"The Dean," said Malcolmson, "has told us where to find our commanders. Looking round upon this vast assembly of determined men I can tell the Dean where to look for the rank and file of the army." "You'll have to stop him," said Babberly. I dare say the thought of the impeachment which was hanging over his head made him nervous. "I can't," said Lord Moyne. "I ask those present here," said Malcolmson, "who, when the supreme moment comes are prepared to step forward into the ranks, to hold up their hands and swear." Malcolmson did not make it quite clear what oaths we were to employ. But his audience appeared to understand him. Thousands of hands were held up and there was a kind of loud, fierce growl, which I took to be the swearing. Lord Moyne turned to me. "What am I to do, Kilmore?" "I don't know," I said. Malcolmson and the ten or twelve thousand men in front of him were still growling like a very angry thunderstorm at a distance. The thing was exceedingly impressive. Then some one started the hymn again. I never heard a hymn sung in such a way before. If the explosions of large guns could be tuned to the notes of an octave the effect of firing them off, fully loaded with cannon balls, would be very much the same. Malcolmson, beating time very slowly with his hand from the front of the platform, controlled this human artillery. Lady Moyne came to me and shouted in my ear. It was necessary to shout on account of the terrific noise made by Malcolmson's hymn. "As soon as he sits down you'll have to get up and say something." "I can't," I yelled. "I'm no good at all as a public speaker." The beginning of Lady Moyne's next shout I could not hear at all. Only the last words reached me. "--on account of your being a Liberal, you know." For the first time since I have known her I refused to do what Lady Moyne asked me. Very likely I should have given in at last and made an indescribable fool of myself; but before she succeeded in persuading me, Malcolmson's hymn stopped. Malcolmson himself, apparently satisfied with his performance, sat down. "What on earth am I to do?" said Moyne. "You can write to the papers, to-morrow," I said. "But now?" said Moyne, "now." "The only thing I can think of," I said, "is to start them singing 'God Save the King.' That will commit them more or less--at least it may." Moyne rose to his feet and asked all the bands present to play "God Save the King." Babberly backed him and the bands struck up. Considering that the audience had just pledged themselves with inarticulate oaths and most terrifying psalmody to march in Malcolmson's army, their enthusiasm for the King was striking. They sang the National Anthem quite as whole-heartedly as they had sung the hymn. They are a very curious people, these fellow-countrymen of mine. Moyne cheered up a little when we got back to the club.