MORALLY considered, the British people are at this moment in a dangerous position. I do not mean that we are showing signs of moral decayfar from it. The danger lies in the circumstances in which we are placed. These circumstances are such as to confront us, at one and the same moment, with an easy and attractive wrong, and a difficult and rather repellent right. If we follow the line of least resistance we shall do the wrong thing. In order to do the right thing we shall have to be hard upon ourselves. The position I suppose is not unfamiliar to most of us as a matter of personal experience, and we know well how dangerous it is. At the present moment it confronts the nation as a whole. We are in presence of a strong temptation, yielding to which will inevitably put us in the wrong. If we are to do right we shall have to take courses which are outwardly and superficially not very attractive; indeed, quite the reverse. It is on occasions like this that the stuff of a nation's soul is put to the

test.

This, it will be said, is no new thing. All through the war we have had it dinned into us, in season and out of season, that the national soul was being put to the test. And have we not stood the ordeal well? Have we not emerged triumphantly? What better proof could you have that the heart of this people is sound than that afforded by its conduct during the last four years? And is not the time now come when we can afford ourselves

a moral holiday? Is the testing process to go on forever?

As a person who is not by nature a rigorist I should like to think that the long strain was at an end. I should be glad, very glad, of a moral holiday myself; but as a citizen of the British Empire I don't see my way to getting one just yet. The testing process through which we have passed during these years seems to me to have been leading up to a climax which is just beginning. We have not done with this experience, and shall not have done with it for some time to come. We are indeed approaching the critical moment, the chief danger point in the long trial; and one can only hope that what we have already endured in this way has seasoned and hardened us for the last great struggle. It will be mainly a struggle with ourselves, that is with a more formidable opponent than the external foe ever is or can be.

The war has left us possessed of a giant's power, and the question is whether we are going to hold and use this power for ourselves or whether we are going to hold and use it as a trust for humanity. We can do either but we cannot do both. If we choose to do the first, I know of no opposing power in existence at the moment, or likely to arise through any combination of States, that can effectively say us nay. Sea power is key power, and at the moment it is in our hands. Our navy has grown into what, taking it all in all, is probably the greatest force the world has ever seen. We have immense armies of brave and well

disciplined soldiers. The whole of the able-bodied male population is trained to the use of arms. We are replete with every kind of armament. We have built up a great military organization. We have acquired military experience and military skill to a degree unparalleled in our history. Our martial aptitudes were never in a higher state of efficiency. And above all we are victors; the instinct of conquest which is in the blood of our race has been refreshed by a great draught of victory. If we are so minded we can use all this to our own advantage. We can secure for ourselves the most favorable position in the trade of the world. In spite of the losses of the war we can make the British Empire richer than ever, and we can do so at the expense of others. We have the pick of the world's opportunities. Of course we should provoke opposition if we took them, but our power is such that we could make the opposer beware of us and nip his opposition in the bud. In short, we can, if we choose, play the part which Germany intended to play if she were to win the war. Need it be said that our salvation depends on our not playing it? But who will deny that the temptation is great?

I have never attached much importance to the saying that has been so much bandied about 'this war is to end war.' The truth is that every war that is waged makes war more difficult to abolish. It does so in many ways: by leaving grievances on the side of the vanquished; by prompting insolence and selfishness on the side of the victors; by creating vast armaments; by teaching the people the use of arms; by filling the atmosphere with martial influence and martial knowledge; by making war more familiar to the public mind. The horrors of war have always been known, but have never been an effectual deterrent, any

more than the fear of hell-fire, even where hell is seriously believed in, has prevented men from evil-doing; and the increase in the horrors, due to modern conditions of warfare, makes very little difference. The memory of horrors is evanescent and even when it is fresh makes less appeal to the imagination than is commonly supposed. The memory of warlike achievement is lasting, and acts as an incentive long after the horrors are forgotten. War, in fact, is a habit of States, and every fresh war renders the habit more difficult to shake off. It is with war as with all other habits- its tendency is to repeat itself, not to end itself. 'I will have one more throw,' says the gambler, 'and then I will never touch the accursed dice again. This last gamble shall end my gambling forever.' And yet we know very well that this 'last gamble' is precisely what makes it certain that his gambling will be resumed next day. So each war that is waged serves to strengthen the general body of the war-making forces and to deepen the grooves in which they run. A mere resolution 'not to do it again' is a feeble thing in comparison, and the fact that most of us are conscious of having made such a resolution should not blind us to the danger that lurks behind. Our habits may prove more powerful than our resolutions; and our habit just now is the habit of conquerors, which is not easily cast off. It would not be very difficult to go to war again. Psychologically it would be quite easy, and psychological causes have more to do with these things than political or even economic causes. We all remember how difficult it was in 1914, when the war habit had grown weak through disuse, to accommodate our minds to the fact that the nation was at war. How strange it seemed! Now the difficulty is to realize that we are at peace; and if

to-morrow the news came that we were in for another great campaign there would be none of that plunge into an unfamiliar world which most people found so difficult four years ago. Such things should not be lost sight of when we are considering the dangers of the time. The nations are talking of peace; but they are familiar with war. And familiar ideas are easily put into execution.

For these reasons I do not hesitate to predict that trouble would arise if Great Britain were to go to the Peace Conference possessed by the notion that she is going to make a good thing for herself out of a pacified world. There would be trouble among our own people to begin with. I see the announcement made by an eminent economist that Great Britain can now begin to treble her wealth production and income. Perhaps she can; but I doubt if our returning soldiers will be content to regard this as the cause for which they risked their lives; and I doubt if the mothers and fathers of the slain will like it any better. Even in one's self, after four years of ingloriously watching the sacrifice of others, one feels a little shudder at the prominence given to this kind of thing. It really looks at times as though, having the giant's strength, we meant to use it as a giant. Is that worthy of the glorious dead — of whom Mr. Kipling has chosen to say 'their names will live forevermore'? Is it not something of an anti-climax? These men did not lay down their lives for British trade. They died for Justice, and we owe it to them to see that Justice is established on the earth. It is not established yet. All that is accomplished so far is the overthrow of injustice; a great step towards the goal but not the goal itself. The work of our dead is not finished; it is just begun. It is handed on for us to con

tinue, which we shall not be doing by trebling the wealth production and income of the British Empire. If that is to be our dominant idea we may look out for the next war. It is not far off.

The victory we are now contemplating is a victory by Justice, for Justice and of Justice. If I had to make my choice I would lay the chief emphasis on the first preposition - by Justice. I am old-fashioned enough to believe that the secret of this victory lies with the 'power not ourselves that makes for righteousness,' and that we shall be well advised not to sound our own praises too highly. 'Not unto us, O Lord, but unto Thee.' It has been a most startling experience, a thing not to be understood offhand, but to be meditated meditated long and silently. The more one thinks of it, the more the feeling grows that Marshal Foch and the Prime Minister are not the last names to be named in this business. As a humble psychologist I could wish that the General Election had happened at some other time not at the time when quiet men want to meditate on the mighty works of the Lord, and on the desolations He hath wrought in the earth. The thing that has happened means so much that it runs a serious risk of meaning nothing

like the national debt. One needs a 'tranquil space' to take it in; and I for one harbor a little grudge against those who have plunged me into this new turmoil at the very moment when my soul was craving for quiet. The aspect of our victory which is most worth thinking about is not being thought about. Something else, a far lesser thing is being thrust into the foreground, and the thoughts which it prompts seem to let one down from the height of this great moment. Perhaps we shall do better later on.

Among the writers, the orators, and the poets of the time I listen in vain for

the voice that reminds us of what, to me, is the central truth of the whole matter the victory by Justice, the victory for which Justice itself must receive the praise. But looking through my Milton, who has been my chief war prophet throughout, I found the other day a passage which said what I wanted to hear. Probably the reader knows it, but it will do him no harm to see it once more in print.

Oh, how comely it is, and how reviving
To the spirits of just men long oppress'd!
When God into the hands of their deliverer
Puts invincible might

To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,

The brute and boisterous force of violent

men,

Hardy and industrious to support Tyrannick power, but raging to pursue The righteous and all such as honor truth; He all their ammunition

And feats of war defeats,

With plain heroick magnitude of mind
And celestial vigor arm'd;

Their armories and magazines contemns,
Renders them useless; while
With winged expedition,

Swift as the lightning glance, he executes
His errand on the wicked, who surpris'd,
Lose their defense, distracted and amaz'd.
Land and Water

After pondering this splendid passage I would suggest to the reader that by way of contrast he spend an evening with the books we were all talking about in the early days of the war, especially the German books on 'World dominion' and such like nonsense; or that other book of Professor Cramb's which underlined the German logic and gave some of us sleepless nights. How formidable it seemed at the time! Well, as I look back to those days what stands out most vividly in my memory is a certain 'plain heroick magnitude of mind' that shone forth in our leaders at the critical hour. From that day to this it has never deserted us. It has been the strength of our armies in the field and of our people at home. 'Plain heroick magnitude of mind,' which is another name for Justice, has won the war.

Such is the victory; and now we have to live up to it. To do so will tax to the uttermost the resources of the nation's intellect and of the nation's will. But all this will be vain unless it be built upon the rock. And the rock is 'plain heroick magnitude of mind.'

Punch

SOME day, no doubt, an illuminating record of what the War Office achieved in transforming this country into a great military power under the inspired, if unorthodox, leadership of Lord Kitchener, will make its appearance. The time has not arrived for divulging many matters in connection with its methods and its procedure. But a few tales of the lighter kind, and some experiences undergone in early days by an official who spent four years within its precincts and under its shadow, may perhaps be told even now without impropriety.

Called up most unexpectedly to preside over a very large and not unimportant military department in Whitehall when the mobilization summonses were issued, I found myself confronted at the very outset by an unexpected difficulty. Working on rollers on the walls of my spacious office there were huge maps of the prospective scenes of operations, and in particular there was one of vast dimensions portraying what even then was called the Western front. The Headquarters Staff of the Expeditionary Force thought fit to spend their time in my apartment, clambering on and off a table facing this map, discussing strategical problems in penetrating whispers, and occasionally expressing an earnest hope that they were not a nuisance. They were an intolerable nuisance, but one had to lie. What else could one do? Moreover, as hour to hour passed, and His Majesty's Government could not make up its mind to give the word 'Go' to the

Expeditionary Force, the language of its Headquarters Staff became well, the less that is said about that language the better. It was not easy to concentrate one's attention upon questions arising. in the performance of novel duties in a time of emergency under such distracting conditions, and it was a genuine relief when the party took itself off to France.

My responsibilities turned out to be of a most varied nature, covering pretty well the whole field of endeavor, from drafting documents bearing upon operations-subjects for the information of the very elect, down to returning to him by King's Messenger the teeth which a well-known staff officer had inadvertently left behind him at his club when returning to the front from short leave. The Intelligence Department was under my control, and this caused me to be much sought after in the early days-to be almost snowed under indeed with applications and recommendations for the post of 'Intelligence Officer.' Qualifications for this particular class of employment turned out to be of a most varied kind. One gentleman, who was declared to be a veritable jewel, was described as a pianist, fitted out with 'technique almost equal to a professional.' The leading characteristic of another candidate appeared to be his liability to fits. Algy, 'a dear boy and so good looking,' had spent a couple of months in Paris after leaving Eton a year or two back. This sounds terribly like petticoat influence; but resisting petticoat influence is, I can