no means abashed at this galaxy of talent. He treated the correspondents with the same indifference wherewith their colleagues have been treated in Manchuria. He told them nothing, and he asked nothing of their favour. M. Witte took another course. He seemed to regard the Conference in the spirit of farce. Peace with Japan appeared to be not so much his object as a friendly understanding with America. No sooner had this representative of a stiff-necked bureaucracy, which refuses to recognise the mere existence of the people, set foot on American soil, than he became the wildest democrat of them all. With a gesture, which has no doubt endeared him for ever to Mr Chesterton, he kissed a railway guard soon after his arrival. It was an intrepid achievement, and within an hour the news of it had travelled over a thousand wires to the uttermost parts of the earth. We can find only one objection to it-its brilliance made an anticlimax inevitable. He kissed a railway guard! These burning words should be graven on the tomb of M. Witte, when-at a far distant date, we trust-the common doom overtakes him. He, the aristocratic servant of the Czar, the contemner of democracy, the stern enemy of the people, kissed a railway guard! To say that it won him an instant popularity is to understate the truth. In a minute the evil influence of Count Cassini was forgotten. In that one kiss the memory of Russia's sufferings faded away, of the people mown down in

the street, of the hard-hearted Grand Dukes. But M. Witte had made his own task doubly difficult. What could he do to sustain his reputation? To sit in his shirt-sleeves was a happy thought. Still happier was it to visit the East Side without detectives. To give away the secrets of a confidential discussion to the Press might have made the fortune of a less skilful diplomatist. But the guard had already been kissed, and M. Witte must ever rest upon his laurels.

In all these antics Baron Komura could take no part, and he still more desperately injured his chances of success by insisting that the discussions which take place between himself and M. Witte should be private and unreported. For, if we may believe the 120 special correspondents, "success " is to be found not in a lasting peace, but in the approval of the Press. It is clear that Russia never entertained any doubt as to her mission. At all costs she would win the favour of America, even if she were compelled to violate her oath of secrecy by the way; and the dignity of Japan gave to M. Witte and his colleagues an obvious advantage. The Japanese, says an eminent newspaper, "have for the moment checked, or diverted, or diminished that full current of American sympathy which till last week flowed steadily on in one free channel all the way to Japan herself. There are here about 120 Press representatives, of whom perhaps 100 are for American journals. With

scarce an exception they were, when they came, pro-Japanese. To-day, with scarce an exception, they have come under Russian influences-not wholly, of course, but to a certain extent. Nine-tenths of the news they have been able to send has come from Russian sources. Is it strange that their feeling towards Russia is kindlier than before?" We quote this amazing pronouncement in humble admiration. It is a frank confession, which reveals the vices of the special correspondent in far clearer terms than the harshest critic would dare to use. When the Press representatives went to Portsmouth, they were one and all pro-Japanese. But the Japanese refused to give them the news to which they believed themselves entitled, while the Russians broke a solemn pledge rather than disappoint them. And the Press representatives soon entertained a kindly feeling towards their benefactors. Was ever a more monstrous bargain hinted at? Truth and honour are as nothing. You give me news, says the correspondent, and I will sing your praises. Withhold news from me, and I will transfer the sympathy I feel for you to the other side. We cannot but be grateful for the cynicism which thus admits us to the innermost secrets of journalism, and our readers will share our surprise when we remind them that the passage we have cited is taken not from a flagrant example of America's Yellow Press, but from the stately columns of our own Times.'

And yet, in spite of 'The

Times'' heavy admonition, Japan is in the right of it. Baron Komura did not go to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, merely to hear the applause of 120 Press representatives. Even if the 120 insult him with one voice, it cannot injure his cause, since peace or war is decided, not by the newspapers, but by the ministers of Russia and Japan. Diplomacy by journalism is at present no more than a vain dream, and until the dream becomes a reality we need not trouble our heads about the opinion of those who, by the confession of the most distinguished among them, give their sympathy where they find their news. Meanwhile, the Japanese, undeterred by pressure from outside, are upholding the interests of their country, and it is impossible that in the last resort M. Witte's patronage of the Press should win him a single point. But there is one warning which all nations may take from the proceedings at Portsmouth, New Hampshire: never hold a Congress upon American soil. A country which cannot protect two august plenipotentiaries from the unwelcome attention of 120 "representatives of the Press " is no place for a diplomatic conference. When, more than thirty years ago, a Congress met at Berlin, the whole of Europe had an interest in the result. But the members of the Congress were permitted to do their duty without blackmail or scandal, and M. de Blowitz's escapade was the only blot upon Я perfectly dignified proceeding. However, the last strongholds

are surrendering one by one, and to-day not even ambassadors can exclude the encroaching enemy from their walls. In old times a frivolous crowd of courtiers gave an air of gaiety to the deliberations of statesmen, and while they relieved the tedium of discussion, they were incapable of surprising secrets or of betraying their friends. "Le Congrès marche pas," said the Prince de Ligne at Vienna, "il danse." And is it not a thousand times better to dance than to listen at doors or to hang upon the indiscretions of a secretary?

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M. Witte, though trained in the strictest school of diplomacy, does not assume the dignified attitude of Baron Komura. From the very beginning he has made what use he might of the 120 Press representatives. He has encouraged them to play his own game of bluff, and they have had no difficulty in picking up the rules. In the first place, they announced to the whole world, on the highest authority," that Russia would neither pay a kopeck nor cede an inch of territory. If this were true, it is difficult to see why M. Witte crossed the Atlantic-unless, indeed, he wished to pay a delicate compliment to Mr Roosevelt, who, by inviting the plenipotentiaries to America, has stolen a long march upon William II., his one and only rival. For if Russia declines to acknowledge herself beaten, then she will assuredly obtain no peace at the hands of Japan; and if she wants no peace, she might as well have kept her representatives at home. In truth,

if M. Witte is not using the Press to conceal his real purpose, the Conference of Portsmouth will end, as it began, in farce. One thing is perfectly certain, which is, that Japan will sacrifice none of the advantages she has gained for the sake of a premature peace. Russia is beaten by land and at sea; her Baltic fleet, which was to retrieve the disasters of her army, is destroyed; and Japan, strong in the skill and courage of her soldiers, strong in the support and affection of her people, has no motive to sign a peace, except upon her own terms.

But the Conference at Portsmouth has not been held in vain. It has proved that the old world may pay too high a price for the gratification of Mr Roosevelt's vanity, and it has raised the question once again of the part which the Press should play in peace and war. During the last half century the power of the newspaper has enormously increased, and it is as well that, from time to time, we should realise the risks that we are running. Once upon a time the Press was the servant of the people. It sold the news which it collected, and was content. Now it aspires to be our master, and, as we have pointed out, openly boasts that it will favour those who give it information. Japan, then, deserves serves the gratitude of the whole civilised world for excluding war correspondents from her camps, and for forbidding her journalists at home to give any other than official

news. She has shown that war may be conducted without the intervention of inexperienced reporters and the other campfollowers of falsehood. And she has spared her soldiers the risk of being sacrificed to the enemy through through information supplied by her own journalists. Of Japan's wisdom there can be no doubt. It would be better that every newspaper in the country should perish for lack of copy than that one soldier should fall into the hands of the enemy through information hastily gathered and indiscreetly printed. The Russians, in their desire to be the friends of all men, have not matched the Japanese in discretion. The disposition of their army in Manchuria, its strength and its weakness, have recently been described by a French correspondent with a minuteness that was surely of the greatest service to Japan, and it is difficult to exaggerate the wickedness of such outspoken criticism. Warfare is not a game of cricket. It is a serious pursuit, upon which depend the lives of men and the existence of empires. What, then, shall we say of the levity, the curiosity, or the greed of those who, for the sake of an exclusive telegram, will endanger the lives of their fellows and the supremacy of their fatherland?

The warning which we received in South Africa should range us upon the side of Japan. But it is not enough to hold a strong opinion; we must insist that, if ever we go to war again, the Government shall safeguard our soldiers by

legislation.

With one voice the country is demanding a reformed army. That army will be of small profit to us if our journals inform the enemy how large it is, and where it may be most readily surprised. To legislate in a hurry upon so grave a question will not be easy, and we trust that members of Parliament will be found disinterested enough to press it consistently upon our Ministers. It will not be a popular enterprise, for the journals have a simple method of revenge upon those who would curtail their privileges. But we are sanguine enough to believe that the example of Japan has not been set in vain, and we have every confidence that the wiser of our journals will act in good faith, when once their editors understand the impending danger.

Not long since Lord Ellenborough called attention in the House of Lords to this risk of disseminating news in time of war, but his warning fell upon deaf ears. Lord Selborne, admitting that the problem was of the greatest difficulty, declared that it could only be solved with the collaboration of the Press. We might just as well undertake a revision of our criminal law on the advice of the professional housebreaker. If penalties are to be imposed upon the Press, the Government must discover those which it deems suitable, and not ask the possible culprit what punishment he would prefer.

Moreover, the case against the journals is overwhelming. Ever since the Napoleonic wars our British

a letter written in September 1805, Nelson urged that the publisher of The Gibraltar Gazette' should be forbidden to mention his force. "I much fear," said he, "that if the enemy know of our increased numbers, we shall never see them out of Cadiz." But the harm was done, 'The Gibraltar Gazette' had babbled; and but for the peremptory orders of Napoleon, the French Admiral would not have risked the battle. Wellington complained yet more bitterly and with better reason. While he was fighting in the Peninsula he sent a newspaper to Lord Liverpool, which gave an account of his works, "the number of men and guns in each, and for what purpose constructed." Lord Liverpool does not seem to have taken a sufficiently grave view of the outrage, and Wellington protested again with some

scorn.

"It may be very right," said he, "to give the British public this information; but if they choose to have it, they ought to know the price they pay for it, and

the advantages it gives to the enemy in all their operations." That is excellent sense. If the people insists upon news to which it has no right, let it know what it pays in blood and money for the ill-omened privilege.

In Wellington's time journalism, as we know it today, did not exist, and he never knew its full possibilities of evil. It was the Crimean War which first discovered the danger in all its naked horror. Sebastopol was fortified in obedience to the French and English Press, and all the hardships of that heroic siege may be put down to the levity of newspapers. But it is idle to multiply examples. At Sedan, as in South Africa, there is the same story to tell of recklessness and indiscretion. Blood is spilt and lives are wantonly sacrificed for this miserable itch of curiosity. The aid of telegraphy has increased the danger twentyfold, and we trust that when the affairs of the army are next considered by Parliament, our soldiers will be protected against the well-meant treachery of our journals. As we have said, the example of Japan is of first-rate importance. In war, as in peace, she has defended herself against babblers and eavesdroppers. And nobly is she justifed of her caution. At Portsmouth she has saved herself from a farce; in Manchuria her wisdom has avoided a tragedy. It is not enough to praise her prudence and fortitude. Let us take courage ourselves and follow her example.