Yet the press

the lives of their sons and their brothers. has usurped an insidious sovereignty. Of course the people might prove its horror of shameless indiscretion by refusing to read a paper which was disloyal to the interests of the country. But our citizens are creatures of habit, and they do not easily change their journal. Nor is the offence new. Mr Delane set the fashion in the Crimean war, and to stultify a weak Government did not scruple to give the Russians valuable and acknowledged aid. But it is not by this outspokenness that we won our empire. Had Wellington fought with a mob of cor respondents and a telegraph-wire at his back, he would never have survived Torres Vedras; the Peninsular War would have been a pitiable failure; and the General himself would have been disgraced long before Waterloo was won. Yet how can we curb the journalist? How impose upon this irresponsible "patriot" the responsibility of his words and acts? By no means yet known to the law; and perhaps the method of Lord Roberts is bestsend him no news, and let him employ his ingenuity in idle conjecture.

Moreover, war is a dignified and serious enterprise which should be carried on with good manners and without levity. Where the lives of thousands and the fate of an empire are at stake, there is no room for insolence and fine writing. Yet the most of our war correspondents have neither the reticence nor the tradition which would enable them to give us a modest picture of the fray. They speak only in superlatives: it is always "a rain of lead" with them, or "a solid sheet of bullets." The casual incidents of the campaign are called terrible "reverses"; and we suffered a dozen "defeats" before ever we fought a battle. And when for a moment they lay aside their extravagance, they take it upon themselves to admonish their country. So we have seen the superb spectacle of a young gentleman, who once was an officer and might know better, advising Great Britain

not to relinquish the struggle, and asking in dismay, "Where are the fox-hunters of England?" This young gentleman need not be downcast; but his example, and the example of his colleagues and their employers, have convinced us that we cannot again trust to the dignity or to the patriotism of our press. From the outset of the campaign the journals did their best to make freedom of speech abominable; and it will be fortunate for us if we conduct our next war with the wires cut behind us, and all the correspondents kicking their heels at the coast.

MARCH.

THE French nation, changeful in all else, has remained for twenty centuries constant to its love of false news. Cæsar tells us how the ancient Gauls would A love of false news. stop any stranger to ask him whence he came, and what stories he had to tell. And while they would shift their policy at the first idle word spoken by a traveller, they made no attempt to distinguish between the truth and an uncertain rumour. Is it wonderful, then, that the strolling traders told them precisely those falsehoods which seemed to suit the Gallic temper? As it was in Cæsar's time, so it has always been. The French love of false news is as ardent to-day as it was then. From time to time philosophers have done their best to expose and correct it. Good Master Pantagruel, for instance, as we know by the 'Prognostication Pantagrueline,' set France a good example, which unhappily she did not follow. This discreet monarch posted certain worthy persons at the borders of his kingdom, who should examine into the truth of whatever rumours were brought to his people. But the Parisians, as we know them, have throughout their history well justified their name, which, being interpreted, means the Free of Speech. Their credulity is bounded only by their imagination: if others will not tell them falsehoods, they readily invent the lie which corresponds most closely to their aspiration. And since no censorship checks the sin of repetition, they freely repeat the lie to every idler that passes their way. True, the lie is soon forgotten, but that is from no lack of malice:

it perishes, without apology or regret, as soon as another, more gross and palpable, is found to take its place. The vice, a vice of folly and weakness, explains better than any political argument the present attitude of France; and we, recognising the amiability of our neighbours, may congratulate ourselves that the vice is hopelessly incurable.

Once upon a time, when France was marching to an easy victory over the forces of the German empire, a telegram was said to be posted up outside the Bourse. The front man in the crowd read (or thought he read) the news of a glorious victory. The word was passed behind him, and in ten minutes five thousand persons were prepared to swear that with their own eyes they had seen an actual confirmation of the splendid rumour. Of course there had been no victory: it is more than likely that there was no telegram. But the quick wits of Paris imagined a phantom message upon the wall of the Bourse, and were content. So lies succeeded lies, until the blood poured out by the Commune wantonly and hideously washed away the stain of falsehood. Again, whatever view we take of the pitiful affaire which so long divided France, one thing is certain-it was nursed and cherished in the lap of untruth. Two years ago it was France's point of honour to pin her faith to perjurers, and to applaud the sublime virtue of forgery. But though at times she has involved herself in her favourite vice, her best efforts have always been devoted to the discomfiture of those she deems her enemies, amongst the first of whom we are pleased to rank ourselves,

Why France hates England it is idle to inquire. It is enough to note that she hates us, and expresses her hate after her usual method-in falsehood.

bates

Why France In so doing she pays us the highest compliment possible, and it is not for us to repel her soothing flattery. If France may be believed, England has devilishly contrived all the evils that

England?

B

have fallen upon Europe since the ice age. We need not go quite so far back as that for our examples. The history of the last five or six years will yield us an abundant harvest. The Madagascar Campaign was a splendid opportunity for denunciation, and gossip was both busy and malicious. No sooner had France resolved upon her ill-fated expedition than the perfidy of Albion became apparent. The Minister of War having no ships at his disposal, was forced to borrow his transports in England, a compulsion which in itself was a clear proof of British duplicity. In the Mediterranean one of these transports broke down, and all the newsmongers in France drew their pens to declare that the accident was designed by the British Government. Nor was that all our sin: a club of sportsmen was formed in London, whose purpose was to arm itself with rifles of the newest pattern, and to stalk Frenchmen in Madagascar. It was a new sport, said the press, well adapted to those who are tired of big game. Now, this story, be it remembered, was invented not by a gutter-journal, but by the 'Figaro' itself, which pretends to hold aloft the banner of truth and good manners. We are not told that the sportsmen were discovered lurking murderously in the bush; nor do we suppose that the 'Figaro' deemed it worth while to correct its falsehood. But the fairy-tale was believed, and another drop of virus sped through the veins of malice.

England, in fact, if the Boulevards are to be believed, is an ogre of hideous mien, belching forth the fire of hate and destruction. It eats up India for its An unflat breakfast, and gulps Africa at its hasty lunch. tering portrait. It annexes countries merely to drive them to starvation. For instance, it is well known to Paris that when India some time since succumbed to famine, she got not one penny piece from England. The poor natives, whom we had deprived of sustenance by a policy of egoism, were saved from death by the gener