or the designations of their officers; yet, as I said at
the beginning of these remarks, I am always very much struck by the
sight of a uniform. War is a detestable thing, and I would willingly
see the sword dropped into its scabbard for ever. Only I should plead
that in its sheathed condition the sword should still be allowed to
play a certain part. Actual war is detestable, but there is something
agreeable in possible war; and I have been thankful that I should have
found myself on British soil at a moment when it was resounding to the
tread of regiments. If the British army is small, it has during the
last six months been making the most of itself. The rather dusky
spectacle of British life has been lighted up by the presence in the
foreground of considerable masses of that vivid color which is more
particularly associated with the protection of British interests. The
sunshine has appeared to rest upon scattered clusters of red-coats,
while the background has been enveloped in a sort of chaotic and
fuliginous dimness. The red-coats, according to their number, have
been palpable and definite, though a great many other things have been
inconveniently vague. At the beginning of the year, when Parliament
was opened in the queen's name, the royal speech contained a phrase
which that boisterous organ of the war-party, the _Pall Mall Gazette_,
pronounced "sickening" in its pusillanimity. Her Majesty alluded to
the necessity, in view of the complications in the East, of the
government taking into consideration the making of "preparations for
precaution." This was certainly an ineffective way of expressing a
thirst for Russian blood, but the royal phraseology is never very
felicitous; and the "preparations for precaution" have been extremely
interesting. Indeed, for a person conscious of a desire to look into
what may be called the psychology of politics, I can imagine nothing
more interesting than the general spectacle of the public conduct of
England during the last two years. I have watched it with a good deal
of the same sort of entertainment with which one watches a five-act
drama from a comfortable place in the stalls. There are moments of
discomfort in the course of such a performance: the theatre is hot and
crowded, the situations are too prolonged, the play seems to drag,
some of the actors have no great talent. But the piece, as a whole, is
intensely dramatic, the argument is striking, and you would not for
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