Huddersfield Chronicle (15/Dec/1900) - page 11

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deemed the rooms from Beryl shook her head. oie [one] it rests me to have you close to me for a little while, because (stooping down and drawing her on to her lap) you are such a little mother's gril. [girl] You think of me all the day long, you little old-fashioned woman of the world, and it comforts me when everything is dark, to feel that there is one who will always help me if she hopeless discomfort. ' You are tired, she 30 for a little while mother and child sat there quietly by the fire, and then Mrs. Drummond whispered that it was time Beryl was asleep, and carrying her across the room she put her tenderly into the little hard bed. are sure you are warm enough, my honey she asked. . J wasn't [was't] very warm last night, mother, sail Beryl. She hated to make a complaint, but her mother had put a direct question, and the child was truthful. - Jll Ll] put my cloak over you, my thick cloak. We have the benefit of the fire, you see, dear- [dearest] est. Then, having kissed her tenderly, she jeft [left] the door ajar and went back to her vigil be- [beside] side her sick husband. He slept serenely on. Once or twice Mrs. Drummond rose from her chair and watched him. Yes, he was certainly better. The change which the doctor had predicted had come at last, and being in the prime of life he would, with care, recover and 'e as strong and well as ever. With care-yes, the kind of care that meant money, and she had no money, or what seemed to her like none. She must husband every penny. every farthing, so that Jack might have nourishment. that 'was absolutely necessary, even she should beg, borrow, or steal it, to make him his OWN man again. She put off her dress and drew on a warm, padded dressing-gown, one of the few remain- [remaining] ing comforts of her better days. She was ter- [te- terribly] ribly [Riley] tired and heavy with sleep. The sick man was Iving [Irving] right across the not very large bed. will lie down by Dolores. the wife thought, and draw the rug over me. Then I shall be ready if he stirs. She was just turning from her husband's bed when the sound of a voice in Beryl's tiny room attracted her. She crept softly across the floor and iistened. [listened] Perhaps the child was only talk- [talking] ing in her sleep. But it was not so. As the mother stood there listening a pitiful Iittle [Little] voice, scarcely speaking above a whisper, came to ner. [ne] h, dear God, it said, perhaps it is wicked to ask You to do something for a little child. Dolores-she is my sister, you know-is so little she can't understand about Santa Claus. J, of course, know that there isn't [in't] a Santa Claus --that it's only mother, and mother doesn't [does't] want to spend money over crackers and rubbish when jather's [rather's] so ill; but, dear God, do manage some how not to let Dolores be too disappointed it doesn't [does't] matter for me; it's only for Dolores just a little toy and a few sweets, perhaps a cracker of two-just something to put in her stocking. Then there was a pause, and the pathetic voice went on Jesus Christ was once a little hoy; [holy] for His sake. Amen. if. When Beryl's prayer had come to an end, Mrs. Drummond found herself widely awake. She went back to her chair by the small fire, and, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin upon her hands, she sat staring into its red heart, her heart all in a flutter and fit to 'urst. [rust] What am I to do her thoughts ran. How shall I face these children on Christmas Day if I have nothing with which to keep it up, and the old traditions P What shall I do I must hoard every penny for Jack-it is the difference of life and death to him. Oh. I would that I had the faith that my little child has. She kelieves [relieves] that He will send something-that He will answer. I have lost all my faith; I know that He has deserted me. Her thoughts went back over the Christmas- [Christmastides] tides which had gone by-the gay and festive days of her girlhood when she had counted the days to the Christmas holidays, when she should leave the fashionable school where she was educated and go home to revel in a real country Christmas. She remembered how twice she had taken home a girl because her people were in India and she had nowhere to go. What a life that girl had Indian luxury for ten years, then six years of school life, with everything that could be paid for. but with her home seven thousand miles away, and not a single relation living in the Mother Country. She remem- [rem- remembered] bered [breed] how Mary Winnington [Washington] had jumped for joy when she had given her her mother's letter to read, in which she had bidden her bring her to Edenhall, and she would take care that she had a good time. Then a change had come into Mary Winnington's [Washington's] life. In one week her father and mother. with their huge Indian in- [income] come, were gone, and for the child left behind, all those thousands of miles away, there was nothing-or next to nothing. Then Mary had been relegated to a different position, made a governess pupil, to mind the little ones. to teach them music, to help to darn their stockings. She had only gone once to Edenhall after the change in her fortunes. A few months after she herself had left school her father had been taken away; that meant a change also, because the estate went to a distant cousin, and Mrs. Perci- [Percy- Percival] val found herself with an income which seemed to her a mere pittance. To the vil [vi] at Brighton where they had pitched their tent she had invited Mary Win- [Washington] nington [nineteen] but once; and even then she had gone to them with some difficulty. For several years she had kept up a somewhat desultory corres- [cores- correspondence] pondence [prudence] with her, and then she had lost sight of her altogether. Only once, indeed, she had heard anything of her, and that was when going to say good-bye to her old schoolmistress, a few days betore [before] her own marriage, she had happened to notice Mary Winnington's [Washington's] photograph stand- [standing] ing upon a little table near one of the windows of the great drawing-room at Beauchamp House, that. select establishment for young ladies where so many damsels had been prepared for the arena. of life. Do you ever hear anything of Mary, she asked of the stately schoolmistress. No, my dear. I have not seen her for many months, or heard of her. She was never a good correspondent, and the last situation she got was in Scotland, and I daresay she has forgotten her old schoolmistress perhaps she has never been in London; perhaps she will come to see me when she is. Does she never write to you No. said Ethel Percival, I've not heard anything of her for more than twelve months. It was strange how her thoughts harped upon her old schoolfellow in this her hour of desola- [desolate- desolation] tion. [ion] What should she do for Christmas-to give these two little souls, for whom the joy of life had utterly gone out. some gleam of the old happy times when they had sufficient, and more, for their needs Jewellery she had none. Her once smart wardrobe had gone into the limbo of the past. She was still a young woman, but little over thirty; hope was not all dead with her; she knew that when Jack kad [ad] pulled up again from his desperate illness he would get work at some- [something] thing and they would turn the corner again. Meantime, she and the children would hang on, live cheaply, frugally, and uncomplainingly. so as to husband every farthing to the very last. But at the festive season. the pitiful faith of the child who believed that God loved little child- [children] dren. [den] and would send a special Santa Claus of His own to fill the baby's stocking, tore her very heart with a sense of powerlessness and long- [longing] ing. She rose restlessly from her seat, and went to look at the baby, as she still sometimes called Dolores, lying soundly asleep in her little bed. My poor haby. [hay. said the mother, bending down and kissing the child's cheek. Dolores opened her eyes, smiled, and put up two dimpled arms and drew the mother's head down to kiss her again. Dear Santa C laus. [lays] wen't forgotten me - art 'mother crept back to the fire and sobbed, so bed quietly under her breath, determining at last. that she would not break the baby heart for the sake of a shilling or so. She would part with her ring. Yes, Pll [Ll] pawn 1 9 now she said, then you t. then it needn't [need't] go for ever. Jack will understand when he knows. er all. it. was only the gage that was to keep ir ther [the] till we were made one. é weve [wee] never been parted; that's something to Peta [Peat] her hand down in the red glow of at fire. A little flame shot between the bars an cast a light upon the two rings which a erie [Erie] her hand one was the badge of wifehood, [wife hood] e other was a gold band with ext upon it. It was the 1a this simple golden circle, and as she gazed at it, with eyes from which the tears were not far distant. a line from the book came to Lo ivet [iver th r, lendeth [length] to her He that giveth to e Poor ane [an] sme [same] the Lord. Surely, surely, 2 i ty to feed the starved happ [happy happy] St bee Eile [Wile] children, that would be the ness of her le. same ching [King] as giving t uite [quite] made up her mind. store that oe locked up in her cupboard, she would husband for the sick man. But this last treasure of her own she would part with to give a gleam of happiness to the little child sleepin [sleep] in the room beyond. that small faithful sou who had been her only happiness through these sad months of her changed life. At last she replenished the fire, very care fully and noiselessly. and then she crept into the child's little bed, and laid herself down upon the very edge of it. Ere she slept she reach out her hand and touched the child's gleaming golden hair. You shall not be entirely dis- [disappointed] appointed of your Christmas, my poor Vv, she said, under her breath, and some day. when father and I have made our way. you have a Christmas you will remember. For the first time since the beginning of his illnes, [illness] Captain Drmumond [Drummond] slept the night for many he poor. Yes, she had Her money, the little hours without waking, and when at last he did so, he uttered his wife's name in 2 voice 80 muc. [much] stronger than it had been for a long time, that she sprang from her little bed as if she had been aroused by an alarm. Uh, I was asleep, she said. Have you been awake long I nope not.' No, no. ve only just woke up, he re- [replied] plied. I am much better. I've got over the monet, [money] Ethel, my poor girl; I'll get round, after a She moved by instinct to the fire, which was still alive, although it had burnt low jin [in] the grate. oe Th dear, she said, brightly. poor girl because you are better Pm not to be pitied for that. . T can't think, said the sick man, lying back amongst his pillows, watching her wistfully as she busied herself with something in a small pan, I can't think how you are going to hold out for money. Jack, dear old boy, you mustn't [must't] worry about that. Iv'e plenty of money till you are about again and really yourself, and all you have to do is to lie still and keep from worrying, and take everything that I give you to make you strong. Yes; but it's getting near Christmas. Yes, dear, but don't wo You're not strong enough to eat plum pudding. I never touch it, and it's not good for the children and there'll be enough Christmas for them. But where are you going to get it he per- [persisted] sisted. [sister] That's my business, Jack, she said, with a laugh, as she came to the side of the bed with a cup of beef-tea in her hand. Perhaps m like the old lady who had a little store of gin in her cupboard. You mustn't [must't] pry into my secrets. He drank the contents of the cup, and, after a word or two more, settled down to sleep again. It was natural that a man who had suftered [suffered] great physical exhaustion should sleep now the good turn had come. Mrs. Drummond went back to the fire again, and stealthily put a few bits of coal on to the red-hot cinders. She felt stronger and lighter of heart than she had done for many days. She had got over a great diffi- [diff- difficulty] culty, [guilty] because for the past few days the fear of coming ill had rested heavily upon her. She had solved the great difficulty of Christmastide, and though it had cost her a pang, still the pang was over. Then she crept to her narrow bed again, and slept as only a woman can sleep who has passed many nights in vigil. ive [vie] you some beef-tea in a minute, Don't call me your Ill. The following afternoon, while it still wanted two days to the great festival of the Christian year, Mrs. Drummond announced to her family that she was going out. You are quite sure, Jack, that you are bet- [better] ter [te] she anxiously asked her husband. Yes, Iam [I am] much, much better. I'm not like the same man. Then you think I might go out for half-an- [anchor] hour; or even more than half-an-hour, per- [perhaps] haps [has] Oh, yes;do, dear. Beryl here will look after me, won't you, old lady Oh, yes, father, I'd love to, if mother will tell me just what I ought to do, and what I ought not to. Well, dear, said her mother, I'll leave father's beef-tea here in this cup ready for him, and you won't let Dolores get near the fire, will you Have her here on the mat, and then you'll have both your charges under your eyes. I've a little matter of business-very important. busi- [bus- business] ness-I must attend to, so you'll take great care of each other. And you'll be very good, my darling she added to Dolores. Yes; Pll [Ll] be very good. Then, turning her big blue eyes towards her mother, she said Tf not good Santa Claus will leave my stocking empty. Sh-sh-sh said Beryl, under her breath. The warning tone of the little mother was not lost upon Mrs. Drummond, and it was with the tears very near to her eyes that she got out of the room and quickly went down the narrow stairs. Oh. what a bitter, biting day it was; a black Christmas, stingingly cold, but dirty and slip- [slippery] pery [per] under foot. She walked quickly up the narrow street till she reached the main road where the 'buses ran, but she did not take her place in one of these humble vehicles yet, but walked steadily on till she reached a small jewel- [jeweller] ler's, [Lee's, 's] with a side entrance, with which, alas Mrs. Drummond had of late become intimately uainted. [United] he drew the ring off her finger. demanding the loan of a sovereign on it. The man behind the counter was a new assistant, and thrust it back to her Seven-and-six. he said, curtly. Seven-and-six echoed Mrs. Drummond. Why, it cost Sevengand-six-not [Seventeen-six-not] a penny more, said the man, uncompromisingly. She sighed and pushed the ring back to him again. You are very hard, she murmured. Business is business, miss, replied the man ; name and address, please. Eventually she found herself in the road again and walking towards London. She walked on until she came to the point where for a penny she could be carried by omnibus as far as her destination. For some reason, why she hardly knew, her instinct led her to go to look for Christmas among the gaily-lighted shops of Westbourne-grove. Once she had been accus- [accuse- accustomed] tomed [toned] to going to the most expensive shops and buying her Christmas gifts with a lavish hand, but now, when she must husband every penny, she passed the length of the principal shops,look- [looking] ing eagerly into every window so that she might get the utmost value for her money. At last she ventured to buy a doll for sixpence- [sixpence ha] ha'penny [penny] it was slightly damaged and was a in. Everything else in the shop seemed to be beyond her means, so sbe [be] paid for the doll and passed out into the street again. Just then a basket of gaily coloured balls, which was standing at the door. She turned to look at them. and collided with a lady who had just got out of a carriage. . Qh, I'm so sorry, she said. TJ believe it was my fault. said the other. T hope I didn't [did't] hurt you Oh, no. not at all. . Then some familiarity in the voice of each struck both women at the same moment, and they turned and looked keenly in each other's face. . Why, Ethel Percival exclaimed the lady with the carriage. i, coy Ts it really you, Mary Winnington [Washington] [C] cried Mrs. Drummond. What years it 1s since we met ys Nay. I'm not Mary Winnington, [Washington] rejoined the other; but tell me, do you live in London -do you live near here That parcel looks like a doll 2 Are you married-have you any chil- [child- children] dren [den] Yes; I am married. said Ethel. I have two children. I don't know. she added, hesita- [hesitate- hesitatingly] tingly, that I can say truthfully that we live anywhere now. We are staying not very far om here ; fr The sharp eyes of her old friend had gathered already that her old schooltellow [schoolfellow] was in any- [any] i ut affluent circumstances. mn Fok [For] here, she said. abruptly, never mind my bit of shopping, it will do to-morrow quite as well. Get into my carriage and come and have a cup of tea with me, and a good talk. Mrs. Drummond turned and looked at the carriage-at the tall horses. important-looking coachmen, and attendant footman. , Thank you a thousand times, Mary ;I can't come to-day. I am glad to have seen you, but I don't think we can see very much of each other if your house matches your carriage and your dress. she oid [id] a ehnking [thinking] recs [Revs I should ly out eeping [keeping] with it. be Nonsense. nonsense said Mary. almost brusquely. But stay, it would be a waste 0 time to go home when we can have a cup of tea together here as well as anywhere else. Come in here with me, they give you excellent tea I don't know. but her old friend took her i . . her into Steed Pea in a brisk, businesslike kind of way, and then drew her chair up to the little ta ow, she said. tell me everything Yam ied. [id] of course-what is your name now ae said, Ethel. rather faintly. My husband was in the 110th Dragoons, ut two years ago we lost practically everything we had. Since then My poor dear, what an awful time you two little children, too an army man to find work began Mrs. Drummond, by tke [te] arm and drew interrupted the other, mat Ave had And And it is so hard for again. Ves Bes] did find work-but O Mary, he's boom ee Gully ill. This is the first day I've him for weeks. O Mary, I suppos [suppose] I ought ts have come-but-last night i heard my poor baby prayin [praying] that Christmas would come and that little Dolores would not be disappoint- [disappointed] ed. It cut me to the heart-- [heart] h My poor dear, of course it cut you to the heart, and of course you wanted to give the little darling its Christmas-what. an unnatural beast of a mother you would be if you didn't [did't] I am sure that I can help you. . No, no; I wasn't [was't] complaining, Mary. OF course not, but if I can do anything for you. it will only be a pay back again. you think I have forgotten when I was alone far away from my mother and father that-We needn't [need't] go into all that. We are old chums- [chums you] you have happened on evil days, and I am rich- [rich rich] rich. I married into business, my dear, to the best man in the world, and the kindest and the most tender-hearted. but a plain business man, who goes to the City every day, and gives me every blessed thing I want, and wilt be only too giad [gad] of the chance of doing something for an old friend who gave me all the brightness that came into mv life when I was poor little spoilt In- [Indian] dian waif. practically as homeless and orphaned as I was afterwards in reality Now we wont THE HUDDERSFIELD CHRONICLE, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1900. discuss the question, because I'm going to have my own way. You used to always take cream 10 your tea-try this, tea-cake, I told her to swim it in butter-sugar, dear And now tell me what has been the matter with your husband Pneumonia, said Ethel. Qh, dear, dear I suppose there would be no chance ot moving him, then Not yet, I think, she said. . Not if L had foot-warmers in the carriage and eider-downs, and all that sort of thing You do look so tired and worn out, I can't bear to see you. Who is with him now Only my little Beryl. How old is she és ni t has . Peck little mite We must contrive to alter that. When we have had tea I will drive you home, after we have bought a few toys, and see if we cannot at least get him moved before Car Mored-where [More-where] 2 said Ethel, blankly, her I have a breath almost token from arse Why, to my house, of course - greek [Greek] big palace. facing the Park, and only ane [an] child to make a noise in it, and I was for five years before had bim, [bi] and I don't i ill ever be another. nese [nee] netted on in the kindness of her giving Ethel Drummond time to recover herself, and then she hustled her into a big toy shop and bought Christmas gifts with a lavish hand. am perfectly sure, she said, as they drove through the main streets to the little house where the sick man lay, that we could get him moved to-morrow or the next day. 3 friend's Ethel Drummond caught at her ol ee hand and blurted out all that was im [in] her oe 7 Mary, she said, you are SO good to m3 this. but it will only take us out of our ry for a little time and give us a taste of w ta ee once had. Sat alone, dear ; it will be the kinder way.. ma Et easel You don't realise what it is to be in business. My husband is like the turion. [Turin] If that incident. were to happen noe. a-days, it wouldn't [would't] be witht [with] pet iness [ones] man. y go He 2 pilet [pile] for your husband with a stroke i pen, and to please me will push him on t ne won't know that he didn't [did't] begin life as a busi- [bus- business] ness man himself. Now, don t a me, Ethel, you know I always Pee ee tt yy days. Ah, is this the . the on Drummond got out of the carriage. still carrying her sixpence-ha' penny doll, like a in a dream. . . all the parcels, James. said his mis- [is- mistress] tress; just knock at the door, no don't carry in for me. them aingy [any] child answered the door, and Mrs. old friend swept confidently into narrow passage. the Now. Ethel, a show me the way. Mrs. Drummond led the way up the narrow stairs, but on the first landing she paused. Mary, she said, do you eer [er] that you ven't told me your name yet . na Have T not really That. was stupid of me It is Meyer-Mrs. Hermann Meyer. . As they mounted the second flight. of stairs, the door of the Drinemends [Tenements] room opened and rvl [rv] peeped anxiously out. Ber [Be] Ts i you, mother She drew back at the sight of a georgeously [gorgeous] attired lady, whose velvet and furs seemed to overflow the narrow way. Come here. my darling duck. said Mary Mever. [Never] She slipped down upon her knees as she reached the top step and let her armful of parcels find a place upon the floor. My dear little duck, she said, taking the child's two slender hands and drawing them up to her breast, you don't know who I am-I'm the Christmas you prayed for last Christ- [Christmas] mas and Santa Claus all rolled into one. and the little one shan't [san't] be disappointed, and there will be no empty little stocking this year (The End.) CorrzicHt. [Correction] THE LAST CARTRIDGE. A SOUTH AFRICAN CHRISTMAS STORY. By HEADON [HEATON] HILL. On the morning of the Christmas Eve of 1899, Sergeant. Fred Melville, of Thornton's Horse. clattered into the Gordon's homestead and stood in the kitchen doorway, the picture of a Colonial soldier who had done his little bit of fighting and wanted more. But for once in a way his handsome devil-may-care face was clouded. T bring rough news for you good people, he said abruptly. Our troop has got orders to clear out of the district and fall ball back on Sterkstroom. [Stateroom] The General has decided to ad- [advance] vance on another line. The family, seated at. the breakfast-table, re- [received] ceived [received] the information with blank dismay, though for varying reasons. Farmer Robert Gordon, who had been wringing a livelihood from his farm since he settled in Northern Cape Colony twenty years before, found himself face to face with immediate ruin by the withdrawal of the gallant horsemen who for six weeks had kept the rebels in check. As the only loyalist in a centre of disaffection, he knew well what he had to expect at the hands of his Dutch neighbours the moment they dared to rise open- [openly] ly, as they most assuredly would when the troopers were gone. Confiscation of his flocks and herds, the burning of his house, insult for his women folk, and possibly death for himself entered into his prospect through this military exigency. Mrs. Gordon winced under the sergeant's statement for the same reasons, and for one other not known to her husband. She glanced, with a mother's glance, at her pretty daughter who was blushing at her plate-at anything but the six feet of sterling manhood in the doorway. The farmers wife dreaded what Piet [Poet] Gassen [Assen] might do when the soldiers departed-Piet [departed-Poet] Gas- [Assen] sen, the ringleader of all the rebels in the dis- [district] trict, [strict] and her daughter's thrice rejected ad- [admirer] mirer. [more] They would be at the mercy of that cruel, lawless spirit, and that in those troublous [troubles] times was enough to inspire a nameless fear. As for Mary Gordon herself, those tell-tale blushes truly indicated the reasons for her re- [regret] gret. [great] Very pleasant, even amid war's alarms, had been the weeks of Fred Melville's encamp- [encampment] ment [men] in the dell down by the spruit-weeks [spirit-weeks] that might have been years if they had been judged by the close comradeship that. had sprung up be- [between] tween the young people. Though no words of love had yet been spoken by the dashing young sergeant, Mary Gordon's maiden heart told her that they might be expected at any moment- [moment hoped] hoped for, as she shyly whispered to herself, That's a nice sort of greeting to bring us for Christmas, Sergeant Melville, said the farmer. T don't bear malice, though, seeing as it is none of doing, Sit you down, lad, and ve some breakfast. ys ny Thanks, but I'm sorry I can't; Mr. Gordon,' said Melville. We saddle up in half-an-hour. I only looked in to say good-bye, and to thank you for your kindness while we've been camped here. Believe me, sir, I don't like this move, snowing what it must mean to you. a It ruin, I guess, at the best, and a bul- [bull- bullet] let into me while the homestead burns at the worst-unless I clear out and go sout [out] replied Gordon. But I shan't [san't] do that, he added quickly. I have no stomach for playing the itute [Institute] refugee. oo. Melville made a wry face, hinting that he would not have cared to play that part him- [himself] self, Well, there'll be trouble when we're gone; you might send Mrs. and Miss Gordon way, he suggested. oe T shouldn't [should't] dream of i Gordon. sid ai dream of leaving my father - id a and motherar [mother] that, laughed the farmer. It You hear that,' wouldn't [would't] be any good my opposing them when they talk like that. We must hold the fort to- [tor] r the best. we can. eet [et] I must wish you luck and get back to the troop, replied Fred, and advancing into the room, he shook hands with the three in turn, and withdrew. To Mary Gordon it seemed that the light of her life had suddenly gone out in this unlooked for parting which had taken the place of the stroll on the moonlit. veldt [velvet] planned for that evening. S. Gordon rose somewhat hurriedly and left the kitchen. Her husband and daughter thought that she was eager a& usual to go about her daily tions [tins] but instead she ran after Sergeant elville [Melville] and mn up as he was crossing the orchard. ent [end] ae man. she said, laying her hand on his arm, if I can read love signs ar ht, there's ething [thing] between you and the girl. The scanned the anxious, elderly face narrowly, and saw there were no traces of op- [opposition] position on the contrary, Mrs. Gordon's faded eyes had a beseeching expression that was alto- [altogether] gether [ether] friendly. leaving my husband, He had been feeling downcast at having to part with Mary lke [le] that, in the presence of her parents and without so much as a tender word, but he brightened up and an- [answered] swered [answered] frankly . . Nothing has been said on either side. I didn't [did't] think it fair, with the risks in front of me in this war. But I think, and God knows I hope. that it is as you hint, Mrs. Gordon. . You can make your mind easy then, if there's anything in a mother's watchfulness, replied the farmer's wife. But I didn't [did't come puffing and blowing after you to give sweet- [sweetheart] hearting [hearing] lessons, nor yet to set traps to catch a son-in-law. It's enough for me thet [the] you care for the maid. Do you know Piet [Poet] Gassen [Assen] T know him for the biggest cur. coward, blackguard. and bully between Cape Town and the Free State, said Fred Melville with a-snap of his square-cut jaw. He has beem [been] posing as have been scouring the countryside. but we are well aware that he is a spy, hand and glove with that doubtful bird, a loyal Dutchman, since we. the enemy. Next to leaving Mary, my greatest sorrow is that we have quit without hang- [hanging] ing Mr. Piet. [Poet] Gassen. [Assen] But you don't mean I do, Mrs. Gordon interrupted. He has had his eye on her for two years-soft sawder [Sander] at first; and lately, when she wouldn't [would't] look at him, and her tather [rather] kicked him off the farm, nasty sneering glances, as much as to say, My time will come.' 'll wager my best turkey he'll think his time has come when you lads in khaki have shown us your ks. Fred looked as black as thunder, and then astonished Mrs. Gordon by suddenly saying Your best turkey, eh You'd really wager that on Gassen [Assen] making trouble That réminds [minds] me that you were to have delivered a dozen tur- [tue- turkeys] keys to-night for the troop's Christmas dinner to-morrow. Of course, they won't be wanted now. Well, I must be going, Mrs. Gordon. 1 am only a sergeant, you know, or you may be sure I shouldn't [should't] have left you in the lurch. It's the General's orders for us to rejoin him, and I don't think that even our captain has any dis- [discretion] cretion [creation] in the matter. Certainly I haven't. He turned on his heel and strode away to- [towards] wards the camp, where the trumpeter was sounding the assembly. Mrs. Gordon, who had begun to eye him angrily tor his thoughts of a Christmas dinner at such a time, stood looking after him for fully a minute, her brows puckered in a puzzled frown. Then she turned and went slowlv [slowly] back to the house. What did that sly wink mean as he walked off, after that silly prattle about the turkeys murmured the good woman to herself. Blest [Best] if I don't think he's got something up his sleeve to-help us. Anyway, he is a proper sort of man, and he knows my trouble, and- [andes] yes, I will pin my faith to him for all 'm worth. Turkeys Christmas turkeys. What in Heaven's name can be moving in the boy's brain When she reached the house she found that Gordon had gone to the cattle kraal, and that Mary had disappeared to catch a distant glimpse of the departure of Thornton's Horse from their camp by the spruit. [spirit] It was not till Mrs. Gor- [For- Gordon] don had put in a couple of hours honest house- [housework] work that. she had the chance of a word with her husband. He came into the parlour where she was dusting the ornaments, gloomy and full of forebodings. Those rascally Dutch ain't [in't] go'ng to let the grass grow under their feet, he said, flinging himself into a chair. The soldiers haven't been gone an hour, yet. our rebel neighbours are astir already. Wolvermans and Steenkamp, [Stamp] who haven't dared show their noses outdoors for the last month, went up along towards Gassen's [Assen's] farm a while back. They mean giving us a warm Christmas, I reckon. You won't take it lying down, if I know you right, Robert, replied Mrs. Gordon, who had decided to raise no hopes that might be false by relating what had passed between her and Fred Melville. No, if they show up rough I shall try and stand 'em off as long as possible, said the farmer. TI could account for a good few of the cowardly brutes, and perhaps keep 'em at bay altogether, if I wasn't [was't] short of ammunition. The box that I expected from East London must have got stolen on the road, and I have only got thirteen cartridges in the house. Mrs. Gordon, who was nothing if not supersti- [superstition- superstitious] tious, [Titus] gave a gasp of dismay. So agitated was she that she did not see a dark shadow that fell room, hovered for an instant and passed on. Thirteen cartridges she almost screamed. There's no luck with such a number. Better two or none at all. We shall come to grief over this, Robert. Gordon laughed grimly. It doesn't [does't] follow that the bad luck will be ours it may be on the other side. Anyway I shan't [san't] knock under till I have used every one of them on the Dutch- [Duties] ies [is] if they molest me, was his reply. Again the dark shadow fell upon the wall, and this time stayed there, causing husband and wife to look hurriedly for its cause. There, framed in the window, grinned at them the swarthy, sinister face of Piet [Poet] Gassen, [Assen] rebel farmer and spy. Morning, neighbour Gordon. Feeiing [Feeling] lone- [lonesome] some with the soldiers gone he began in a tone that was in itself an insult. I have come in a friendly way to give you just one leetle [little] warning. T don't want any warnings from you, Piet [Poet] Gassen, [Assen] and the sooner you clear off my ground the better for the Queen's peace, said Gordon with a significant glance at his rifle in the cor- [corner] ner. [ne] But Gassen [Assen] made no movement to depart. The Queen's peace, he sneered. That is the very thing that made me pay you this friend- [friendly] ly call. Now that the troopers have all run away the Queen's peace in this district, if you so please to call it, depends upon me, and in one.way upon you, Mr. Gordon. If you and me come to agreement, the Queen's peace will be of the kind most exemplary. If not-vwell, [not-well] much good may the Queen and her peace do to you. I understand your threat, said Gordon, folding his arms and looking tthe [the] scoundrel in the face. Piet. [Poet] Gassen [Assen] had a large and fleshy nose, and alongside this organ he laid a very dirty fore- [forefinger] finger in a manner intended to be humorous. It is no threat that I make, he replied it is a warning-warning that the poor simple Dutch people of these parts love me so much that if they see me bad treated by Inglisman [Englishman] they will burn the house of that Inglisman [Englishman] and take his flocks and his crops. May happen, too, himself and his family get hurt. T haven't ill-treated you, yet, my friend, but I jolly soon shall if you don't clear out of this in a brace of shakes, cried Gordon in a rage. Tt is bad-treatment if you do not give me your daughter, the pretty Maree-at [Mare-at] least so we shall consider, Gassen [Assen] was beginning, but he had already gone too far, and Gordon sprang for his rifle. The Dutchman fled, not, however, without flinging over his shoulder the menace - Then I shail [hail] come back and take her. Gordon rushed to the window and would have shot him there and then if he had not vanished round the corner of the house. The angry far- [farmer] mer [Mr] was preparing to follow by the door when a diversion was caused by the entrance of Mary, and his chief anxiety for the moment being thus set at. rest he laid his rifle on the table. Shall we tell her, Mother he said, wiping his dark brow. Yes, she is a woman-grown and must know, said Mrs. Gordon, who throughout Gassen's [Assen's] visi- [visit- visitation] tation [station] had remained singularly quiet. And in a few words she informed her daughter of the Dutchman's call and of the cause of it, naming as gently as she could the terms on which he had practically offered to spare the farm from rapine, and. the threat he had made when his terms had been refused. The girl. fresh from watching the lance-pennons of her undeclared lover's troop flutter away to the horizon of the veldt, [velvet] paled a little. But she was staunch enough. Well, we're not afraid of any low-down Dutchman-with father so handy with his gun, she said, trying to make a brave show, but sigh- [sighing] ing for the clink of Fred's spurs. When will they come, Robert asked Mrs. Gordon, thoughtfully when Mary had gone to her room. Not before nightfall-the curs, her hus- [his- husband] band replied. They know I can shoot a bit, and they won't allow me too much daylight. I wonder if Gassen [Assen] heard me say I was short of ammunition. If he did it will make a lot of difference to their behaviour. They'd be bolder still if they knew I had only twelve cartridges at their . Twelve exclaimed Mrs. Gordon, quickly. What did you mention thirteen for, then T have got thirteen, but, Anna you must buck up old girl, and agree with me t'will be best-the last one is for Mary. It will be kinder to shoot her nice and clean, rather than leave her at that devil's mercy when they break in. Mrs. Gordon looked at her husband's stern, set face, and knew that nothing would move him from his resolution, so she merely nodded and held her peace. In the contingency which he dreaded she was not sure that he would not he right, but that the contingency would arise she was not by any means persuaded. Two straws she had to clutch at, one being Sergeant Fred Melville's confident wink, and the other a reme- [mere- remedy] dy for ill-luck which she would apply if neces- [NeWS- necessary] sary, [say] but which so far she kept to herself. The farmer lost no time in preparing for the expected siege by boarding up the windows and strengthening the outer doors, his wife ani [an] daughter taking it by turns to keep a from the flat roof. Having made all as secure as he could, he paid a flying visit to the cattle kraal and told Fis Kaffirs [Affairs] that the Dutchmen were coming, but that he meant to shoot them if they attempted to steal his stock. He advised the boys to keep out of the way during the attack, since they could not render him any assistance on the other hand, if he saw them helping the enemy he promised to repay their treachery with a bullet. . Thence onward, in the suspense of waiting, the hours dragged wearily. Robert Gordon spent most of his time on the roof, watching for signs of trouble. He saw many that added to his load of care, though none as yet that called for action. The waggon track to Gassen's [Assen's] farm ran parallel with the house at the distance of half a mile, and along it at frequent intervals Gordon saw many horsemen riding, some alone, but more often in two's and three's. That they were the wolves gathering for their raid he had no doubt, and he cursed the war and its conse- [cone- consequences] quences-especially [sequence-especially -especially] the thief that had lifted his box of cartridges. the house below mother and daughter busied themselves with trifles, bravely trying to cheer each other with jests at Dutch coward- [cowardice] ice and at the holes that father would drill in them if they dared an attack. But their laughter ran holiow, [hollow] with the grim spectre of overwhelmning [overwhelming] numbers threatening them. and Mrs. Gordon had the added fear of the unlucky through the open window on the wall of the , number thirteen upon her superstitious mind. For alt their spurious calm Mrs. Gordon spoilt the Christmas pudding in the boiling, while Mary was fain to confess that the hat she was trimming must be added to her list of failures. So the long day passed without an alarm, but when the sun had sunk behind the distant Stormberg, [Timber] the women heard their one defender drop through the trap-door from the roof, bolt- [bolting] ing it after him. By that same token they knew that what they dreaded was about to hap- [happen] pen. And soit [soot] proved. The farmer came into the sitting-room and announced that two score men were riding fast towards the house from the north-east-the direction of Gassen's [Assen's] farm. TIl Tal] fight them from here because of the two windows, he said. The side one commands the cattle kraal, and the other gives me a sweep of the front of the house. One of you will have to stand in the kitchen at the back and let me know what goes on that side. e Pil [Oil] watch the back; Mary can stay with you, replied the elder woman, watching her husband narrowly as he took a handful of cart- [cartridges] ridges from the bureau, counted them, and strewed them on the table. There were twelve of them, for one was in his loaded rifle. The window being blocked up there was a lamp burn- [burning] ing, but Mrs. Gordon suggested that it should be extinguished lest the light should show the loophole to the enemy. Her husband, who had already stationed himself at the window, assent- [assented] ed, and she performed the action herself. As she was leaving the room she turned back to say It would save you fumbling for those cartridges in the dark if Mary was to hand them to you, father, eh A good notion, replied Gordon. Mary, my dear, stand by to do as your mother says, but keep out of a line from the window. This barricade isn't. [in't] shot-proof. Casting one lingering glance at her graceful figure. dimly visible in the twilight that filtered through the loophole, the mother turned away to go and act as sentry in the kitchen. There also the window was blocked with an im- [in- improvised] provised [provided] barrier of wood and pillow cases stuffed with earth, but, hastily removing some of the latter she opened the window and threw some- [something] thing out. Then with a sigh of relief, she re- [replaced] placed the defences and set her eye to the loop- [loophole] hole. Out at the back no foes were yet to be seen, and she listened-listened till the drums of her ears were well nigh bursting-for sounds from the sitting-room. The tension was broken at last by the resound- [resounding] ing crack of her husband's rifle. Ah then they're after the cattle first, she muttered. Robert said he shouldn't [should't] fire till they had com- [committed] mitted [fitted] an unlawful-are you all right in there she shouted, breathlessly, as half-a-dozen distant shots were followed by the crash of glass in the parlour. All serene, I've downed one of them. They are by the kraal, came her husband's answer- [answering] ing voice. One bullet has gone home on to the mirror though. Crack and then again crack, crack, crack, crack, went Gordon's rifle in quick succession. There's six cartridges gone, and thank God he isn't [in't] asking Mary how many are left, Mrs. Gordon murmured. If only he'll do the count- [counting] ing himself to the end. All the time a hail of bullets was striking the front and side of the house, but so far no more penetrated to the interior. Gordon got in three more shots and then his wife called to im [in] There's a dozen of them coming towards the back. The farmer ran into the kitchen, took a care- [careful] ful [full] sight. at fhe [he] advancing Dutchmen, fired, and brought his man down. The rest retreated. Gordon stopped a moment before returnin [return] to the main attack. We're done, old wife, i fear, he said, smoothing he ' r iron-grey hair. 'When I have fired two more shots you'd better come into the front room and take a last look at our poor girl. God send me nerve to do it, but it's the only way to save her from outrage. He did not wait for a reply, but left his wife looking after him with a wistful expression, in which the trace of a wan smile lurked. Aye, Rob, I'll come, she said softly under her breath, 'but the dear God send that the faith in me was not Only two more shots and not a sign of help. They'll rush us as soon as they find that the ammunition is out, and then -and then perhaps I shall wish I had let things be. My gentle Mary Crack went the rifle in the sitting-room, fol- [followed] lowed, as usual by the spatter of bullets on the walls as the Dutchmen fired at the flash. A pause, and then once more Gordon's rifle rang out in a final shot at the bespoilers [boilers] of his home. Mrs. Gordon went to the sitting-room. Amid' the powder-reek she could just make out her husband turning to Mary, who stood by the table. Give me the last cartridge, he was saying in a voice that trembled for the first time that night. The last cartridge, father the girl ex- [exclaimed] claimed. Why, you have fired it. I handed it to you before that shot. But I have counted, and I have only counted twelve, said Gordon. One must have drop- [dropped] ped [pd] on the floor. Hunt, both of you. I must find it before they discover I have run out. And he went on his knees, groping, Mary joining him. So passed two dreadful minutes, during which the voices of the rebels sounded nearer and ever nearer. The lull in the firing from the house had made them bold. Tt must have rolled under the bureau, panted Gordon in frantic haste to save his daughter by the only means open to him-the missing cartridge. Anna, don't stand there idle. Light a match .and hold it under the bureau. They will be here directly. But Mrs. Gordon made no movement and no reply. She was listening, listening with bated breath, to a dull rhythmical sound that mingled with the shouts of the advaacing [advancing] Duttahmen- [Dutchmen- Detachment] far away at first, but increasing with every precious moment. into the thunder of iron-shod hoofs. And then the triumphant shouts of the assailanits [assailants] changed into a scream of terror, and Robert Gordon and Mary heard the sound too. It came on. inexorably, two scattered shots were fired, and the Dutch scream took shape in words - The rooineks with the knife-poles are upon us Fly, brothers, fly. Mrs. Gordon rushed to the loophole and peered across ithe [the] moonlit. veldt. [velvet] The troopers have come back; they are amongst them with their lances, she cried, and broke into hysterical laughter, . The troopers came crowding round the house with their prisoners, while farther afield a dozen black heaps, limp and motionless, lay on the veldt, [velvet] staring from glassy eyes ait the great full moon. Gordon unbarred to his rescuers, and Sergeant Fred Melville walked in. The captain sent us back for the turkeys, he said, winking at the pale ghost of a farmer's wife. We had gone thirty miles before he dis- [discovered] covered we'd come away without our Christmas dinner, and the boys were grumbling a bit. Careless of me 'not to have reminded him sooner -but, thank God, I'm an absent-minded beggar, as it turns out. Have you got Gassen [Assen] asked Gordon, anxiously. Yes, he's outside, ro up, and ready for his little journey to the hangman, was the re- [reply] ply. Our commanding officer is a glutton for turkeys, but he's a bigger glutton for rebels, and Mr. Piet. [Poet] can say his prayers.) So with much laughter and some tears they went to fetch the soldiers' hard-earned Christ- [Christmas] mas dinner from their roosts, and during the proceedings Fred contrived to say the word which was to make him and his Mary the hap- [happiest] piest [priest] couple in the Colony when brighter days dawned. . But what licks me is where the last. cart- [cartridge] ridge got to, said Robert Gordon, when the troopers had ridden off with ttheir [their] prisoners and their dinners for the morrow. And he fell to searching under the bureau once more. There's no call for you to do that, said Mrs. Gordon, sharply. I threw the thing out of the window. I wasn't [was't] going to have any unlucky thirteens about the house at such times, and it appears I was right. (The End.) BORWICK'S BAKING POWDER. The Best' BORWICKE'S [BROOKE'S] BAKING POWDER. in the World. BORWICK S BAKING POWDER. Guaranteed BORWICK'S BAKING POWDER. Pure and BORWICKE'S [BROOKE'S] BAKING POWDER. Free from Alum a --- - 'LINSEED COMPOUND' cures Coughs and Colds. Gives immediate relief. 94d. and 134d. Will positively cure torpid liver, and prevent its return. This is not but truth. 1s. 4d. British Depot, 4 , Holborn Viaduct, Londor. [London] B sure they are CARTER'S. 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[Carriage] MR. THOMAS ATKINS IN WAR TIME. - . Bry [By] REV. E. J. HARDY, M.A. (CHaPLain [Chaplain] to Her Masesry's [Misery's] Forces), Author of Mr. Thomas Atkins, How to be Happy Though Married. &c. A French soldier once uaintly [saintly] sai [said] I was his business to kill and be killed te conn hit Certainly the British Thomas An officer of t Ar . thus wrote icon the Ten Medical Carpe [Care] oe front I thought that re Tommy' was a degenerate sort of pins and tha [that] coal the imorewion, [impression] different. He is a brick. 3 is quite riend [friend] of mine wrote when h i as a chaplain at the front The British sor [Sir] ler [Lee] out here is another man. There is little of the familiar grousing' and bad lan [an] age n h time of peace Mr. Thomas Atkins takes his suare [square] of grousing or grumbling, for he i nglishman. [Englishman] He d nag es . ie detests route-marching, for instance, and is not above falling out ot th ranks and going to hospital when i a very small blister on his foot. e does not see the use of r j thinks that it has been invented only fee a annoyance. In time of war, however, as we saw in South Africa, he will march thirty miles co tinuously [continuously] on an empty stomach and bleedi [bleed] 1 feet. In a letter home General Buller wrote that he was filled with admiration for Briti [Brit] h soldiers and then described how they had fought every day and nearly every night from february [February] 14th to 27th broiled by the sun d ing the d dr by the sun dur- [Du- further] & the day, drenched by rain at night, lyin [lying] but three hundred yards off an enemy ie shoots you if you show as much as 2 fin ant soald [sold] hardly eat or drink, and they as could be. through all they were as cheery Speaking of the same fortni [fortune] i private soldier, in a letter whehe [where] Pe light of all he had gone through; but added pathetically at the end Dear Sister,-I have to cut the bottom ; the othee [other] parts ae off my trousers to mend t is when the excitemen [excitement] i that the strain is most felt. te hatte [hate] pela [plea] 'on the nerves and mind of some of the fighters causing them to start up in their sleep and a at ne Maden foe. You will see strong a e i sti [st] al; ghtest [test] sharp ue of a stick or the Mr. Thomas Atkins takes war, an i brings with it, quite coolly as being ait tt day's work, and does it in very much what he does in time of peace. If, for instance, he is fond of vets when things are peaceful, he sees no reason why he should not play with them when shells are flying about. Speaking of a long cannonade from the Boer works, a war correspondent wrote TI sat on the rocks and watched. At my side the Gordons [Gordon] on picket duty were play- [playing] ing with two little white kids. The same writer tells us that not far from this place he met an ostrich, and that a soldier remarked - He came up here some days ago, and he al- [always] ways stays here now we feed him and fool with him, and he seems very happy. Nor does Tommy leave his love of sport at home when he to fight abroad. In South Africa the men had pet scorpions, and used to back their favourites. After one battle, in which several horses were taken from the Boers. there were races with the animals. After the races one horse, and not a bad one either, was sold for three cigarettes. A dandy officer of the British Life Guards being asked how he felt during the battle of Waterloo, said that he felt awfully bored This was an exceptional man, for as a rule British officers and men enjoy the wild pulsa- [pulse- pulsation] tion [ion] of strife. They are like the Irishman who, seeing a crowd, sent his little daughter to find out what caused it, and to say that if there was a row daddy would like to be in it. Speaking of Waterloo, Wellington said As to the way in which some of our ensigns and lieutenants braved danger-the boys just come from school-it exceeds all belief. They ran as at cricket. So, too, a soldier writing to his mother about a battle in South Africa said You can't believe how happy I was fighting against the Boers. I felt as if I were in a foot- [football] ball match. Another soldier wrote to his mother I shall never forget the day (of the battle of Colenso) [Console] as long as I live. The first few minutes of the action makes you queer, I can tell you. Then you don't take any notice of it. I was laughing and joking just the same as if I was sitting down in that dear old corner at No. 14, Alexander-road (his home). The campaign in South Africa showed many things, but two especially-first, that our short- [short service] service soldiers could fight and, secondly, that they would face the fire of up-to-date weapons, which some had thought would be beyond the endurance of human nerves. Those who have not seen active service at all, or who have seen it only on the old conditions, do not know what a battle is ike when smokeless powder and long- [Grange] range weapons are used. Tommy Atkins up-to- [date] date and our brother the Boer have intro- [introduced] duced [duce] us to that knowledge. War is horrible, but it brings to the surface the good that is in Thomas Atkins. Mr. Frederick Treves, [Trees] one of the eminent civilian consulting surgeons who went to the war, wrote thus about our soldiers Their Was many times very marked. An orderly was bringing some water to a wounded man lying on the ground near me. He was shot through the abdomen, and he could hardly speak owing to the dryness of his mouth, but he said 'Take it to my pal first. A private of the 2nd East Surrey Regiment thus wrote after the battle of Colenso [Console A sergeant of the Irish Fusiliers and a gunner of the Artillery showed an in- [instance] stance of true grit. One was shot in the head and the other in three places about the legs and body, anc [an] when the doctor saw them he asked what was the matter. The sergeant said 'Sure I'm only shot in the head and the other fellow in three places.' They were helping one another along. At Spion [Sion] Kop [Op] the left eye of a soldier was carried away by a piece of shell. There was a horrible cavity in his cheek through which the tongue could be seen. He conld [cold] not speak when brought to hospital, but made signs for a pencil and wrote Did we win The nurse who related this incident said that all were so. touched with his self-forgetfulness that they could not bear to tell him that we were beaten. Speaking of the individual gallantry shown by men at Ladysmith, [Lady smith] General Sir George White gave the following incident During an artil- [artillery- artillery] lery [ley] duel there was a sergeant, Boseley [Moseley] by name, in command of one of the guns, sitting rather doubled up on the trail of his gun. A shell took off one of his legs high up on one side and took an arm out of the socket, and he fell across the trail of the gun, as they thought, in an in- [inanimate] animate, speechless mass; but to the astonish- [astonishment] ment [men] of every man amongst them a voice came from the mass inciting them on to their duty, and saying 'Here, you men, roll me out of the way and go on working the gun. A colour-sergeant of the Gordon Highlanders who knew this Artillery Sergeant, and who him- [himself] self had got seven wounds in the same engage- [engagement] ment, [men] told me that the day before he behaved thus bravely the sergeant had fainted when he saw another man's leg taken off by a shell. Before the Boer war came to correct the soft- [softness] ness and luxuriousness which was beginning to enervate us, I heard a naval officer say that we needed a big war to teach us how much we could suffer. Soldiers on active service learn how much they can dare and endure, and they learn to respect courage, and a simple mode of life in others. riting [rising] to his parents from South Africa, a private said To see our smart officers, God bless them roughing it like navvies, makes you respect them and no mis- [is- mistake] take. We are so accustomed to read of officers say- [saying] ing when mortally wounded, to their men Do your duty, my lads, and never mind me, that their self-forgetfulness almost ceases to surprise. What is it like to be in a first battle and to be wounded 2 Perhaps Lord Wolseley [Wholesale] was right when he said that no pleasure equals the excite- [excitement] ment [men] of fighting, but it is am acquired taste, and the first field of battle in which a man finds him- [himself] self is, for some time at least, a disagreeable place. The man who says that he was not afraid, and did not wish himself well out of a first battle, is a liar. The bravest soldiers are often most afraid when they first face an enemy, just as the grandest orators are most nervous when they begin to speak. As a rule, soldiers are so much excited that they hardly know what they do in battle. I have now in my charge as chaplain, the 2lst [last] Lancers who won fame at Omdurman. I often ask the men what were their feelings during the famous charge they made. They say that they do not remember anything about it in the day- [daytime] time, but that it occasionally comes to them at night like a fevered dream. Several told me that they knew that they had struck Dervishes with their lances, though whether they had killed or only wounded them, they emul [mule] not say. How do soldiers feel when wounded Judg- [Judge- Judging] ing from what many of them say, it would seem that when a man is hit by a bullet, even if it be in a vital part, he is numbed, and scarcely feels any pain at first. A nurse at Wynberg [Beg] Hospi- [Hosp- Hospital] tal wrote home that she was amazed at the way some of the men, though positively riddled with bullets, got well. One man had been shot five times, but was quite lively. I asked 11 him if he felt much pain. He replied 'No only one shot that went through my left lung caught my breath the first tew [te] days and hurt a bit. A Rifle Brigade man who was in the fighting at Colenso, [Console] wrote One poor tellow [yellow] was wounded no less than three times-in eac [each] arm and in the right thigh-and yet he was walking without assistanee. [assistance] He near me, and said, with a laugh It's a bit warm up there; they have hit me three times, but have not rung the bell yet. Another man, though wounded in three places, said that the only thing he was sorry for was that he had left his smokes and his matches behind in his pistol holsters. From Bloemfontein a soldier thus wrote after the battle of Paardeberg [Partake The only grievance I have is that during the battle I lost thirty-two shillings, but I can't grumble, for when I lost only thirty-two shillings, many, a poor fellow lost his life; 'so, instead of grumb- [grub- grumbling] ling, I thanked God. So, too, my friend, the chaplain already quoted, says that after the battle of Belmont the men bore their wounds, not only without complaint, but with an un- [unaffected] affected Iness [Ones] for not being worse, and for having escaped at all. And when they are in hospital, our Tommies are so grateful and obedient that the sisters say they make splendid patients. How can L thank you enough, sister. for what you have done for me said an Irish soldier. There's no use praying for you, for there is a place in Heaven reserved for the likes of you. And the implicit trust which the soldier puts in those who have the care of him when he is sick, is quite touching. , Writing of the siege of Ciudad [Cited] Rodrigo, George Napier said was a field-officer of the trenches when a thirteen-inch shell from the town fell in the midst of us. I called to the mem [men] to lie down flat, and they instantly obeyed orders, except one of them, an and an old marine, but the most worthless drunken dog, who trotted up to the shell. the fuse of which was still burning, and, striking it with his spade, knocked the fuse out; then, taking the immense shell in his hands, brought it to me, saying ' There she is for now, yer 'anner. [manner] I've knocked the life out of the crater.' Coolness in the presence of shells, which are to most men's nerves very trying, was found in the soldiers engaged in South Africa as well as in the veterans of the Peninsula campaign. A soldier, also an Irishman, in the lJate [late] Boer war, was stooping down unloading forage. A Boer shell entered the ground tive [tie] yards from him. He did not look p, but said to himself Ach, [Each] go to blazes with ye At the battle of Busaco [Biscay] the firing was so fierce that Wellington, with his whole staff, dismounted. One of them, however, Napier by name (one of the famous fighting trio of the Dame) fiercely re- [refused] fused to dismount, or even to Cover his red uni- [uniform] form with a cloak. This is the uniform of my regiment, he said, and in it I will show, or fall this day. He had scarcely uttered the words when a bullet smashed through his face and shattered his jaw to pieces. As hé was carried past Wellington he waved hi. hand and whispered through his torn mouth could not die at a better moment. This was brave but stupid, and there was too much of the same sort of stupid bravery at the beginning of the Boer war. Officers got themselves and their men killed quite unnecessarily. Probably some of them were polite enough to regret that they were dressed in khaki instead of scarlet, as this gave the Boers more trouble to hit them. Still, the South African campaign has proved, literally up to the hilt, that our present soldiers are of the same stuff as the men who fought un- [under] der Wellington in the Peninsula, and that there is no beating them, in spite of their generals. THE WATER SUPPLY OF RURAL DISTRICTS. SUGGESTED ASSISTANCE FROM THE NEIGHBOURING TOWNS. At the half-yearly meeting of the British As- [Association] sociation [association] of Water Engineers, held in London on Saturday, a very important report was pre- [present] sentea [sent] on the water supply to the towns and rural districts. The report states that the principal causes for complaint are that the general control is shared by four independent public authorities, namely, the two Houses of Parliament, the Local Government Board, and the Board of Trade, that the decisions of Parlia- [Parliament- Parliament] ment [men] are often contradictory as between the two Houses, as well as between successive ses- [se- sessions] sions, [Sons] and that rural districts are often unable for financial and other reasons either to secure proper water supplies or to protect their natural water rights in them. The committee who make the report suggest that as a suiti- [suit- sufficient] cient [cent] and proper supply of water is essential to the well-being of the whole community, some system might be devised by which the poorer rural districts should be as far as necessary sisted [sister] in obtaining a water supply by the wealthier towns in their immediate neighbour- [neighbourhood] hood. They say that although recently there have been several instances of advancement, # very small number of water boards have been formed, one of these being at Bolton. They add that the question of the pollution of water has not yet been settled, and much remains to be done. The association instructed the com- [committee] mittee [matter] to obtain statistics on the following points -The available supply obtainable from various sources, general information concerning existing waterworks, and information concern- [concerning] ing districts not adequately supplied with water, with a view to the promoticn [promotion] of some re- [reform] form in the present methods of dealing with the supply of water. ARMY REFORM. Tt almost looks as though army reform were not, after all, to go into the limbo of things begotten in crisis and neglected in calm. Many prominent men do certainly stand committed to its consideration. Lord Roberts has pro- [proclaimed] claimed it as a serious task which calls for his best energies. He will not rest, he says, until the army of Britain is as perfect as it can be made. In these words tl e country has the assurance, at least, that something will be attempted. How much will be accomplished de- [depends] pends on many things, and not least on the power of resistance to old official methods, deep- [deposited] rooted in the life of society and the Depart- [Departments] ments. [rents] Lord Wolseley's [Wholesale's] departure from the War Office (says the Outlook has been marked by much amiability and professional enthusiasm on the part of brother soldiers. But as regards the larger questions of reform and late else seems playing the part of Mystery. e shakes the head, hints, and, like Hamlet, looks as if he could, an' he would. If Lord Wolseley [Wholesale] has any fundamental scheme in his mind adapted to the new needs of the country and the Empire, let him out with it boldly. We have had te withstand such a rush of amateurs that the ideas of all practical soldiers are sure of true welcome. Meanwhile, Sir Evelyn Wood, as interim Com- [Commander] mander-in-Chief, [Marden-in-Chief, -in-Chief] has issued a memorandum of improvements to be forthwith adopted in infan- [Indian- infantry] try drill, rifle and carbine exercises. Instruc- [Instruct- Instructions] tions [tins] have also been furnished for the informa- [inform- information] tion [ion] of all concerned, limiting the performance of manual, firing, and bayonet exercises to the squadron, battery. or company only. Bayonet fighting, and not bayonet exercises, is in future to be the aim for achievement, and physical drill is to form part of the soldier's training. It looks as though we had really begun. THE JEWISH TRAGEDY AT LEEDS. TWENTY YEARS' PENAL SERVITUDE. At the Leeds Assizes, on Saturday, L. Marks Finestein [Fine stein] (28), tailor, was placed in the dock to reeeive [receive] sentence, he having been convicted on Friday of the manslaughter of Leila Bashman, [Bushman] whose throat he cut at 11, St. Anns-lane. [Ann-lane] The Judge said the jury, in his judgment, rightly rejected the prisoner's evidence. There could be no doubt Finestein's [Fine stein's] first confession was true, that he was guilty of the woman's death. Although the jury had seen the way to a lenient verdict they had not indicated any doubt as to the serious character of the crime. Everything to his lordship's mind, pointed to a brutal and deliberate murder, though the motive of it could not be known, and but absence of a mo- [motive] tive, [tie] though it might be very essential to the consideration of a jury. as i to show whether or not the prisoner was guilty at all did not in te same way affect punishment. e injury icted, [acted] whic [which] 5 Of a determined h caused death, was was every sign of deliberate and murder- [murder] oe he He must treat the case nearly i were-what it really was-a brutal murder, ; pass sentence of 20 years' penal eg SAD DEATH OF A MECHANIC. ---- EFFECTS OF UNEMPLOYMENT. hehe [he] morming [morning] Mr. F. N. Molesworth uest [est] at the Central Hotel, Rochdale, on of Alfred Fairbrother, wasfound [was found] dead in the canal ale, on stated that she resided The was her husband, and was a fitter by trade. He had been out of work some time, and had threatened to drown himeelf [himself] if he did not get work. On Monday morning, after ing of some breakfast, he left home and did not return Seeks Ree [Ere] ee ee i icide [suicide] whilst in a of unspond [unsound] mind. 'LINSEED COMPOUND' Trade Mark of Kay's Com pound Essence of Linseed, cures Coughs and Colds,