"_Remarkable development of situation has occurred. Ministers held a Council this afternoon, and after conferring with the Tzar, the latter decided to withdraw his proclamation of war, which was to be issued to-night. The reason for this sudden decision to preserve peace is a mystery, but the Tzar left half-an-hour ago on his journey south, two of the Ministers have left for their country seats, and telegraphic orders have been issued countermanding the military preparations, therefore it is certain that all idea of war is entirely abandoned. Immediately at the conclusion of the Council, a telegram was sent to the Russian Minister in Paris, informing him of the decision not to commence hostilities against England. The_ Novoe Vremya, _in order to allay public feeling, is to be prosecuted for publishing false news_." When I had read this astounding dispatch, congratulating myself that, after all, our country need not fear a foreign foe, I sat listening to the discussion between the two great statesmen. The Premier advocated an immediate statement in the House in order to reassure the public, but Lord Warnham, with that love of secrecy apparent in all his actions, personal or political, was strenuously opposed to such a course. "Let us wait until to-morrow," he said. "To-night the papers will publish special editions containing the interview we have just given the Press representative, and this certainly ought to calm the crowd outside." He spoke with a sneer of contempt of the multitude of excited citizens in fear of their lives and property. "But they are patriots, many of them, Warnham," the Premier protested. "Who have placed us in power but that public?" "Oh, of course," the other snapped impatiently. "You go in for popularity with the masses. I don't. I've never been popular, not even in my own Department. But I can't help it. I do my duty, and perhaps it is my very unpopularity that has secured me a reputation as head of Foreign Affairs." "It may be, Warnham. It may be," said the Premier, slowly. "But you are more popular than you imagine." "In the Press, yes. These modern journals will lick the boots of anybody in power. It is not as it used to be in the old days, when you and I received a sound rating nearly every morning in _The Times_." "I do not allude to the Press, but contend that you are popular with the public. You would increase that popularity by allowing a statement to be made to-night." "Let them wait until the morning," he growled. "I haven't the slightest wish to be regarded as the people's saviour. An immediate statement will appear too much like a bid for cheap notoriety." "Is it not your duty to the people to allay their apprehensions of a coming war?" "It is my duty to Her Majesty alone," he exclaimed, suddenly remembering that he had forgotten to dispatch the reassuring news to Osborne, and turning, he thereupon dictated to me a telegram, which I quickly reduced to cipher.