she abandon her attitude of confirmed suspicion and hostility with regard to this country. It is difficult to withstand the evidence which is brought forward to support this contention. It is almost impossible, in face of the daily insults and malignant innuendoes showered upon us by the journalists of the four chief capitals of Europe, to feel that there is any hope of a change for the better in the situation. When we are told that such a movement as that we are now witnessing for expressing horror at the massacres of the Armenians is a crafty device on the part of English statesmen to enable them to carry out unobserved some secret plot of their own against the peace of Europe and the interests of Russia, it is almost impossible not to give way to a feeling of despair. How can we ever hope to be on good terms with those who misunderstand us so completely and so maliciously?

Yet it is well to bear in mind two facts that forbid this feeling of despair. The first is that not so many years ago it was this country which cherished an inveterate suspicion of Russia, and refused to believe in the goodness of her motives, no matter what might be the apparent worthiness of her actions. The other is that when we survey the history of Europe during the last forty years, we are driven, in common fairness, to admit that the Russians have some excuse for their present sentiments towards us.

During the greater part of the lifetime of most of us Russia has been the acknowledged bogey of the Englishman. Our older men remember the Crimean War, when we fought her openly, inflicting upon her enormous material injury and gaining for ourselves a victory that few of us now regard as having been worth the price paid for it. Since then we have been afflicted by recurrent panics, of all of which Russia has been the cause. On the Bosphorus, in Asia Minor, in Afghanistan, in Central Asia, she has been the nightmare of our dreams, for ever disturbing our rest and filling us with apprehension. How many names of remote Asiatic cities and passes have we not had upon our lips during the last thirty years, each one of which has seemed for the moment to be the final, long-sought casus belli, and not one of which the average Englishman, on searching his memory, could now recall? More than once during that period we have come dangerously near to war; and on one memorable occasion we seemed, as the late Earl of Derby declared, not to be drifting, as in the Crimean days, but to be positively rushing into such a conflict. When we look back we can all see for ourselves that not one of the matters which seemed at the moment to have so much importance-neither Merv, nor Kandahar, nor Herat, nor Penjdeh -was really worth the sacrifice of a single army corps. And yet for all these years we have honestly believed that each new crisis as it arose was to lead to the downfall of the British Empire unless we resisted Russia to the death.

And during all that period we have scoffed at the explanations offered by St. Petersburg, have persistently refused to believe in Muscovite good faith, and even when men like the late Emperor have taken steps to make that good faith indisputable, have hinted pleasantly that, after all, behind the Emperor there were other men not quite so scrupulous whom, autocrat though he might be, he was powerless to control. When we remember what our own attitude towards Russia was during this period in our history-a period which has only just been closed-we may possibly view with greater tolerance the present attitude of Russia towards ourselves.

But we are deeply and rightly hurt at the insulting imputations which it pleases the St. Petersburg and Moscow. Press to cast upon the genuineness of our pity for the perishing Armenians. It adds to our chagrin to discover that in Paris and in Germany the official view of the popular uprising in this country is practically the same as that taken in Russia. But can we find no cause or excuse for suspicions which every Englishman knows to be absolutely unfounded? For such an excuse we have only to go back for twenty years. September 1876 saw the United Kingdom convulsed by an agitation far more remarkable than that which we are now witnessing. Men of all classes and of both political parties joined in what seemed to be a holy war against the Sultan-the same Sultan who still sits in the Yildiz Kiosk, watching with cynical eyes that outer world in which he has never mixed. If one thing seemed certain after the memorable St. James's Hall Conference-greatest and most striking of all the public meetings this generation has witnessed-it was that Great Britain would never again stand between Abdul Hamid and his just doom, that Turkey would never again find protection under the shadow of the English flag, and that we would welcome gladly any hand that was stretched forth to save the Christians of the Ottoman Empire from their oppressors. In 1877 Alexander the Second took upon himself the task of rescuing Bulgaria from the assassins and ravishers of Asia Minor. He accomplished that task successfully at an enormous cost to himself. Russia was crippled for years by her campaign in the Balkans. What was her reward? She saw the Treaty of San Stefano torn up at Berlin, chiefly through the influence of England; she had to surrender almost everything she had gained; and she found that whilst she was thus despoiled of the fruits of her victory, Great Britain, under the Anglo-Turkish Convention, not only gave her guarantee for the safety of the Sultan's dominions in Asia Minor —that is to say, the territory most directly threatened by Russiabut carried off for her own benefit a substantial piece of loot in the shape of the island of Cyprus. I do not recall this old story for the purpose of raising a party controversy. Lord Beaconsfield's policy in those days may be left to the judgment of history. But is there any fair-minded man, whether he be a Liberal or a Conservative, who,

trying to put himself in the place of a Russian, and remembering the events of 1876-78, can feel surprised that Russia is distrustful of our present policy, and is even cynically unmindful of the protestations of absolute disinterestedness with which we accompany our expressions of sympathy with the Armenians? The misfortune is that, whether well or illfounded, so long as this is the temper of the Russian people so long as they believe in their hearts that Great Britain, whatever policy she may appear to be pursuing, is thinking only of herself and is chiefly desirous of procuring her own aggrandisement at the expense of her great rival in the East-there can be no real security for the peace of Europe, and the nightmare of constant anxiety must continue to weigh upon the statesmen of Great Britain.

Is it not time for us to do something to convince Russia that we have changed our views with regard to her position in Europe? That we have changed them is now recognised by everybody in this country. Whether the change is due to Mr. Gladstone's unceasing attempts, whilst he remained in public life, to convince his fellowcountrymen of Russian good faith, or to the logic of facts, or, as is more probably the case, to one of those psychological waves which from time to time affect the opinions of nations as well as of individual men, I do not pretend to say. But the change is real and unmistakable, and proofs of its reality may be gathered not only in Parliament, where the raiser of the Muscovite bogey is now a discredited personage, but in our newspapers and political clubs. The policy of the Crimean War-the war which ought never to have been waged-is dead. The policy of the Berlin Treaty is evidently moribund. It is hardly necessary to say in an English review that this country has never wanted Constantinople for itself. But every year that has passed since 1878 has witnessed an increased indifference in England with regard to the ownership of that great city. The common sentiment for some years past has been summed up in the words anybody must be better than the Turk.' The 'anybody' may not have consciously included Russia; nay, it may even consciously have excluded that particular settlement of the ownership. But the mere fact that the Turk should have been deposed from his old place in our favour as the necessary ally of this country on the Bosphorus, and 'the bulwark '-heaven save the mark!-' against the barbarism of the North,' speaks volumes to those of us who can remember the old days. He is no longer such a gentleman' and 'such a good fellow.' We have ceased to be anxious to furnish him with money, or to slobber over him at banquets and in newspaper articles. Our former idol has, in fact, been cast beneath our feet. This is undoubtedly a great change in public opinion, and it alone would make an arrangement with Russia not quite impossible—if only we could convince the Russians that the change is a fact.

The absolute ownership of Constantinople is a question far too

vast and complicated to be discussed offhand in these pages, but it is something to feel justified in saying that Great Britain would be able to approach the discussion of that question with a comparatively open mind, and that she would certainly not seek to resist any conclusion regarding it which the other Powers of Europe might arrive at. It has, in fact, ceased to be a question of paramount interest to this country, and we are in consequence able to consider it dispassionately, if not absolutely without prejudice. We know that at this moment Russian influence is paramount at Constantinople. Of that fact we have had during the past twelve months conclusive evidence. But where are there any signs of a revival of the old feeling of panic because this is the case? Twenty years ago the country would have been convulsed with anger and filled with apprehension if it had learned that the English ambassador had ceased to be a power at the court of the Sultan, and that the representative of Russia was supreme. This is what has happened now, and yet nobody troubles, nor does anyone raise a cry of alarm. The sole regret of the people of Great Britain appears to be that, having secured this overwhelming influence in the counsels of the Sultan, Russia should be using it to such little purpose so far as the interests of outraged humanity are concerned.

As for the question of the opening of the Dardanelles, opinion in Great Britain, so far as it is possible to gather it, is still more complaisant towards Russia than upon the question of Constantinople. Experts, both political and military, have published opinions with regard to the effect of that measure which are decidedly reassuring. Our chief national interest in the Eastern Mediterranean is the Suez Canal. But apparently the judges on such questions agree in the conclusion that in time of war the Canal can be used by none of the Powers. That would have been a very serious matter for England five-and-twenty years ago; but now, with our triple- and quadrupleexpansion engines, we can in case of need do without the Canal and keep up communications with India as regular and as swift as those we had by way of the Canal only a few years back. No doubt the alliance between France and Russia is a very serious factor, affecting materially the question of the admission of Russia to the Mediterranean by way of the Dardanelles. But it is more serious for Austria and Italy than for England, and it is, at all events, one about which the British public do not seem particularly to concern themselves. Against any arguments founded on the Franco-Russian entente the average Englishman is disposed to set the enormous advantages that would be derived from a friendly understanding between the two greatest empires of the world-an understanding which would not of course be procured without some sacrifice on both sides, but which, if it were to be attained, would compensate both parties to it a hundredfold for all the sacrifices they might have made in arriving at it.

My purpose is not, however, to discuss questions, either of detail or of high policy, that can only be properly treated by those who have access to the most authoritative sources of information. It is rather to state what I conceive to be the present attitude of the people of this country towards Russia, and to show how real and how remarkable is the transformation that has taken place in public opinion since the days of the Berlin Treaty. Russia is at present bitterly hostile to us, though, as I have tried to show, she is not without some excuses for her hostility. So long as this feeling exists on her side, the peace of Europe must be in danger, while the Turkish assassin will continue to enjoy full liberty to carry on his devilish work against the Christians who lie at his mercy. But is it not possible that we may bring about a change in Russian feeling towards Great Britain analogous to that which has unquestionably taken place in British feeling towards Russia? Can we not convince the Czar and his people that there is on our side no desire to keep up the old antagonism at Constantinople? Taught by the bitter lesson of 1878, they suspect our intentions now, and foolishly delude themselves with the idea that our deep sympathy with the Sultan's victims -a sympathy which exists in every household in the land-is an artful piece of hypocrisy covering some scheme of selfish wickedness. If we can remove that delusion from their minds, if we can satisfy, not only the Emperor of Russia, but his ministers and his people, that they have nothing to fear from us so far as any designs antagonistic to Russian interests in Turkey are concerned, we shall have rendered the best possible service to ourselves and to the whole world. That we desire to draw nothing for ourselves out of the seething cauldron of intrigue and passion at Constantinople, that our interest in the Armenian question is absolutely generous and unselfish, and that we would infinitely rather see Russia undertaking the chastisement of the Sultan single-handed than see that task unattempted, are, I believe, sentiments common to the overwhelming majority of the people of this country. But are they sentiments which are shared by Lord Salisbury and his colleagues? That, after all, is the crucial question so far as the establishment of better relations between the two governments is concerned.

At present the Russian people stand upon the unpleasant memory of the Berlin Treaty, and with that memory enshrined in their hearts they listen with sullen indifference to the cries of distress which reach them from Turkey. If we could pluck that memory from their breasts, if we could give them reason to feel confident that if they undertook, either single-handed or along with others, the work of liberation and chastisement in the dominions now given over to the Sultan, they would not find that when the work was done England would snatch the fruits of victory from them, they might assume a different and nobler attitude, and the world might be relieved from