once the measure for which that urgency had been demanded. This would have been the true constitutional course; and if the provisions of the measure had afterwards appeared to be objectionable, no one could have blamed the Opposition for resisting them in every legitimate manner. This, however, has not been Mr Gladstone's plan. It is all very well for Mr John Mor-. ley to tell the South London Radicals that "no leader has ever been more unjustly charged than Mr Gladstone is now with lending himself to obstructive and factious devices." Will Mr Morly venture to say that no such devices have been attempted, and if so, what are we to think of the leader who has made no effort to prevent them, and has gone so far as to ask for more delay, after nine days' preliminary debate, upon a question of vital importance?

Of course this importance is denied, and the necessity of any such measure as that proposed by Government is treated in the same way. Just as Mr Sexton told Mr Gladstone in 1881 that there was no increase of crime to justify the measure which he then introduced, so Mr Gladstone tells us the same thing in 1887. In the assertion which he makes in a letter published in the Observer' of April 10, Mr Gladstone apparently disputes the statement of Mr Sexton, for he says, "It is the first time when coercion has been proposed for Ireland without an attempt by the Ministry to show, what we know they cannot show, a state of exceptional, flagrant, or growing crime." But, whether or no Mr Gladstone was able to show "an increase of crime" in 1881, it is a fact to be borne in mind that it was not only, nor even mainly, upon an increase of crime that he based his so-called "Coercion "

Bill in that year. Upon the 6th January he told the House of Commons that it was "the duty" of the Government "to state, in the most distinct terms, to Parlia ment and to the country," "what is the real state of the case which constitutes the justification for asking for those powers." "Our justification," he went on to say, "is, not that we have not sufficient police and military force at our command,-not that the stipendiary magistrates are unwilling to do their duty, but that whatever is done by them to give effect to the laws for the protection of life and property and to prevent illegal meetings is frustrated, and that we are totally unable to restore life to the administration of justice in Ireland through, not the difficulty, but the impossibility of procuring evidence." Let any fair man read these words, and afterwards read Mr Balfour's speech on introducing the Bill of the present Government, and ask himself how it is possible that the statesman who uttered the words can now be denouncing the Bill. Yet so it is: that which in Mr Gladstone is, we suppose, to be termed a generous and noble inspiration, but which in the case of any other living man would be called a factious and bitter spirit of partisanship, prompts him to denounce a measure less severe than one for which he has himself been responsible, as "the worst, most insulting, most causeless Coercion Bill ever submitted to Parliament."

These are the concluding words of the letter of Mr Gladstone to which we have just alluded, and we cannot avoid the remark that the epithets are much more applicable to the letter itself than to the Bill. For, save and except his wicked attempt to separate the "masses" and the "classes" (so

well described by Mr Goldwin Smith as a deliberate attempt to set class against class, and to poison the heart of society for a party purpose"), Mr Gladstone has seldom written more mischievous and unjustifiable words than those in which he has striven to excite the mining population of the North and the working men of London" against the measure of the Government. He is right when he says that there is a "question of shame and dishonour for England" in this matter, for dishonour and shame it would indeed be if the Parliament of Great Britain should be persuaded to refuse that protection to the law-abiding inhabitants of Ireland which is the real and simple object of the Government Bill. Well, indeed, did Mr Hobhouse write to the East Somerset Liberals as to the real difference between his own honest and really Liberal views and those of the men who are trying to drag the whole Liberal party at the heels of Mr Parnell, and seeking to reunite their broken ranks by the cuckoo cry of "coercion." They," wrote Mr Hobhouse, "object to the proposed coercion of criminals by the law. I object to the active coercion of law-abiding citizens in Ireland by intimidation, boycotting, and moon lighting;" and he goes on to tell a home-truth which we commend to Mr Gladstone's notice" The present struggle is not between Liberals and Conservatives, but between those who desire to make the Queen's Government possible in Ireland, and those who wish to render it impossible." This, indeed, is the issue which cannot be evaded, and to which Mr Gladstone will not succeed in blinding the people of Great Britain. During the earlier stages of the debate it suited his purpose to minimise the melancholy state in which Ire

land has been existing under the baneful rule of the National League, and even to make light of a cruel outrage upon a girl who had committed the crime of speaking to a policeman, because, forsooth, some crimes of a similar character had been perpetrated in the wretched days of 1798, and therefore it could not be charged that this was a crime newly invented by the present party of disorder! Again, he deemed it becoming to extenuate agrarian outrage, upon the extraordinary plea that it was not directed towards the abolition of rent, but only towards the lowering of rents unjustly high-as if the amount of guilt to be attached to an action in itself unlawful enfirely depended upon the result at which the perpetrator ultimately aimed by its commission.

But the utmost amount of oratorical artifice or argumentative finesse will not lead sensible men away from the plain issues which are before the country. It is easy, of course, to sneer at the instances of crimes quoted by Mr Balfour, which have been committed without detection of the criminal, and to call them "unauthenticated" because the names were not always given. No men know better than those who sneer, how terrible would be the risk of those who had ventured to tell the tale of their sufferings, if their names were publicly announced to the agents of that foul and lawless tyranny under which the loyal part of the Irish population are now so truly coerced. Here, again, the people of Great Britain will not be deceived, for they well know that a Minister of the Crown would never propose legislation to the British Parliament, unless supported by facts which he had taken care to verify beyond doubt—although, for such good reason as that to which we have alluded, he

earlier part, which is purely military, and by far the most interesting, treating of his gradual advancement till he receives his promotion. From that point he begins to fall. The author appears by this time to have exhausted his originality, and falls back upon the stock subject of his confrères, whose motto usually seems to be that it is no matter how dull a book may be, provided it be sufficiently indecent. We do not suppose that a French novelist of the present day, except with a very firmly established reputation, would venture to publish a book in which there was nothing risqué, but we may be allowed to regret that we cannot have one break in that long monotony of cheerless dirt which characterises contemporary fiction in France. So M. Hermant ploughs his way along through the mire till he shakes himself free at last, and regains his former liveliness and reality of description in the final scene of all, when Miserey, in the face of his regiment, is expelled

srom the army as unworthy to bear arms. He is marched along the head of the regiment, drawn up in line to witness his degradation.

"On the quay he turned right round as if he had been shot. They pushed him on, but it was impossible to make him go further. He stood fast like a stone built in to the pavement.

"The 21st marched past,—first the trumpeters, then the first troop, then the second, then the others, four abreast. The regiment passed before the barrack-square, under the kingly Miserey, proud as it stood long ago in glance of the Comte de Vermandois, triumphant as in the plains of Pacy. Miserey stretched out his hands to it one last time in despairing supplication. But IT passed inflexible, living and glorious, in the apotheosis of its sounding trumpets and its triumphal

flourishes."

We have scarcely touched at all upon the reigning school of French fiction in these notes upon some of the books of the day. It is an agreeable surprise even to the writer to find so many which can be handled without contamination.

It appears scarcely too much to say that the results of the winter campaign of 1886-87 in Upper Burma have fully equalled the most sanguine expectations of all who are most interested in the pacification of that country. The change that has come over its face during the past few months may reasonably be said to be a surprise, a pleasing surprise, to those who were eye-witnesses of its disturbed condition during the hot and rainy season of 1886, and who have since seen the flame of rebellion brought well under control by a brief but arduous and energetic campaign of barely two months' duration. I, of course, except from the number of those to whom this surprise has afforded gratification the rebel leaders themselves and their adherents. What a change has come over the spirit of their dream! A few months ago all, or almost all, was for them couleur de rose. To loot mails and convoys, ambuscade small bodies of troops, shoot down officers and men from almost inaccessible places in scarcely penetrable jungle, to rush on unprotected and weakly garrisoned posts, to shoot sentries at night, to fire and pillage villages friendly to or under the protection of the British forces, and massacre their inhabitants; to quarter themselves and their adherents on any unprotected village, extorting supplies, money, arms, and recruits, the penalty of refusal being death and destruction of property by fire or plunder; to make stern examples of those Burmans whom they deemed traitors to the national cause by putting them to the horrible death of crucifixion à la Burmese (it is to be feared that

this fate befel even one or two British subjects who were taken prisoners),-such were some of the main features of the existence of the rebel Burmese forces.

I say "rebel," because such is the term in vogue. But, as a matter of fact, up to the close of the winter of 1886-87, the annexation of Upper Burma was rather nominal than real. The brief lull that followed the occupation of Mandalay and the deposition of Theebaw in November 1885, followed by the peaceful visit of his Excellency the Viceroy of India in January and February 1886, was but a temporary delusion. The rebel leaders, who have now become notorious by their prolonged and successful resistance to British domination, no doubt required time to collect and organise their followers, and prepare a plan of operations. The fire of rebellion was but smouldering, and the august visitors from India had barely shaken off the Burmese dust (it really was dust then, though if the British soldier were asked for what Burma is most remarkable, he would say emphatically "mud ") from their feet, when it burst forth into a flame, strong, lurid, and menacing. From February to November 1886 almost every day was marked by some skirmish or engagement with the rebels. It has been the custom to designate the Burmese forces who took the field against us when King Theebaw's army was broken up, as dacoits. Such a term is erroneous. some of the Burmese leaders were dacoits under Theebaw's rule; but in taking up arms against the British army of annexation they

Undoubtedly

may reasonably be credited with at least partially patriotic motives. The British troops were very far from being invariably successful in these brushes. In many instances they were greatly outnumbered, in others hampered by the long and inevitably straggling convoys that they had to protect; and, further more, in almost every case where the rebels attacked or stood to fight, they were in a position naturally advantageous, hard of access, and from which a safe retreat was easily effected.

Those who have watched the course of the recent guerilla warfare in Upper Burma will have remarked that only on rare occasions did our troops succeed in inflicting heavy loss on the enemy. This is mainly due to the nature of the enemy's tactics. With the Briton victory means the capture or the successful defence of a position, coupled, if possible, with a minimum of loss to his own side, and a maximum of loss and demoralisation on that of the enemy. It may happen, however, that the losses of the victor exceed those of the vanquished. We all know the historic exclamation of Pyrrhus-"One more such victory, and I am undone!" The Burman has, and rightly, a very different object in view. It matters little to him who remains master of the terrain, provided he inflicts serious and sustains little loss. He is an adept in jungle warfare. He knows every track and bypath through his native forests; and with his small, wiry, scantily clad frame he readily evades the pursuit of the soldier or sepoy hampered with arms, ammunition, accoutrements, and somewhat cumbersome clothing. If it is a close thing, the Burman promptly abandons his arms. "relicta non bene parmula" that

The

seems to have weighed somewhat on the mind of Horace, conveys no sense of shame to the Burmese conception of honour and duty. With him all is fair in war, even a weaponless flight. His first motto may be "Slay;" his second certainly is "He that fights and runs away, will live to fight another day." It is in conformity with these principles that the Burmese never, or hardly ever, commit themselves to the defence of a position in which they can be surrounded and annihilated. Many and many are the carefully laid plans of continued operations for attack on Burmese positions that have been arranged, but few and far between are those that have been crowned with success. During the past year, any Burmese force occupying a position within possible striking distance of any body of British troops has almost invariably been attacked, and generally forced to withdraw.

But on whose side was the loss the heaviest? I fear on Our side often. It would be exceedingly interesting to peruse a Burmese account of the past year's warfare (were any such obtainable), with details of losses sustained and inflicted according to their reports. As it is, we have only our own reports—at least officially-to go upon. It is a well-known and quite irresistible tendency in warfare to minimise our own and magnify our enemy's losses. And yet how often we have seen in the account of an engagement with our Burmese enemy the statement, "enemy's loss unknown." The reasons for this absence of known loss are the following: in many cases the engagement resulted from a sudden attack, an ambuscade arranged by the Burmese. A column is marching along a narrow path or an open river