“They looked once, they started; they looked again, they frowned; they rubbed their eyes; they looked again, then they whispered; they sniffed, they snorted, they grumbled; they gave hurried orders to the sextons, who shovelled some earth on to the coffin, and the bishop hurriedly finished the service.
“What do you think they saw when they looked into the grave?
“Why, poor Munro’s coffin! I buried the admiral myself in the morning, by mistake. The doctor and I found it out at the grave, but we kept our own counsel.”—Young England.
BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS.
with fight and red with glory,
Conquerors if backward flung,
Fresh from triumphs grim and gory,
Toward the goal the Army swung;
Splendid, but with recent laurels
Dimmed by shadow of defeat,
Thirsting yet for nobler quarrels—
Never dreaming of retreat.
by day they grimly struggled,
Early on and on till late;
Night by night with doom they juggled,
Dodging Death and fighting Fate.
Not a murmur once was spoken,
Stern endurance still unspent,
As with spirit all unbroken
On the bitter march they went.
with weary steps that stumbled
Forward moved that constant tread,
Sleepless, silent, and unhumbled,
On and on the army sped,
Noble sons of noble mothers,
Proud of home and kin and kith,
Brothers to the aid of brothers,
On and on to Ladysmith.
through smoke of onset rifted,
Soldiers who disdained to yield
Had for weal or woe uplifted
England’s own broad battle-shield.
Right across the path of pillage
Was that iron rampart thrust,
While beneath it town and village
Safely hid in settled trust.
and open seemed that shelter
And unguarded to the foes,
Helpless, as the fiery welter
Rocked it in volcanic throes;
But there was defence to bind it
With the force of Destiny,
And an Empire stood behind it
Armed in awful majesty.