taken off my ring!" Still, the poor private soldier is to be pitied. He is, perhaps, killed or wounded, but those who get the real glory are the great captains and emperors, who cause vast bodies of men to move as if they were a machine. Nor do the small screws in the machinery of a modern army feel the "wild pulsation" and pleasurable excitment of hand-to-hand strife. Two infernal instruments called armies are placed at a very respectful distance from each other. Moltkes get behind them and command their movements by means of telegraphy. The individual soldier is like a bottle in the smoke, and he has the not-very-comfortable assurance that his own life, and the well-being of his own country, may depend on the accuracy of a mathematical calculation. The fall and rise of nations is caused now, more than ever, by the skill, or want of skill, of a man of science. The smallest blunder or oversight is followed by disastrous consequences. Such an apparently insignificant circumstance as the want of shovels delayed the operations of the Russians for a considerable time in Bulgaria. Staying in Paris immediately after the Franco-Prussian War, the writer used to ask soldiers what their impressions were of a battle-field: One young man's experience is, I fancy, not an uncommon one. "I was," he said, "taken out of my wine shop to fight, which I did not at once like, but had to go. In the battle I saw nothing but, smoke, and, though I hardly knew what I was doing, so nervous was I, there was nothing for it but to fire-fire until it was over. The greatest coward could not get away in the crowd; but I have seen several unable to stand up in the ranks, as they were quite paralysed with fear. We could not trust our generals, monsieur, and that took away our courage." If there must be war, by all means let it be sharp, quick, and decisive. To mitigate the horrors of war in very questionable philanthropy, for the more horrible it is, the more will nations count the cost before rushing into it. Is it paradoxical to suggest that the very extent to which the machinery of war may be developed gives some faint hope of that good time coming when the war-drums shall throb no longer, and the battle flags shall be furled? We read much in ancient history of Greek fire, but our chemists know of combustibles compared to which Greek fire is as harmless as bread pills. There are a dozen chemical preparations that would burn up our entire fleet. The English Government were over and over implored to use these villanous compounds during the Crimean war, but it was pronounced unworthy of civilised nations to do so. We may not always stand on such ceremony. In past times "war was all courage and chivalry,' now it is cunning and machinery, and credit in the money-market. We have already made soldiers and sailors of steam, electricity, telegraphy, photography, and shall not rest until all the arts and sciences, and forces of the world generally, are raised to their maximum drilling power. Every portion of the guns and steeringgear of our lately-built men of war is worked by steam. To the guns of now-a-days, the old thirty-two and sixty-eight pounders are mere pop-guns. We speak quite glibly of armies of from three to five hundred thousand men. Surely the purses, if not the heart of nations, must soon cry "Stop! we must draw a line somewhere." There may in this way be a reductio ad absurdum of war, if the giants discover that they are in danger of imitating the historical Kilkenny cats. Ought we, then, to give up our army and navy? By no means; for however satisfied we may feel about our own Christianity aud love of peace, we cannot trust our neighbours. Let us keep these edged tools, which we call army and navy, but be very careful how we play with them. "To be prepared for war," said Washington, "is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace." England used to be called the "policeman of Europe," and perhaps it is for the good of the world that she should endeavour to maintain that position. But if we would be fair, something must be said on the other side of the question. There are barbarities of peace, as well as of war. Are not thousands of milliners' girls of sweater" tailors, of servants who have learned habits of intemperance by late hours, not to speak of fathers, outworked to keep up "appearances,"-are not these killed by thousands each London season? Hardly anything is more melancholy than to walk between the decks of an "iron clad," or through Woolwich Arsenal; for in those places we see how the scientific knowledge of the world-as well as the wealth that has been made by the sweat of a nation's brow-has been used to construct gigantic man-slaughtering machines. But sad as is this wilful, designed preparation for slaughter, the list of those actually killed and wounded by the thoughtless customs and luxurious habits of a prolonged peace, is not at all less appalling. The decline and fall of Nineveh, Babylon, Rome, Athens, teach us that kingdoms "To sickly greatness growth Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Terrible as war undoubtedly is, much might be said for it as a purifier of the moral atmosphere. Manly virtues are not nourished in the rich loamy soil of peace, but in the stony ground of war. The much-talked-of brotherhood of man becomes more than a figure of speech in the trenches. Class distinctions are rendered invisible in the smoke of the enemy's guns. But, indeed, it must be acknow. ledged that the motto, Noblesse oblige, has always been practised at least in our army. "There goes fifteen thousand a-year!" was the admiring exclamation of one who recognised a young nobleman up to his knees in the snow of the Crimea, marching with a regiment of the Guards in which he was an ensign. Earth, air, and sea, used to be ransacked to supply delicacies for the masses of "crack" regiments, until the authorities made certain sumptuary laws in the interest of the poorer officers. We have heard of a cavalry regiment sending from Dublin, where they were quartered, to Paris for the supposed luxury of a dish of frogs; and yet, in the toil and moil of war, how very well do these peace-spoilt officers behave! Then they will make a cheerful meal of the same allowance of salt pork that has been served out to the privates and their own servants, and will even experience the unaccustomed sensation of being thankful for what they have received! And as in the case of individuals, so it is with nations; war puts them-the French, for example, in 1870, on their mettle, and necessitates their opening up new sources of wealth to pay their own bills. In saying this, however, we are only making a virtue of a horrible necessity, or the greatest of national crimes. Is there not much truth in the saying "war is a game at which, if their subjects were wise, kings would not play?" Now-a-days it is the subjects, rather than the kings, who furiously rage and imagine vain wars. To the war party in every country of so-called civilised Europe, we commend the following weli-known little anecdote, which tells how a great king was once deterred from a destructive war, by the observation of a philosopher. "I shall invade such a kingdom," said the monarch. "And that taken ?" asked his friend. "Then another province." "And that added?" "Why, then I shall pass such and such a river, and add the whole country beyond." "And that attained?" continued the questioner. 66 Why, then I shall rest quietly at home." "Could you not do so now, without undergoing all that fatigue and danger, with a very questionable issue?" "Ah!" returned the king, struck with the observation. "I never thought of that." INDIA AND HER NEIGHBOURS.* MR. ANDREW, the originator of the Indus Valley Railway system, the long time zealous and consistent advocate of an overland communication with India by way of Turkey in Asia, and the chairman of the Euphrates Valley Railway Company, has taken high ground in this-the latest of his numerous publications. We have no longer "The Indus and its Provinces," "The Scinde Railway," "Indian Railways," "The Euphrates Valley Route,' and the same "in connection with the Central Asian Question;" we have a remarkably ably-written and statesman-like view of India, more especially in relation to its neighbours, a work which, whilst of the highest interest in a historical, geographical, and economical point of view-presenting, indeed, one of the ablest summaries of what now constitutes our Indian Empire-deals with what has been hitherto too much overlooked, except in especial works, and, as if detached from India Proper, the peculiar and complex relations of that empire with neighbouring states and powers. Information of such a character, having reference to countries like Russia, Turkistan, Persia, Afghanistan, and Beloochistan, or Biluchistan, hitherto scattered through books of travel, a few especial works and pamphlets, often difficult to procure, but now condensed into a well-considered, comprehensive, and judicious summary, cannot but at the present moment be of the very greatest interest and value. It is quite out of our power, with the limited space at command, to follow the author through such erudite chapters as those which refer to the physical features, climate, Flora and Fauna, minerals, people, races, languages, religions, and history-the latter entered into in a brief yet detailed and satisfactory manner-it must suffice if we say that for clearness of statement, care ulness of style, and general literary perfection, combined with brevity, no other work can compare with the present one. An additional and peculiar charm is imparted to the work by no less than six chapters upon the "Remarkable Women of India." Here, indeed, is something quite new, adapted for all classes of readers, even for the most desultory and fastidious-perhaps we might have said the most idle and untea hable. We must pluck a rose (for it has its briars) from the truly "India and Her Neighbours," by W. P. Andrew, with Maps and Appendix. London: Wm. H. Allen & Co. |