of the rooms he could not have been more careful about making a noise. Entering his own apartment, he picked up the quilt the girls had spread over him, folded it carefully and laid it on the floor. Then he stripped off his own blanket and quilt and placed them beside it. These two packages he tucked under his arm and with the tread of a cat crept down the corridor to the stairway. Once there he wheeled and with both heels striking the bare floor came tramping toward the girls' room.

Next came a rap like a five-o'clock calllow, so as not to wake the more fortunate in the adjoining rooms, but sure and positive. Sam knew how it sounded.

"Who's there?" cried Molly in a voice that showed that Sam's knuckles had brought her to consciousness. ""Tain't time to get up, is it?"

"No, I'm the night watchman; some of the folks is complaining of the cold and saying there warn't covering enough, and so I thought you ladies might want some

more bed clothes," and Sam squeezed the quilt in through the crack of the door. ."Oh, thank you," began Molly; "we were sort o'

"Don't mention it," answered Sam, closing the door tight and shutting off any further remark.

The heels were lifted now and Sam crept to Jerry's door on his toes. For an instant he listened intently until he caught the sound of the labored breathing of the sleep ing man, opened the door gently, laid the blanket and quilt he had taken from his own bed over Jerry's emaciated shoulders, and crept out again, dodging into his own room with the same sort of relief in his heart that a sneak thief feels after a successful raid. Here he finished dressing.

door, peered out to be sure he was not being watched, and tiptoed along the corridor and so on to the floor below.

An hour later the porter, aroused by his alarm clock to get ready for the 5.40, found Sam by the stove. He had dragged up another chair and lay stretched out on the two, his head lost in the upturned collar of his coat, his slouch hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Why, I thought you'd turned in," yawned the porter, dumping a shovelful of coal into the stove.

"Yes, I did, but I couldn't sleep." There was a note in Sam's voice that made the porter raise his eyes.

"Ain't sick, are ye?"

"No-kind o' nervous-get that way

T

THE

RUSSIAN

HE rapid crumbling of Russian political and military power in the Far East during the last few months, under the assault of what has been usually estimated by Westerners a second-class nation, is undoubtedly a great surprise to many who considered themselves well informed. Many reasons for the fiasco have been given, most of which may be summed up in the word "unpreparedness." This explanation was first advanced by the Russians themselves, as soon as it began to dawn upon them that explanations and excuses were in order, and has been persistently repeated by their friends and apologists throughout the world. There is no doubt that their explanation is as true as it is comprehensive. Russia certainly was unprepared to fight a war with a respectable opponent in this part of the world. Her present naïve admission of this fact is quite unnecessary in view of recent events, which have conclusively demonstrated it; and it will probably strike most people as a very lame excuse, since the war was caused, even invited, by a policy whose conse

quences even a novice in diplomacy might have foreseen. But it is with no intention to rehash Russia's blunders in this matter that I here refer to them. That a nation which maintains the largest standing army in the world, and a navy of respectable size and presumably formidable, is brought to cry, "I wasn't ready," is a somewhat queer commentary upon the arguments generally advanced in support of such armaments, and brings forward, inevitably, the question: Was Russia prepared to fight a great war anywhere?

This question involves much. Clearly, the object of the maintenance of great armaments in time of peace is that a nation may be prepared for any war which its own diplomacy, or that of another nation, may lead it into or force upon it. Failing in that, it fails in its primary object, and becomes the concern of its own nationals and a matter of acute interest to other powers. The real reasons for Russia's failure so far in the present war must be sought beyond the simple statement that when it began she had not enough troops available

at the scene of hostilities, and has up to now been unable to supply the deficiency. It lies deep among the foundations of her political and military systems, so interwoven as to be almost identical. To enter with any detail into such a subject hardly lies within the scope of such correspondence as mine; but many manifestations, particularly those affecting the situation in Manchuria, constantly come before my eyes as the drama of the war progresses, and some of the impressions so gained may throw light upon the Great Bear among the powers, and especially upon the instrument which alone promulgates and upholds its authority, the Russian army.

It is perhaps first necessary to say something about the organization and personnel of that army. Of organization it is enough to state that, while presenting certain technical peculiarities which need not be discussed here, it is on the whole much the same as other European armies, being designed-theoretically at least to accomplish the same ends by practically the same methods. As to personnel, military service in the Russian Empire is based upon a law by which the whole male population, without regard to rank or position, except the inhabitants of certain conquered and outlying countries, must serve "with the colors" for five years, after which a period of thirteen years is spent in the first reserve. It seems that the intention of this law is to compel all able-bodied males to serve in the army, which should thus be composed of Russia's best of brains, blood,

and brawn. However, certain conditions tend to modify the actual operation of the system. The young men who every year reach the age for military service greatly exceed the number required, which means that actually not more than half ever serve. Large as the Russian standing army is, it cannot, on a basis of five years' active service, provide places for its entire male population. This means that young men who are able to exert a certain influence manage to evade service. The great majority of these evasions naturally come from the middle class, which really represents most of what is best in the population of the empire. It thus follows that the army is practically composed of "mujiks," as the Russian peasants are called, who, having no means to escape the service, are caught in the conscription. Notwithstanding feeble stimulation, such as a reduction of their term of service in the case of men who attain certain standards of education, the percentage of illiteracy in the Russian army is estimated at 98 per cent. among privates.

To officer this immense army the Government is compelled to seek material wherever it can find it, and the result is a body of men of the most varying degrees of education and social standing. The war colleges, of which there are several, do not turn out one-fourth the number required. The remainder are recruited, as far as possible, from the Junker schools; but so backward is Russia in educational matters that probably half the army officers have not what would be considered in America a

common-school training. To secure and maintain a high standard of intelligence and efficiency under such circumstances is impossible, although it is attempted. It is possible, for purpose of classification, to divide the Russian officers into three classes-"staff," "dandy" and "line." The staff is the brains of the army. It is composed entirely of officers from the military colleges, an education usually supplemented by instruction in special courses. As a rule, officers of the staff are competent for the work they are called upon to do. They are the pick of the army, and represent its best of intelligence and information. There is no doubt that the general staff contains many very able and brilliant officers, who would be considered entirely competent in any army in the world. For many years the Russian general staff has been considered by military students to be the best in Europe, but while I concede its ability, I think such an estimate is an exaggeration. It is true that in weighing the efficiency of any staff in the light of results the qualities of the machine which it directs must be taken into consideration. The finest engineer cannot make a poor machine do firstclass work. But is not the engineer, to a certain extent, responsible for the condition of his machine? From what I have seen during the last few months I am convinced that the Russian general staff has most conspicuously failed to create the best possible military machine out of the material at its command, which, notwithstanding its obvious defects, has many admirable qualities.

The second class of officers--the dandy is, of course, purely fanciful, but it is a fancy wrapped about a pretty solid fact. It is composed of men who regard the army more as an occupation than a profession, and, while the aristocratic element predominates, they come from all grades of society above the peasant class. This officer usually has an income outside of his pay (which in the Russian army is very small), and his ambition is to get through life with as much enjoyment and as little fatigue as possible. He is present in all armies, but not in such an extraordinary proportion as one finds him here. One has met him on the Riviera, in London during the season, on the boulevards of Paris, and in the drawing-rooms of Washington and New York. He is almost invariably of good appearance and excellent manner, and is of the type which has given the Russians the reputation of being the most facile linguists in the world. If he is of aristocratic birth entrance into the army is at once natural and easy, while if he springs from well-todo plebeian stock, the army affords the desired opportunity to get into good society, and to live a life of idleness and ease, generally among pleasant surroundings. As a rule these officers are dissipated, not to say dissolute.. Notwithstanding the apparent polish of manner, which marks this type of Russian, and a remarkable mastery of languages, the "dandy" officer is nearly always poorly educated and badly informed, particularly about his own profession, Is it not astonishing how easily proficiency in a