to attack Germany in a single-handed struggle. Germany is not going to attack France. Russia is the one power that is a comet of eccentric orbit rather than a planet in the European system.'

But we go further, and we shall endeavour to show that the enormous preparations for war which are supposed to betoken the imminence of that catastrophe do in reality render its actual occurrence rather less than more probable, and that it is an entire misapprehension to suppose that because the armies of the Continent-or what are called armies-are reckoned by millions of men, it is more easy or more possible for the great continental Powers to carry on protracted hostilities. This writer founds the whole of his speculations on the enormous numerical forces of armed men which he conceives to be in existence. We very much doubt the accuracy of his figures, and it is impossible to compute the real fighting power of an armed but uninstructed population. But it may be argued, we think with reason, that the magnitude of these armies is rather an impediment than an aid to effective operations in war, and would entail intolerable burdens on a nation which should endeavour to bring its whole virile population into the field.

We are asked to believe that France has a force of 3,408,000 instructed and 701,000 untaught men, or 4,109,000 in all; or, all deductions being made, it is stated that France possesses an army of 2,500,000 men, with artillery and cavalry proper for an army of 2,000,000, able at once to stand in line upon the frontier, and to carry on simple though not complicated 'movements in the field.' The strength of the German armies is stated to be somewhat inferior in numbers, but superior in training and military traditions; and when our author travels to Russia, he asserts that the Russian peace army amounts to 890,000 men, whilst, if all her contingents be taken into account, he conceives that Russia could place six millions of men in the field. We are utterly incredulous as to the existence of these armed hordes, which would resemble the bands of Attila rather than the regular troops of a civilised power; and, even if they existed, it could be shown that the exigencies of such forces are incompatible with the operations of scientific war, and we should deny them the true character of an army at all.

For what is an army? It consists, as regards the rank and file, not merely of men taught the use of arms and a few military movements, but of men who have acquired by time and service that tenacity of discipline which constitutes a soldier-men who, by the habit of implicit obedience, have

merged their individual will in the collective strength of the body to which they belong, by absolute confidence in their commanding officers, and by equal confidence in mutual support. Such was the character of the small British detachments which enabled them to resist the furious onslaught of the warriors of the desert against the most fearful odds. Next come the non-commissioned officers. They are the bone and sinew of the military body, whose cohesion depends on their steady, permanent, and watchful authority. Armies in which these men hold their posts for a short time, or are eagerly awaiting promotion to the higher ranks, run the risk of losing their most important organs. Above them are the regimental officers, whose first duty it is to acquire the absolute confidence of their men. On this point General Boulanger, to do him justice, delivered the other day some judicious remarks to the division now under his command.

In modern warfare we need something besides rules and equations. We must take the human factor into account. You may have the most perfect armament in the world, the very best methods of attack, the most admirable strategic plan; all that is no good if you cannot bring the private soldier up to the scratch, and if you have it not in you to make the common soldier, whether he carry a sabre or a rifle, bring all his manhood to bear in the struggle. Well, you can only do that by constant contact with the private soldier. It is by inspiring the rank and file with thorough confidence, by giving them the example of coolness under fire, and not by speculative and scientific theories, that officers fit themselves for war. It is thus that the qualities of the soldier have to be acquired, and those qualities we need more than ever at the present day.'

No doubt these are the qualities most needed in troops, but they are precisely the qualities most difficult, not to say impossible, of attainment in popular armies composed of men under short compulsory service. They can only exist where there is a long and intimate connexion between all ranks of the corps. You may have highly educated officers, but nothing but time and long discipline can create the close moral influence of the officers on the soldier.

In the higher ranks the same knowledge and mutual confidence are indispensably required between the generals whose duty it is to cooperate with each other. But all this fails to constitute an army without the absolute commanding intelligence that must pervade and direct every part of it as a compact and indissoluble whole. To a considerable extent it must be said that the German armies have attained this very high character, to which are due their successes

in the field. This result is attributable to the Spartan discipline of nearly a century, to the strictly local character of the service, and to the peculiar geographical position of the country. But we fail to perceive that these essential conditions are, or are likely to be, attained by the democratic or popular armies of other states. Regular, or, as we may term them, professional armies are composed of men who look to military service as the duty and the object of their lives. National armies raised by universal compulsory conscription consist of men torn from the avocations by which they live, who do not regard military service as their profession, and who are eager to escape from the bondage of the ranks and return to civil life. Time and habit are wholly wanting to form them into regular soldiers, and they retain at best but the character of a militia, serviceable for the defence of their country, but entirely useless for the offensive operations of scientific warfare.

It deserves to be noted that wars carried on by very large bodies of comparatively raw troops, commanded by inexperienced officers, are far more sanguinary than the skilful operations of a regular army. The experience of the late American Civil War affords conclusive evidence of the fact. That contest was carried on with extreme violence between two armed peoples-or two divisions of the same peoplewithout experience of war. Enormous masses of troops were brought into the field. General Grant boasted that he had commanded a million of men, and he owed his victory to the numerical force which crushed the enemy. But the loss of life was prodigious. It is believed that half a million of men perished in the struggle, on the two sides; a result due to the inexperience of the commander and the rashness of untrained troops. The risk of life is greatest in armies which have not learned to protect themselves, and the civil combatant (as he may be termed) runs far greater dangers than the experienced soldier.

The greatest achievements in war, from the time of Alexander to the time of Napoleon, were wrought by comparatively small bodies of men trained to the highest perfection of military unity. Thus the great campaign of 1805 was won by the consummate efficiency and long training of the army of Boulogne, which enabled Napoleon to advance with irresistible force on Ulm and Vienna. But at Austerlitz Napoleon brought only 65,000 men into the field, and of these only 45,000 were engaged in the battle. Other examples of the same kind are not wanting in our own

history. It is obvious that all the difficulties attending the movements of large bodies of men increase in a geometrical progression with their size. Food, ammunition, forage for horses, even water for the troops, must be found on an enormous scale, and, failing any of these supplies, the larger the army is the more it becomes incapable of action.

Moreover, military service on this scale, which involves the mobilisation,' as it is termed, of the whole virile population, would necessitate the interruption of all the functions of civil life; the fields would be untilled, the manufactories deserted, labour arrested, and, in place of the earnings of the national industry, the entire cost of the maintenance of these armed millions must be borne by the State. It is evident that although such an effort may for a short time be made pro aris et focis, its continuance for years would be unendurably ruinous, and would not be tolerated for the purposes of offensive war. To speak plainly, in our humble judgement the thing is overdone. Stupendous machinery has been constructed at infinite cost, but it is too big to be set in motion. Such armies as these remind us of the enormous floating fortresses, iron-belted, turret-armed and served by fifty engines, with every device of mechanical skill, which may serve as the guardships of the realm, but which will never, as we believe, fight one of those great naval actions in mid ocean which decide the mastery of the seas.

But above all the supreme difficulty in the management of these vast armaments lies in the want of an all-embracing, all-foreseeing, uncontested, absolute authority of command. What intellect, what genius, without a highly perfected traditional system, can suffice for these things? General Changarnier said to the writer of these lines some twenty years ago that is, before the Franco-German war, and when armies had not attained their present dimensions-that although he held himself and some half-dozen officers of the time to be competent to command 60,000 men, and thought the defence of France might be entrusted to several corps d'armée of that strength, yet he believed there was no living man in France capable of directing the combined forces of hundreds of thousands of troops in the field, and that when the Emperor Napoleon himself endeavoured in 1812 and 1813 to carry on war on that scale he signally failed.

It would be presumptuous in us to criticise the present condition of the French army, of which we have no practical knowledge; but it must strike even a foreign observer that

no one known to fame possesses the absolute authority, whether civil or military, which is required to direct the movements of this stupendous machine, to overcome the rival pretensions of other officers, and to inspire the nation and the army with the entire confidence and submission which are indispensable conditions of military power. It has been said that whereas formerly small armies were commanded by big men, big armies are now commanded by small men. The illustrious order of commanders of the first rank in the army and the state, identified for so many centuries with all that is glorious in arms, is now practically extinct; for even M. Grévy and the present rulers of the French Republic have not ventured to create a Marshal of France. The public, and perhaps the army, eager to follow something and somebody, have stooped to catch at the horse's tail of a circus-riding general; and the author of this volume conceives that the personal popularity of General Boulanger in France is greater than that enjoyed by any man since Napoleon was at the height of his power. What a comment on popularity and on the value of its ephemeral idols, when a nation can find in its ranks no higher object of adoration! Doubtless the younger generation of the French army contains many officers of high military attainments and indisputable valour, but as yet they are unknown to fame; and, for the first time in history, the French army presents no man of commanding authority and eminent distinction to the service of the nation. If such a man were in existence and were crowned with military success, it is obvious that he would become the master of the French Republic.

The French nation have undoubtedly a permanent cause of war against Germany in their desire to reconquer the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, and to avenge the defeats of 1870 which deprived them of their military prepotency in Europe. Hence it is assumed by the author of this volume, and by most of the writers of the day, that a contest between the two Powers is inevitable, and that sooner or later this deadly quarrel must be fought out. But setting apart the irritating language of the press, and the vexatious incidents which arise on the frontier between two angry populations snarling at each other's heels (some of which are extremely painful and discreditable), there is a vast interval between these unneighbourly relations and the tremendous responsibility of actual war between two colossal Powers. Professional armies may desire war, but popular armies raised by compulsory conscription have the strongest pos