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mitted to pierce the defences of that Sea Wall that for so long has been her salvation!

This, we may take it, is the commonsense view of our naturally conservative countrymen. If the Channel Tunnel alarms them now, what will our War Office say to the aeroplane? And what will the War Offices of other countries say to it?

They will say nothing, which is all they are capable of saying to any question that calls for a little foresight.

That colossal system of frontier fortification that has arisen throughout Europe will, with our "sea wall," or the "mountain walls" of Thibet, vanish before the coming of the aeroplane, and be heard of no more.

These changes will not come in one day however; the struggle between the airship above and the defences below will continue for a long period, the advantage tending now in one direction and then in another. As, however, inventions and improvements multiply, as the airship gets steadier in her flight, more controllable and able to rise to greater heights, so the defender will toil under increasing disadvantages until ultimately the aeroplane will be indisputably supreme.

When that time comes there will be several awkward questions to face. However powerful, for instance, the English aerofleet, there will be nothing to prevent a determined enemy making a night raid on London, a disaster too horrible even to contemplate. It will bring home to the most sheltered the grim realities of war. One can imagine our well-fed English citizen, free from conscription and ignorant of invasion, pausing a moment in his bellicose agitation and glancing apprehensively upwards at a passing shadow. By day and by night he will be in danger. The whole countryside

of a beleaguered city, and consequently we may look for a growing reluctance to war and a general diminution of patriotic ardor. It will be the most potent argument for peace possible, and even as the first instalment of flying will give pause to our armaments, so its advance will cry halt to war itself and later, I believe, will aid powerfully in its total abolition.

THE WIDER VIEW.

Beginning with the sixteenth century and greatly accelerated during the nineteenth, the tendency of our Western nations has been towards cosmopolitanism, a spreading abroad of general ideas and sentiments, accomplished by means of steamships, railways, and all that we know as modern civilization. Whether this will tend to the ultimate good of the world is a highly debatable point-whether, indeed, it is to the welfare of the white man at all, readers of Lafcadio Hearn will seriously question-but most social reformers will agree that it will be better when one tongue is known by all nations and one law is recognized everywhere, as is the case today, for instance, throughout the Russian and the British Empires.

When that day comes the field of operations will be clearly marked out. and all those problems with which the politician locally and the Socialist on a human scale are attempting to grapple will be cornered and taken in hand. To-day that is an impossibility, conditions vary so widely and change so rapidly. Our best efforts tend to ignore the Irish voter, or the Chinese laborer, or whatever other outside factors we can possibly shut our eyes to. But the next attempted Utopia will have to be a World State, and this is already recognized by many of our best thinkers.

Flying will enormously accelerate

will experience the agonizing suspense the spread of universal ideas. At pres

ent there are vast portions of the world untouched. We have only skirted the fringe of our mineral and agricultural riches, and enormous wealth awaits the pioneer in every direction.

We are attacking to-day such places as South America, Asia, and Africa in a more or less hesitating fashion. Some one discovers a mineral deposit rich enough to warrant a railway. Then come ships, a port, and finally a settlement with police and daily papers, and agricultural operations are set on foot, after which that part is supposed to be civilized. This is a very slow process however. Once we fly, and white man (or yellow) will be all over the show immediately. When it is possible to get from any one point to any other point of the planet, say in twenty four hours, things will move as they have never moved before.

Then will begin such a time as the world has never known or imagined.

Mankind has watched with stupefaction the opening up of the United States. Its rise from an unknown wilderness to the wealthiest of nations in a couple of generations gives one some idea of what is before us. What has happened on the prairies and in the mines of the Americas will take place all over at once. There will be a universal boom, and a sudden rising in the total wealth of the world.

What problems such a change may bring one cannot foresee, nor does it concern us here, but it will mean a casting loose of all the stable bonds and a shifting of all our ancient landmarks-it will be a universal revolution.

At times I am doubtful whether the airship has not come a century too soon. This present tendency of things is towards a growing understanding amongst the nations, and more important still, amongst the common peo

ple. Another hundred years along the same lines would see the goal much

nearer.

Already electricity and steam have brought the world into a possible compass. People are just beginning to realize the fact that war is a ruinous business for all, alike to the victor, the vanquished, and the spectator. They are dimly grasping the fact that several hundred million pounds blown into smoke in Africa, or Manchuria, represents a dead loss to the parties concerned, and further, as a depletion of the floating wealth of the world, a loss to all; and it is the growth of this' idea that will prepare the way for the abolition of war. This is one of the ideals of the future. Another century would, I believe, see this attained, together with much else that at present we regard as dreams. That century will be, however, a time of strife and of great transvaluation of Powers, and if, during these coming changes, such a revolutionary weapon as the airship should be available, it is impossible to foresee the result. It might upset, or wholly destroy, our present civilization, it may put back the clock of progress for a long time to come, and it will most certainly prove a vastly disturbing element.

The airship is here not perhaps commercially at once, but from the military point of view it is immediately upon us, and the other will follow. It is imperative, therefore, that attention should be drawn towards the questions that flying will bring in its train.

It may or may not be a great boon, we are quite unable to say which, but that will depend in a large measure on the way in which these questions are handled.

To England it is a question of paramount importance. Our colossal' fleet of ships, our world-wide commerce, and our far-reaching Empire, rest on a

most unstable basis--the Command of national welfare.

the Sea.

Englishmen are naturally conservative. It is their boast and rightly so, for it has been the main reason of their success as a nation-but occasionally it is a handicap. The prejudice displayed towards the motor, for instance, in contrast with the openmindedness of the French, told heavily against us in the commercial arena. A similar display of unchecked conservatism towards the aeronaut will hamper the advance of flying in this country, and will probably occasion the most serious damage to our The Monthly Review.

Forewarned is forewarned however. A thorough ventilation of the subject, a quiet discussion and an examination of the various problems before they are upon us, demanding solution, will allow us to deal with them when they do come on a sensible basis and in a comparatively reasonable state of mind.

It is with the object of provoking such discussion that this paper has been written, and should such a rational course be followed, we have nothing to fear but everything to hope for from the coming of the flying machine.

Bernard S. Gilbert.

ENGLISH ORAL TRADITION.

I have spent more than three years travelling about in England, as an American clergyman, and have taken duty-for longer or shorter periods— in almost every diocese.

In every parish I have visited, when time would permit, I have made a point of looking up the local oral traditions. There are very few written traditions, and these are, as a rule, cooked up more or less, and are therefore devoid of real interest and value. The difficult thing, of course, is to get the tradition at first hand; that is, in the regular channel of oral communication without any intermediary. For you cannot trust the parson or the doctor or any other educated man who may live in the village to tell you the exact truth about any tradition. the strange thing is that these educated people may live in the midst of the most interesting traditions for a lifetime without knowing anything about them. The farmer is the most likely person to put you on the right scent, but even he is not wholly trustworthy. It is to the plain, ignorant, stupid ag

And

ricultural laborer, and to the equally ignorant village tinker and mechanic that you must go for the direct and authentic line of tradition. And this is a most delicate business, for it is the nature of these shy folk to give you what you want, and it is astonishing what plausible stories they can improvise. In fact, they will be able usually to accommodate you with any kind of tradition you require; that is, if you, by your questions, give them any kind of a lead. You must therefore use indirection, must dissemble your real purpose and approach your subject in a way that will arouse no suspicion in the rustic mind that you are on the hunt for traditions. Above all, you must avoid, as far as possible, asking questions; for, however skilfully disguised, they are almost certain to give you away. The parson has more and better chances for discovering the true local traditions than any one else, for the reason that he can, if he be gifted with tact, cover his visits with a multitude of plausible pretences. The important thing is to

get your man-it is always a man, women are too garrulous to repeat what they have heard without giving their own emendations and glossesto talk, for this is the surest way to establish friendly relations with him. Any subject almost will serve your purpose, especially anything relating to the parish, the village, or the graveyard. For the most interesting and valuable bits of tradition are hidden away in the most unexpected holes and corners of the rustic mind, and drop out suddenly like pure nuggets of gold from some dull, hard, unpromising lump of quartz. There is a small round hole in a pane of glass in one of the windows of the room where I am at this moment writing. I felt certain the hole had been made by a bullet, but I had inhabited the apartment for nearly two months without asking any questions about it. This is in the town of Cricklade, Wiltshire, near the Gloucestershire border. It is situated on the banks of the Thames near "Thames Head," "and is of great antiquity," to quote from Kelly's Directory. In fact, the greatness of its antiquity no man knoweth, for it reaches back to "Brutus, who with his warlike Trojans took possession of the Island of Albion, and planted a Colony of Greek Philosophers on this spot and called it 'Grekelade.' ” However true or false this may be, there is no doubt about the ancient character of the town, and that it is the site of the first University ever established in England. Moreover, it is claimed that to this foundation Oxford University owes its origin. Of course, the Benedictines had a settlement here. The town now consists for the most part of one long, wide, irregular street, in which a market is held once a month, when cattle, sheep, and pigs are to be seen rounded up in front of every door from one end of the town to the other. And occasionally an adventurous cow, steer, or

pig bursts into the very bosom of a family circle. The house in which I am now lodged is at the north end of the town, where the street suddenly widens into a sort of public square. This square is occupied on certain festival days with merry-go-rounds, shooting galleries, cocoa-nut alleys, and the like national sports, from which the town receives a small revenue. I asked my landlady the other day if these sports were not a source of some annoyance. She waxed very hot in answering my question, and said they were not only a great nusiance, but a great danger, and, pointing to the small round hole in the window-pane, said that was done last Michaelmas by a bullet from a shooting-gallery just in front of the house. "But I should think you could stop that sort of thing?" I said. "No," she replied, "these people have the right to the use of the open space by the payment of a small license, and no one can prevent them, and we must take the risk and prosecute them individually for any damage they may do. That is what the police inspector says. But you can't get anything out of such vagabonds. Still, I think I know a way to prevent them coming here any more. I and my husband were both born in this town, and any one born in Cricklade has the right to sell any proper merchandise in the streets of any town in England and Wales without license, and we and Captain K(their next-door neighbor) are going to cover the square with tables during these festivals on the pretence of selling things. Of course, we shall have to offer something for sale." "How did the natives of Cricklade come by this special privilege?" I inquired. "It was given by royal grant to the natives of this town, because Cricklade gave refuge to a queen in distress." I was not and have not been able to learn either the name of the queen or the

nature of her distress; but this gave me a scent which I have followed pretty closely, and while I have learned nothing more concerning the incident itself -for the clergy, the doctor, the squire, and all the other members of the gentry were wholly ignorant of the tradition, had in fact never heard of it before, yet-and this is the interesting feature-I have made sufficient investigation to learn that this merely oral tradition, hundreds of years old and without any documentary evidence to support it, will, if evoked, hold good today, at least in Cricklade, and my landlady's citizenship will stand her in good stead. This oral tradition is therefore at least of some real value to her, whether true or false. That it is true I have not the slightest doubt, and I offer the following explanation for what it is worth. There is a farmhouse in this town, which I can look upon from my back window, that has always, time out of mind, supported the lordly name of "Abington Court." When or why this grand name was given to a mere farmhouse, and, as at present seen, a very ordinary one at that, no one here seems to know, or to be curious about. The present family have occupied it for more than sixty years as tenant farmers. The house and a large portion of the farm are beautifully situated on the south side of the winding Thames. Now, there is not only tradition but documentary proof that here in Cricklade was at one time a royal huntingbox, and that Charles the Second was the last sovereign to occupy it. "Abington Court" figures in the Court records of those times, and the site of this farmhouse would have certainly been the most desirable spot in this neighborhood, and for miles around, for a royal seat. This fact of itself, together with the name "Abington Court," which has always been associated with the place, is worth something in an argument which endeavors to establish the ancient

site of the royal residence. But "Abington Court" boasts of a royal bedstead, which I have seen, and in which I implicitly believe. It is a large fourposted solid oak bedstead, with a heavy oak covering, or "canopy," if this word can be properly made to apply to material so substantial. The head board is high, reaching in fact to the top, and is very elaborately and artistically carved, as is also the canopy and the posts. The footboard is lost. This bedstead has always belonged to this farmhouse Abington Court, as it is called. I made an offer to purchase it, but was told by the farmer that it was a part of the estate and could not be alienated. "Was there any writing to that effect?" I asked. "No, but it was quite well understood," was the answer. This is all mere tradition, but when taken together with all the other circumstances-with the beautiful situation on the Thames, the princely name, and the historical fact of the royal hunting-box-it furnishes almost the last necessary link in a pretty strong chain of evidence that goes to show that "Abington Court" was once a royal abode. If, then, this chain hangs together, without much tinkering, as I believe it does, we have established our major premise, namely, that Abington Court was once a royal seat. That much we shall now at any rate assume as proved, and from this it is not a very wide nor wild leap to the conclusion that once upon a time a queen gave birth to a child in the town of Cricklade. And this I take to be the meaning of the tradition that this town gave refuge to a queen in distress, and that this interesting event caused the king to decree that all the native citizens of this place should be for ever at liberty to sell, without license, any and all articles of merchandise throughout England and Wales. Moreover, I have come upon some small traces of a tradition that the royal

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