We　think　a　pillar…box　unpoetical；　because　we　have　never　seen　it
  in　a　poem。　　But　the　bold　fact　is　entirely　on　the　side　of　poetry。
  A　signal…box　is　only　called　a　signal…box；　it　is　a　house　of　life　and　death。
  A　pillar…box　is　only　called　a　pillar…box；　it　is　a　sanctuary　of
  human　words。　　If　you　think　the　name　of　〃Smith〃　prosaic；　it　is　not
  because　you　are　practical　and　sensible；　it　is　because　you　are　too　much
  affected　with　literary　refinements。　　The　name　shouts　poetry　at　you。
  If　you　think　of　it　otherwise；　it　is　because　you　are　steeped　and
  sodden　with　verbal　reminiscences；　because　you　remember　everything
  in　Punch　or　Comic　Cuts　about　Mr。　Smith　being　drunk　or　Mr。　Smith
  being　henpecked。　　All　these　things　were　given　to　you　poetical。
  It　is　only　by　a　long　and　elaborate　process　of　literary　effort
  that　you　have　made　them　prosaic。
  Now；　the　first　and　fairest　thing　to　say　about　Rudyard　Kipling
  is　that　he　has　borne　a　brilliant　part　in　thus　recovering　the　lost
  provinces　of　poetry。　　He　has　not　been　frightened　by　that　brutal
  materialistic　air　which　clings　only　to　words；　he　has　pierced　through
  to　the　romantic；　imaginative　matter　of　the　things　themselves。
  He　has　perceived　the　significance　and　philosophy　of　steam　and　of　slang。
  Steam　may　be；　if　you　like；　a　dirty　by…product　of　science。
  Slang　may　be；　if　you　like；　a　dirty　by…product　of　language。
  But　at　least　he　has　been　among　the　few　who　saw　the　divine　parentage　of
  these　things；　and　knew　that　where　there　is　smoke　there　is　firethat　is；
  that　wherever　there　is　the　foulest　of　things；　there　also　is　the　purest。
  Above　all；　he　has　had　something　to　say；　a　definite　view　of　things　to　utter；
  and　that　always　means　that　a　man　is　fearless　and　faces　everything。
  For　the　moment　we　have　a　view　of　the　universe；　we　possess　it。
  Now；　the　message　of　Rudyard　Kipling；　that　upon　which　he　has
  really　concentrated；　is　the　only　thing　worth　worrying　about
  in　him　or　in　any　other　man。　　He　has　often　written　bad　poetry；
  like　Wordsworth。　　He　has　often　said　silly　things；　like　Plato。
  He　has　often　given　way　to　mere　political　hysteria；　like　Gladstone。
  But　no　one　can　reasonably　doubt　that　he　means　steadily　and　sincerely
  to　say　something；　and　the　only　serious　question　is；　What　is　that
  which　he　has　tried　to　say？　　Perhaps　the　best　way　of　stating　this
  fairly　will　be　to　begin　with　that　element　which　has　been　most　insisted
  by　himself　and　by　his　opponentsI　mean　his　interest　in　militarism。
  But　when　we　are　seeking　for　the　real　merits　of　a　man　it　is　unwise
  to　go　to　his　enemies；　and　much　more　foolish　to　go　to　himself。
  Now；　Mr。　Kipling　is　certainly　wrong　in　his　worship　of　militarism；
  but　his　opponents　are；　generally　speaking；　quite　as　wrong　as　he。
  The　evil　of　militarism　is　not　that　it　shows　certain　men　to　be　fierce
  and　haughty　and　excessively　warlike。　　The　evil　of　militarism　is　that　it
  shows　most　men　to　be　tame　and　timid　and　excessively　peaceable。
  The　professional　soldier　gains　more　and　more　power　as　the　general
  courage　of　a　community　declines。　　Thus　the　Pretorian　guard　became
  more　and　more　important　in　Rome　as　Rome　became　more　and　more
  luxurious　and　feeble。　　The　military　man　gains　the　civil　power
  in　proportion　as　the　civilian　loses　the　military　virtues。
  And　as　it　was　in　ancient　Rome　so　it　is　in　contemporary　Europe。
  There　never　was　a　time　when　nations　were　more　militarist。
  There　never　was　a　time　when　men　were　less　brave。　　All　ages　and　all　epics
  have　sung　of　arms　and　the　man；　but　we　have　effected　simultaneously
  the　deterioration　of　the　man　and　the　fantastic　perfection　of　the　arms。
  Militarism　demonstrated　the　decadence　of　Rome；　and　it　demonstrates
  the　decadence　of　Prussia。
  And　unconsciously　Mr。　Kipling　has　proved　this；　and　proved　it　admirably。
  For　in　so　far　as　his　work　is　earnestly　understood　the　military　trade
  does　not　by　any　means　emerge　as　the　most　important　or　attractive。
  He　has　not　written　so　well　about　soldiers　as　he　has　about
  railway　men　or　bridge　builders；　or　even　journalists。
  The　fact　is　that　what　attracts　Mr。　Kipling　to　militarism
  is　not　the　idea　of　courage；　but　the　idea　of　discipline。
  There　was　far　more　courage　to　the　square　mile　in　the　Middle　Ages；
  when　no　king　had　a　standing　army；　but　every　man　had　a　bow　or　sword。
  But　the　fascination　of　the　standing　army　upon　Mr。　Kipling　is
  not　courage；　which　scarcely　interests　him；　but　discipline；　which　is；
  when　all　is　said　and　done；　his　primary　theme。　　The　modern　army
  is　not　a　miracle　of　courage；　it　has　not　enough　opportunities；
  owing　to　the　cowardice　of　everybody　else。　　But　it　is　really
  a　miracle　of　organization；　and　that　is　the　truly　Kiplingite　ideal。
  Kipling's　subject　is　not　that　valour　which　properly　belongs　to　war；
  but　that　interdependence　and　efficiency　which　belongs　quite
  as　much　to　engineers；　or　sailors；　or　mules；　or　railway　engines。
  And　thus　it　is　that　when　he　writes　of　engineers；　or　sailors；
  or　mules；　or　steam…engines；　he　writes　at　his　best。　　The　real　poetry；
  the　〃true　romance〃　which　Mr。　Kipling　has　taught；　is　the　romance
  of　the　division　of　labour　and　the　discipline　of　all　the　trades。
  He　sings　the　arts　of　peace　much　more　accurately　than　the　arts　of　war。
  And　his　main　contention　is　vital　and　valuable。　　Every　thing　is　military
  in　the　sense　that　everything　depends　upon　obedience。　　There　is　no
  perfectly　epicurean　corner；　there　is　no　perfectly　irresponsible　place。
  Everywhere　men　have　made　the　way　for　us　with　sweat　and　submission。
  We　may　fling　ourselves　into　a　hammock　in　a　fit　of　divine　carelessness。
  But　we　are　glad　that　the　net…maker　did　not　make　the　hammock　in　a　fit　of
  divine　carelessness。　　We　may　jump　upon　a　child's　rocking…horse　for　a　joke。
  But　we　are　glad　that　the　carpenter　did　not　leave　the　legs　of　it
  unglued　for　a　joke。　　So　far　from　having　merely　preached　that　a　soldier
  cleaning　his　side…arm　is　to　be　adored　because　he　is　military；
  Kipling　at　his　best　and　clearest　has　preached　that　the　baker　baking
  loaves　and　the　tailor　cutting　coats　is　as　military　as　anybody。
  Being　devoted　to　this　multitudinous　vision　of　duty；　Mr。　Kipling
  is　naturally　a　cosmopolitan。　　He　happens　to　find　his　examples
  in　the　British　Empire；　but　almost　any　other　empire　would
  do　as　well；　or；　indeed；　any　other　highly　civilized　country。
  That　which　he　admires　in　the　British　army　he　would　find　even　more
  apparent　in　the　German　army；　that　which　he　desires　in　the　British
  police　he　would　find　flourishing；　in　the　French　police。
  The　ideal　of　discipline　is　not　the　whole　of　life；　but　it　is　spread
  over　the　whole　of　the　world。　　And　the　worship　of　it　tends　to　confirm
  in　Mr。　Kipling　a　certain　note　of　worldly　wisdom；　of　the　experience
  of　the　wanderer；　which　is　one　of　the　genuine　charms　of　his　best　work。
  The　great　gap　in　his　mind　is　what　may　be　roughly　called　the　lack
  of　patriotismthat　is　to　say；　he　lacks　altogether　the　faculty　of　attaching
  himself　to　any　cause　or　community　finally　and　tragically；　for　all
  finality　must　be　tragic。　　He　admires　England；　but　he　does　not　love　her；
  for　we　admire　things　with　reasons；　but　love　them　without　reasons。
  He　admires　England　because　she　is　strong；　not　because　she　is　English。
  There　is　no　harshness　in　saying　this；　for；　to　do　him　justice；　he　avows
  it　with　his　usual　picturesque　candour。　　In　a　very　interesting　poem；
  he　says　that
  〃If　England　was　what　England　seems〃
  that　is；　weak　and　inefficient；　if　England　were　not　what　（as　he　believes）
  she　isthat　is；　powerful　and　practical
  〃How　quick　we'd　chuck　'er！　But　she　ain't！〃
  He　admits；　that　is；　that　his　devotion　is　the　result　of　a　criticism；
  and　this　is　quite　enough　to　put　it　in　another　category　altogether　from
  the　patriotism　of　the　Boers；　whom　he　hounded　down　in　South　Africa。
  In　speaking　of　the　really　patriotic　peoples；　such　as　the　Irish；　he　has
  some　difficulty　in　keeping　a　shrill　irritation　out　of　his　language。
  The　frame　of　mind　which　he　really　describes　with　beauty　and
  nobility　is　the　frame　of　mind　of　the　cosmopolitan　man　who　has　seen
  men　and　cities。
  〃For　to　admire　and　for　to　see；
  For　to　be'old　this　world　so　wide。〃
  He　is　a　perfect　master　of　that　light　melancholy　with　which　a　man
  looks　back　on　having　been　the　citizen　of　many　communities；
  of　that　light　melancholy　with　which　a　man　looks　back　on　having　been
  the　lover　of　many　women。　　He　is　the　philanderer　of　the　nations。
  But　a　man　may　have　learnt　much　about　women　in　flirtations；
  and　still　be　ignorant　of　first　love；　a　man　may　have　known　as　many
  la