And since the outbreak of the late war, at any rate, the English do not speak of soldiers, but of Tommies; and the principal English poet has gone farther, and dubbed them Absent-Minded Beggars. Since the outbreak of the war, too, it has been necessary to issue from time to time words of caution to the great English public. Lord Roberts--"Little Bobs," I suppose, I should call him, in the choice English fashion--has on two or three occasions deemed it advisable to let it be known that his desire was that the great English public should discontinue the practice of treating Cape-bound or returned Tommies to alcoholic stimulants, and substitute therefor mineral waters or cocoa. This was very wise on Little Bobs's part, and it has no doubt saved at least two Cape-bound or returned Tommies from the degradation of an almighty drunk. I mention this because it illustrates in an exceedingly quaint way the attitude of the English towards the soldier. When there is war toward, the soldier is absolutely the most popular kind of man in England. In peace-time an English soldier is commonly credited with being socially vile and unpresentable. There is a popular conundrum which runs, "What is the difference between a soldier and a meerschaum pipe?" and the answer, I regret to say, is, "One is the scum of the earth, and the other the scum of the sea." Tommy's place in the piping times of peace is just at the bottom of the social ladder; there he must stay, and drink four ale, and smoke cheap shag, and sit at the back of the gallery in places of amusement. Then war comes along, and the English bosom expands to the sound of the distant drum, and to the rumour of still more distant carnage. Who is it that's a-working this 'ere blooming war? Blest if it ain't our old friend Tommy Atkins! Fetch him out of the four-ale bar at once. The nation's heroes have no business in four-ale bars. The saloon bar is the place for them, and the barmaid shall smile upon them, and they shall have free drinks and free cigars till all's blue; for they are the nation's heroes, and they deserve well of their country. Furthermore, if they wish to visit those great and glorious centres of enlightened entertainment commonly called the Halls, they shall no longer be stuffed obscurely away in the rear portion of the gallery, but they shall come out into the light of things; they shall come blushingly and amid acclaim into the pit or the stalls, or, for that matter, into any part of the 'ouse. Throughout the war this has been so. It was so till yesterday. But the ancient English smugness has begun to assert itself once more; and Tommy--dear Tommy, God-bless-you Tommy, in fact--finds staring him in the face, as of yore, "Soldiers in uniform not served in this compartment"; "Soldiers in uniform cannot be admitted to any part of this theatre except the gallery." The English Kipling hit the whole matter off in his vulgar way when he wrote _Tommy_: