I went into a theatre as sober as could be; They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; They sent me to a gallery, or round the music-'alls; But when it comes to fightin'--Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls! For it's Tommy this and Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside"; But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide-- The troopship's on the tide, my boys--the troopship's on the tide Oh! it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide. We were told that this war, if it were doing England no other good, was at least bringing her to a right understanding of the soldier-man. It was teaching her to take him by the hand, to recognise in him a creditable son and an essential factor in the State. It has ended in the way in which pretty well every English revival does end--namely, in smoke. Though England has as much need of the soldier and is as much dependent upon him for peace and security as any other nation, she has never been able--excepting, as I have said, in time of war--to bring her greedy mind to the pass of doing him the smallest honour or of rendering to him that measure of social credit which is obviously his by right. That the English Tommy is not altogether a delectable person, however, goes, I think, without saying. According to General Buller and other more or less competent authorities, the men in South Africa were splendid. I do not doubt it in the least. On the other hand, the "returns" from that country have not struck one as reaching a high standard of savouriness or manliness; and, however splendid he may have been as a campaigner, as an ex-campaigner the English Tommy has scarcely shone; so that in a sense the changed attitude of the English public mind towards him is not to be wondered at.