our minds, and we knew the prowess of the indomitable burghers. But
our people, if gloomy, were none the less resolute, for that
national instinct which is beyond the wisdom of statesmen had borne
it in upon them that this was no local quarrel, but one upon which
the whole existence of the empire hung. The cohesion of that empire
was to be tested. Men had emptied their glasses to it in time of
peace. Was it a meaningless pouring of wine, or were they ready to
pour their hearts' blood also in time of war? Had we really founded
a series of disconnected nations, with no common sentiment or
interest, or was the empire an organic whole, as ready to thrill
with one emotion or to harden into one resolve as are the several
States of the Union? That was the question at issue, and much of
the future history of the world was at stake upon the answer.

Already there were indications that the colonies appreciated the
fact that the contention was no affair of the mother country alone,
but that she was upholding the rights of the empire as a whole, and
might fairly look to them to support her in any quarrel which might
arise from it. As early as July 11th, Queensland, the fiery and
semitropical, had offered a contingent of mounted infantry with
machine guns; New Zealand, Western Australia, Tasmania, Victoria,
New South Wales, and South Australia followed in the order named.
Canada, with the strong but more deliberate spirit of the north,
was the last to speak, but spoke the more firmly for the delay. Her
citizens were the least concerned of any, for Australians were many
in South Africa but Canadians few. None the less, she cheerfully
took her share of the common burden, and grew the readier and the
cheerier as that burden came to weigh more heavily. From all the
men of many hues who make up the British Empire, from Hindoo
Rajahs, from West African Houssas, from Malay police, from Western