the fruit of his renown. Italy was conquered again, 1800; all South Germany overrun, 1800; the Army re-organized, 1804; an invasion of England planned, 1804-5; South Germany traversed, 1805; Vienna taken, 1805; Berlin taken, and the Prussian monarchy knocked to pieces, 1806; the stolid Russian infantry driven back to the Nieman, 1807 - all in seven years. What a series of national surprises! So much for the power of the hero compared with whose gigantic efforts the toils of lawyers, wire-pullers and philosophers are only worthy of pigmies. How did all those surprises come about? The Republican generals and Napoleon and his marshals were ready and smart; their opponents were unready and slow. Why speak of the remainder of the career of Napoleon, "the greatest, not the worst of men, whose spirit, antithetically mixed, was extreme in all things?" As he had no sea-power he could not surprise Great Britain. We assumed the offensive after Trafalgar, won as many Colonies as we pleased to take, and placed our ever victorious army in the Peninsula. He could not surprise Russia; not even by the destruction of its ancient capital were its vast areas seriously compromised. Great Britain and Russia, by inflicting crushing losses on this mighty leader, gave other nations time to recover themselves, and by the pressure of the whole weight of Europe he was forced to his doom. His brilliant career, itself one continued series of surprises from Toulon to Arcis and Charleroi, illustrating all the marvels of intellectual capacity and military organization, collapsed before the energy, resolution, and wealth of Great Britain and the resolution, courage, and poverty-stricken wintry solitudes of Russia. Wealth is not the chief thing; poverty is not the greatest drawback; patriotism, resolution, and military energy are the life-blood of States.

But a nation may collapse without any foreign invasion. Some sudden domestic difficulty may utterly paralyze its ordinary arrangements, and if it has not then a sound system of government, supported by an awe-inspiring military force, it may drift into chaos, or only be restored to its normal condition after

NEW SERIES.-VOL. LXVIII., No. 1.

a disastrous civil war. The South American Republics can scarcely be called responsible institutions since they separated from Spain; they might be rich and great-they are a series of ephemeral governments depending upon paltry coups d'etat. Their wars are frequent and objectless; their revolutions base; their whole system corrupt and degrading.

In the middle of this century leaders of political opinion in the United States of America were like other political dreamers for whom the past had no lessons; they ardently expected the arrival of the millennium like our Exhibition enthusiasts in 1851. The Crimean War, the Solferino Campaign, did not disabuse them; they only thought less than before of military Europeans, who were lost in admiration of the barbaric pride, pomp, and circumstance of brutal war. But a change came over the spirit of the dream of the Northern folk when the surprise of the first battle of Bull Run awakened them to the truth of the old maxim, that if you wish peace you must prepare for war. They had no proper military system, they had not prepared for disturbance in time of peace, and they had war with a vengeance. Their capital was threatened forthwith.

In the midst of a war they had to organize and equip an army; nor could that army crush what might have been a petty insurrection, had the Federal States possessed four good army corps in 1861, till they had buried 500,000 men in national cemeteries and spent £1,000,000,000 in four years.

Now, I shall read the following extract to show you why any non-military state is like China; I quote from the Illustrated American :

"How like to China in some things we are after all! Germany seizes one of China's seaports, and China hardly makes a protesting sound. She keeps silent because she cannot resist, and it seems more dignified to acquiesce with seeming immobility than to set up a ridiculously feeble squeak like a trapped mouse. Yet China is the most multitudinous nation on earth. She has riches and resources untold. Her men, with training, might make very fair soldiers. Without feeling the expense,

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she could have fortified every port and bought a fleet equal to the entire naval strength of Germany, and infinitely more formidable, because so close to the base of supplies and repair. But China has no military patriotism. Her government is too sleepy to comprehend the danger, or too senile to meet it.

"We have plenty of patriotism, but do we make a much better showing materially? Japan's great navy could wipe our Pacific squadron from the seas, and shell San Francisco before our North Atlantic squadron could double Cape Horn. A concentration of the superior German navy could overwhelm our Atlantic fleet by sheer force of numbers, while German transports could land at any one of a dozen of our smaller Atlantic ports a disciplined army. . . . A similar coalition of European Powers against us could exact its own terms in a single fortnight from nearly all our sea-coast cities, if not from the nation itself. We are the best fighters in the world, but what have we to fight with? We have illimitable resources for a prolonged war, but modern wars are generally finished in a few weeks. We have a gallant little fleet, but we have not a dry dock on the Atlantic coast large enough to repair a battleship."

If Little Englanders had their way this argument would soon apply to the United Kingdom.

As Captain Mahan proves, unless Americans can play a leading part in the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean Sea, they will be excluded from the strategy and greater commerce of the future. But they can live well for generations on the products of their soil; we would starve on ours.

Probably gentlemen would prefer that I did not repeat what every one in this generation has heard a thousand times the details of the Franco-German War; but our points with regard to national surprise may be shortly illustrated by a few facts.

France challenged Germany, and was surprised to find herself unready, and Germany armed to the teeth. The first skirmish took place on August 2d; half of the French army was beleaguered by August 19th; the other half surrendered September 2d; Paris was invested September 19th; all the country on

a line from Montbeliard to Le Mans and north thereof was in thraldom by January 18th; Paris was occupied January 28th. France paid £200,000,000 to its foe, and altogether lost £725,000,000 in the short period in question, or about four millions sterling per day for the war time, not to speak of the loss of Alsace and part of Lorraine and the fortresses of Metz, and Thionville, and Strasburg. Such is the cost of a modern national surprise, and yet in the spring of 1870 every one talked of peace. France was supposed to be a leading military nation. France is a fine power, with a splendid history and unexampled recuperative energies, and in spite of its losses still stands up straight. Most nations, after such an experience, would have fallen into the dust, and remained in the dust for generations.

My Lord and Gentlemen, I have trespassed too much on your time. The subject is one of surpassing interest, and I am pleased to be able to say that as many examples of successful surprises could be culled from our history, in regard to wars in every part of the world, as from the history of any Continental state. Nor do I think that our officers and men, now that our people are beginning to learn their value, to appreciate them, and to try to encourage them and to compel the War Office to tell the truth and to keep faith with recruits, will do worse than in the past.

But security is mortal's chiefest enemy;" let us avoid careless self-confidence. National prosperity is too precious to be left to chance; we pay a sufficient price for insuring our private houses, let us gladly contribute sufficient funds for insuring our nation's home. I cannot too often repeat the teachings of the Elizabethan school, and of the Pitts, that a good navy and a sound race of military men are the only national insurance for any state.

Rome could hold on a century or two; Constantinople held on several centuries. France could stand crushing defeats for six months. We would be utterly ruined under similar conditions in three months; therefore, we must never be surprised. It is true that we have a watery wall; but Byron warns

the United Kingdom-" In the fall of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall." Think of the £1,200,000,000 per annum of wealth floating in British vessels on every sea. Think of our 360,000,000 subjects in foreign lands, whose future is identified with ours, and whose social ruin would follow a serious disaster to our forces. Think of the fierce and uncultured wild races of Africa, whose salvation, as Mr. Bigelow declares, can come from us and from us only. Think of the crowded myriads by the banks of the Ganges, who from time immemorial have been the creatures of stereotyped superstition, with active minds in feeble bodies -and thus perforce submissive to the extremes of tyranny and savage brutality, from which they can be protected by British soldiers only. Think of the mighty cities which, in less time than the Psalmist's spell of human life, have been planned and built by British enterprise at the mouth of the West River, in the Malayan Peninsula and on the Irrawaddy. We have to guard them from internal discord and external force. Can the nursing mother of that fine young nation that stretches from the mouth of the St. Lawrence to Vancouver's Island, and of states rapidly rising to manhood in Australia and New Zealand, forget her duty to so noble a progeny? By the banks of the Nile the skill of British officers recalls the beneficent foresight of those Pharaohs whose works of irrigation, now being repaired, are not less wonderful than the Pyramids and the Sphinx. The Genius of Liberty, supported by British naval and military forces, has again elevated the Egyptian working man, and endowed him with prosperity

and hope. The same good Genius, under the same guidance, is about to take her flight over the wasted and half-depopulated Soudan; we can almost hear the flapping of her wings.

A national surprise, therefore, to these imperial isles would be promptly followed by waste and war, horror and dismay, among many races of mankind. We cannot be untrue to ourselves without being false to humanity. I am no advocate of extravagance. I know the dangers of over-taxation; but I also know that it would be far better that we should be as heavily taxed as were our ancestors from 1800-1815, and better far to have a National Debt as heavy as it was in 1856, rather than to fail behind our rivals on any sea, or to lose any part of our Empire. Better war to the knife than ignominious surprise and well-merited defeat, in spite of the warnings of all prudent thinkers of every age and every nation. We can hold our own; let us resolve to do so. I know that my audience do all that they can by way of precept and example. Every man who dons the national uniform sets a good example; but our party politicians and the masses of our folk have lived so securely for such a long period of peace, and they are so badly educated in military history, that they have a very vague notion of the conditions upon which depend the "True greatness of kingdom and estates." War is terrible, but can be sublime. The fall of a state through cowardice and indolence, or false philosophy, or cant, or hysterics, is even more terrible; and for a nation to be surprised out of its eminence is worse than terrible-it is despicable. -National Review.

It is now twenty years since the Act of Sir Selwyn Ibbetson was passed, and Epping Forest was formally made over to the public forever" as an open space for recreation and enjoyment. The passions which were aroused by the angry controversy and costly litigation

preceding this event have now cooled down. All agree that Epping Forest has proved a boon of priceless value to its new owners, and particularly to the hard-working population of the East End. End. On a holiday the poorest dock laborer has an estate to which he can

be transported at the cost of a few coppers, and where he can refresh himself with pure air and exercise and with the sights and sounds of nature. That he thoroughly appreciates the advantage is best proved by the following figures, kindly supplied to the writer by the Secretary of the Great Eastern RailLast year (1897) the number of passengers conveyed to the various stations on Epping Forest on the four holidays were as follows: Easter Monday (April 19), 42,864; Whit Monday (June 7), 51,356; Jubilee Day (June 22), 37,300; August Bank Holiday (August 2), 54,395.

way.

The total, it will be observed, is, in round numbers, 186,000. But this does not represent the whole of the visitors. Any one stationing himself on the beautiful road that runs (with forest on either side) from Whipp's Cross to Woodford will see a strange procession of vehicles streaming from town in the morning and back at night; carts, gigs, delivery vans, omnibuses, coaches, donkey carts, every kind or variety of conveyance that may be owned or hired; they are all crowded with men, women, and children. The holiday-makers do not "take their pleasures sadly" on the contrary, they adopt every known device for quickening gayety. They sing those merry They sing those merry songs that delight the music-hall audiences of Poplar and Whitechapel; whoever has a concertina or a clarionet or any other wind instrument brings it and blows-music, I was going to write, but forbear. The Bank Holiday crowd is not calculated to please fastidious eyes or ears, yet no one who thinks of the real change and health-giving en joyment the occasion offers those who have little of either in their lives, will do more than smile at the odd forms in which pleasure is expressed. There is little that is really wrong in the conduct of the excursionists. At the end of the day"the last load whoam" may consist of a few excursionists not quite so well-behaved and sober as they were at starting, but every competent observer will admit that the tendency of the holiday-makers is to go in less every succeeding year for drink and rowdyism, and more for innocent amusement. In fact, if all things be taken into con

sideration their usual surroundings, the change and relaxation, the stimulation of company, and the temptations on the way-it must be admitted that their behavior is very good indeed.

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All the same, they have their own way of "taking the pleasure of the country.' There are high fliers and merry-go-rounds, and steam bicycles running to the music of steam hurdygurdies, and donkeys and ponies and koker-nut" shies which delight them more than green thicket or bosky glade. A good thing, too! If fifty thousand East-enders took to investigating the woodland recesses, what a time the deer would have of it! In point of fact, one may walk the more secluded and beautiful parts of the forest without seeing any sign of the crowd, with nothing to prove its presence except "its long withdrawing roar" and the noise of musical instruments, which is by no means disagreeable when softened and mellowed by distance. And, after all, the main point is being achieved, since the merry-makers, whether they rollick on a donkey's back or are tossed to the tree-tops in what Scotch children call shuggyboats," are drawing in a supply of the wholesome woodland air, "worth sixpence a pint," as somebody remarked of Lord Tennyson's downs. I rather like to walk in the Forest at the close of such a day, especially if it be in May or June. The silver moon is not so bright as to disclose the empty bottles and sandwich-papers strewed by the visitors. Nightingales that one expected to have been terrified from their haunts flute their rich deep songs from bushes close to the caravan and merrygo-round, and the Forest resumes its peace and calm, just as if there had been no human disturbers. From a distance do, indeed, come many incongruous sounds-drunken human voices, concertinas out of tune, cornets tipsily blown; but they only seem to remind us that ugliness and discord and squalor, as well as beauty and passion, harmonize into life, which includes the stars as well as the barrel-organ, the nightingale as well as the coster and his "donah."

After all, however, there are only three Bank Holidays in the year (Christ

mas does not count much in the Forest), and two are often wet. On every fine day from June to September a private trip of some kind arrives: now the beanfeast of a factory or the "wayz goose" of "a chapel'-a printers' chapel, I mean; most frequently of all a band of school-children. It would be difficult to imagine a more suitable place for such excursions; here is water to row in, wide spaces for games and pastime, shady groves for summer picnics, and woodland paths on which to ramble. There are very few country children who enjoy equal advantages. Epping Forest is an estate of consider able size, containing as it does 5,500 acres of mixed open and woodland. It has been the aim of those who manage it to reproduce as far as possible the former wild conditions. At the time when Mr. Shaw Lefevre and others took the matter in hand it was being utterly destroyed. The right of lopping had been so vigorously exercised that, except in one or two groves, every tree had been decapitated. Some people profess to discover a sort of beauty in the distorted shapes assumed by the pollards-especially the hornbeams after this treatment, but a natural taste will scarcely admit it. A typical Forest pollard is a gnarled and empty shell, with a crown full of mouldering dust, and perhaps a honeysuckle or a briar growing out of it with long, trailing vines, while generally a draping of ivy half conceals the trunk. Give Nature time, and she will make anything picturesque; but a natural tree is still the more beautiful, whether shooting up tall and straight among its Forest companions, or stretching out giant limbs in the solitude of a hedgerow. Yet again Nature finds many uses even for the pollards. In their chinks and crevices myriads of the great and blue tits -as numerous here as sparrows in the streets of London--find nesting places. The squirrels, if surprised in their frequent quests on the ground, pop into the larger holes, and wait till the coast is clear and they can scramble back to the higher trees, where alone they are safe. In the crowns many wild duck nest; during the breeding season one often sees the brown mother racing away from her nest at a speed that

seems quite incompatible with her dumpy body and short legs. Not infrequently, too, Reynard chooses one for his siesta, and sleeps heedless of the passers-by, unless some enterprising schoolboy should climb up and disturb him. The pollard, too, is a kind of natural flowerpot. By the rains of winter the wood in course of time is rotted into a most fertile mould; you can pour it out of the more aged when they are felled. Seeds of creeper and bush and fern, if carried to it by winds or birds, germinate freely; trailing boughs and green plants therefore draw their sustenance from the crumbling trunk. Close to High Beech is one such stump twelve or fourteen feet high, and itself long dead, and gray, and mossy. Out of the crown, as from a cup, grows a handsome holly bush, considerably larger than an ordinary Christmas-tree. No doubt, too, these rotting pollards are favorable to insect life. One winter day I saw a couple of workmen take no fewer than sixteen of the large and handsome caterpillars of the goat-moth from an old willow they were breaking up. They were offering to sell them at fourpence apiece, but did not seem aware that already some of the boy-collectors had been doing a little breaking-up on their own account, and were amply supplied with specimens. Indeed, those youths know well how rich the woodland is in moth and butterfly, and may be seen on summer holidays roaming far and near armed with net and poison-bottle. As it happens, Mr. Cole, curator of the recently established museum at Chingford, is a keen entomologist, and has got together an admirable and wellmounted collection, so that the young student is greatly helped to name and identify his specimens. In time perhaps we shall see an equally good representation of the birds, nests, eggs, reptiles, beasts, and plants of the Forest, as a well-equipped museum affords the most effective help to the study of natural history.

Another service performed by the pollards is that of affording sleepingplaces to the birds. To come down through the wood just as the darkness of a winter night is gathering is the best time for watching them all retire