"I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break; But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds, and garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen 'o the May." How pretty the coquetry with which in the heyday of her triumph she treats her lover "As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see, "Oh! sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise, And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go." How touching to the thought of the dying girl, how holy the kind consideration now that strength has faded away with the flush of conquest, for that same lover whom in her brighter but scarcely happier moments she But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel- treated so coquettishly. How sacred seems tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday, But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May." How lovely the leaning of her innocent nature to the beautiful which wreathes sweet flowers round her imagination as she binds garlands round her head. "The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers, And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint, sweet cuckoo-flowers; And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May." the transition from the sensuous beauty, with lovers at her feet, to the chastened invalid welcoming death as a bridegroom,-— "And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret; There's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet. If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life." Our space compels us reluctantly to pass over "St. Simeon Stylites," in which we see painted by the hand of genius, the ambitious hopes and the besetting fears-the debasement and degradation of self, with the love of the worship of others-the mingled cer tainty and doubt which throng through the mind of the fanatic who seeks to gain a crown of glory, not by elevating and making happy others, but by mortifying, torturing, and debasing his own humanity. We cull a few extracts from another poem embodying perhaps more than any "If you're waking call me early, call me early, other the metaphysical philosophy of Ten mother dear, nyson. The poem to which we refer, "The Two Voices," represents a man's own nature divided against itself. The evil voice making life dark and counselling self-destruction; the good voice whispering hope and comfort, and painting much of joy and brightness amid the despair and darkness of the world. How subtilely the dark spirit counsels suicide, "A still small voice spake unto me, Were it not better not to be?'" How artfully it insinuates the possible inferiority of man to other beings who may exist "This truth within thy mind rehearse, Is boundless better, boundless worse." With what emphatic briefness it points to the presumed annihilation of Death as the "Sov'reign cure" for all, "Go, vexed Spirit, sleep in trust; The right ear, that is fill'd with dust, Hears little of the false or just." How triumphantly the good voice points to examples of the great and good of all ages who, defying trouble 11 rowing hard against the stream, And goes on to express the fear which Shakspeare makes Hamlet express as a reason for not casting off mortality "I said, 'I toil beneath the curse, The darkness of a pre-existence as well as of an after immortality seems to form a part of Tennyson's creed; for the good voice, replying to the argument that a beginning implies an ending, says "Yet how should I for certain bold, The doctrine of the metempsychosis he does not deem unworthy of a thought-as he philosophically puts it, "It may be that no life is found, Falls off, but cycles always round." And at last hope proves stronger than fear, as it always will in the lives of men, and the uncertain light of argument fades before the mystic thoughts it conjures up. "Moreover, something is or seems, Far thought with music that it makes." And last and above all, the recognition of power and goodness, and the capacity for them in humanity prevails. "So variously seem'd all things wrought, From "Bentley's Miscellany," MY VOLUNTEER TROOP IN KAFIR- ANOTHER Kafir war has burst upon the Cape Colony. How very faint are our ideas of the horrors of such an event when we read the records of it, comfortably ensconced in our easy chairs by "our ain firesides." It is true that we shudder a little at the idea of a village full of peaceful inhabitants, quietly sitting down to their Christmas dinners, being suddenly attacked by hundreds or thousands of armed savages, barbarously murdered, and their habitations committed to the flames. We are conscious of a slight glow of indignation when we hear of our brave soldiers waylaid and overpowered, and left naked, bleeding, and ghastly corpses in the highway. Our pulse throbs with anxiety as we read of the brave old General Sir Harry Smith, the hero of Aliwal and a dozen other well-fought fields, surrounded by hordes of these faithless and bloodthirsty fiends, and escaping, as it were, by a hair's breadth from their clutches, and from a fearful and ignominious death. But after all, our feelings are not much more harrowed by all these details than perchance by a well-acted tragedy on the boards of Drury Lane Theatre, or the Haymarket, or some heart-rending melodrama at the Surrey or the Porte Saint Martin. The comfortable sensation of our own security in old England (notwithstanding the warnings of Sir Francis Head) is a powerful antidote against the otherwise too violent dose of horrors we might have to swallow. Nay, so thoroughly do we maintain our character as "a nation of shopkeepers," that our very first impulse is not that of horror at the atrocities committed, or pity for the innocent and the brave exposed to them, or indignation at the perpetrators, or fear for the safety of our colony; but a pretty considerable" anxiety as to who is to pay the expense of thrashing the Kafirs! Imagine, good reader, the Arabs attacking the French colonists in Algeria, and some Cobdenite Member of the National Assembly in Paris getting up to "protest" against the nation paying the expense of punishing the insurgents! Do you think there is an insurance-office in Europe that would insure that wretched individual's existence for two days? But I must not begin political allusions of any kind, for they are apt to make men very ill-tempered and very disagreeable companions, while my object is to entertain the reader with a few of my personal reminiscences" touching the Kafirs," and with a veracious history of the deeds of my own volunteer troop in the former Kafir war. I was living in a peaceful, quiet, thriving | little seaport in the Eastern Province of the Cape Colony, when we were all startled from our usual monotonous state of existence by the news that the Kafirs were in arms, and had sent messages of defiance to the governor. Now, as these turbulent gentry can bring from thirty to fifty thousand armed men into the field, (most of them armed, too, with good long guns,) and as the whole of our military force on the frontier was probably something short of one thousand, it may easily be conceived that the news I have mentioned was heard with any thing but indifference. To form any thing like an adequate conception of our feelings on the occasion the reader has only to fancy himself in a quiet country town with his wife and his olive-branches around him, and a breathless messenger rushing into the room to inform him that the combined armies of France, Austria, and Russia are safely landed hard-by, and marching on with fire and sword to his dwelling, vowing to spare neither sex nor age. To say that we instantly rose en masse to defend ourselves would be no proof of our heroism, but only an evidence of the instinctive feeling of self-preservation. It was a case of fighting or dying, and, like heroes and men, we chose the former. Every body was to be a soldier. Every double-barrelled fowling-piece became an implement of war; decrepit blunderbusses were furbished up to shoot Kafirs, or their own possessors, (which seemed as likely ;) stores were ransacked for arms of all descriptions; every man began casting bullets with any piece of lead he could lay hands on; some even hinted at turning the gutters of their roofs to such purposes; while a man who had a sword was such an envied mortal that he was in daily and hourly fear of being robbed of his treasure. All eyes were immediately turned to "the fort," where four or five scaly old guns poked their noses out and looked fiercely down on to the town. It was our only fortification, our sole place of refuge. Judge, then, of our consternation on learning that the man who should venture to fire one of those guns would certainly be sent higher into the air than the whole Kafir nation could blow him; while the fort itself would inevitably tumble to pieces and come rattling about our ears in the town. Now, it must be confessed, that though all this may look very ludicrous, we were far from seeing the joke of it at the time. I can positively declare that we took a very lugubrious view of the subject, and uttered rather strong imprecations on "the authorities" for taking no better care of “ our national defences." It is true there was the sea left us; but, alas! there were but four or five little coasting vessels at hand, and our town contained three or four thousand inhabitants. There was no hope of escape. I repeat, we had nothing to do but to fight or die! We immediately began to form ourselves into companies or troops of volunteers, and to choose our officers from among ourselves. One troop, mounted and armed with doublebarrelled guns, conferred the honor of being their captain on me. And I don't mind telling the reader that I felt very proud of it, and fancied myself already an embryo hero. The only thing we called on Government to supply us with was ammunition. Every day I led my troop into a valley hard by the town, and drilled them with the pertinacity of a serjeant of Life Guards. Where I learnt the art myself is my own secret, and I am not going to divulge it, especially as the reader knows nothing of me or my previous occupations. Then we used to practise firing at a mark—a great white board, whereon was drawn with black chalk the figure of an imaginary Kafir. I must confess I was rather disheartened, the first day of drill and practice, at seeing only one shot within the outlines of the Kafir; and I began to fear that my troop would be less formidable in the field than it was desir able it should be. However, we improved day by day till after a week's practice our imaginary Kafir looked considerably riddled. Then there was the drilling! How shall I ever describe its ludicrous scenes? Fifty men of all sizes are mounted on fifty horses or ponies of equally various dimensions. There is a fat, greasy-looking man who rides a low punchy little gray pony, with a remarkably lively little tail; and whenever the order is given to "fire," the punchy little gray bobs down his head, elevates his heels, and pitches the fat man on to the grass over his head. That man never will ride. There is a little, weazen-faced tailor mounted on a high, long-legged, rawboned brute that takes him wherever it pleases, and at the same moment that the stout gentleman is seen sprawling on the ground, the little tailor on his tall Rosinante is galloping wildly across the country, and is never heard off till tea-time the same evening, when he drops in at home and tells his wife big stories about his martial deeds. There is that highly respectable man in the green wide-awake, and the perverse pair of trowsers that will work up to his knees, who is a steady, persevering fellow at his drill; but who has a remarkable tendency to take his right hand for his left, and when ordered to face to the former invariably twists to the latter, and thereby comes into violent collision with his neighbor, to the occasional upsetting of both. There is a mild, gentlemanly-looking, middle-aged man, with a new double-barrelled gun, and mounted on a decently-groomed animal, who, if not a very soldier-like figure, will at all events pass muster; but has an awkward habit of forgetting the difference between ball-cartridges and blank ones, whereby he occasionally sends a bullet whizzing over his captain's head, which he misses only through a tendency he has to fire high. There is the "tall man" of the troop, who rides a "jibber;" and when ordered to " charge" is generally seen backing like an equestrian at Astley's retiring from the ring, but driving his spurless heels frantically into the brute's sides to make him go forward, while the more he labors the more his animal won't do it. Notwithstanding these little drawbacks, however, my troop was voted the "crack" one of the place. Some of us-most of us, indeed-could both ride and shoot well, and began to be anxious to try the effects of our bullets on the thick skulls of the Kafirs. When, therefore, it was suggested, though not absolutely commanded, that one of the troops raised in our town had better advance towards the frontier, we forthwith volunteered to do so. Five or six ox-wagons were prepared to carry our commissariat and ammunition, our horses were saddled, our farewells (with many a heartache) exchanged, and one fine morning we marched forward "to conquer or to die." Perhaps it would be difficult to conceive a more disagreeable duty than that which we had to perform-to fight against savages, with the certainty of the most horrible deaths if we fell into their hands, and no "glory" if we thrashed them instead. What glory could be gained by fighting hordes of barbarians? What military renown could await a lot of burghers, battling for their own lives? What gazettes or promotions could be in store for a set of halfarmed civilians, sallying forth to protect their homes and their property? Still, we went forward with a firm determination to be heroes at all hazards. Our first day's march was about thirty miles, to Sundny's river, on the banks of which we pitched our camp. After I had taken all due precautions to fortify our position as well as our rough means and small experience would enable me; after having duly posted the pickets and "made all snug," as the sailors say, I retired to my tent to cogitate over the strange course of events which had turned me into a hybrid captain of a troop of burghers on the plains of South Africa. I was aroused from my reverie by the entrance of my sergeant. The good man (who was a cooper by trade) gave me the military salute, and proceeded "If you please, captain, I have to report private Brooks." "What's the matter?" I asked. “Why, you see, captain, (another military salute—we were very au fait at these minor "dandyisms" of our new profession)— "you see, sir, I posted him on guard at the turn of the river yonder, where the bush joins it; and says he, 'Do you mean to say as how I'm to walk up and down this cursed place for two hours with my gun?'-Of course you are,' says I; 'it's the captain's orders.' Then,' says he, 'I'll just tell you what it is, I'll see you d―d first." This was the first specimen I had of the perfection of our state of military discipline, and I had great trouble to refrain from bursting out laughing. But, assuming a stern look, I said "Place him under arrest and wait my | inglorious" peace. On the fourth day we orders." "Begging your pardon, captain, that's just what he wants-there's a good fire that he wants to get nigh." 'Oh, that's it, is it? Then tie him to one of the wagons, away from the fire, and stop his rations till he's willing to return to duty." The sergeant seemed to think I was a genius for hitting on such a plan, and I may as well declare, that I always found it the most efficacious method of quelling turbulent spirits, stopping the supplies. Private Brooks behaved like a trump ever afterwards. Next morning we marched forwards again, approaching the Addo Bush, which is a dense forest, extending miles in every direction, and with only one wagon road through it. It is always full of something horrible, both in peace and war, if you believe the reports of a couple of roadside innkeepers who live on the borders of it, and express the greatest anxiety for the personal safety of any visitors who think of quitting their hospitable roofs to penetrate its depths, For my own part, the number of times I have been about to be torn to pieces by lions, trampled to death by elephants, eaten by tigers, and chased by hyenas in that bush (according to the warnings of those same innkeepers) makes me look upon myself as a rival of Van Amburgh, so often have I escaped the jaws of wild beasts. On the present occasion, of course, it was full of Kafirs enough to dine on my troop-men, horses, wagons, and oxen-without suffering the slightest indigestion from a surfeit. On we proceeded notwithstanding these gloomy as surances; and although we fired at one or two blackened stumps of trees, seen from the distance through the leaves; although we charged in pursuit of a black bullock, and nearly murdered a wandering Fingo herdsman, we did not fall in with a single Kafir. Three further days' march brought us to Graham's Town, the head-quarters of the frontier. We marched into the town a very dirty, tired, sleepy, unshaven, and wretched looking set; yet we felt ourselves heroes, and flattered ourselves that many fair eyes looked on us as such. I am not going to trouble the reader with our doings for the next three days in "mute, were ordered to proceed to a certain spot, known as Trompetter's Drift,-" drift" meaning, in the language of the colony, a "ford," where we were to remain until joined by other forces. On looking at the map, and taking a careful view of the posi tion we were to occupy, I became convinced that we were about to have all our soldierlike qualities called into play: for a more diabolical spot, one better adapted for Kafirs to surround even the most vigilant of volunteer captains, to hem in his troop, eat them up, (as they call it,) and utterly annihilate them, I never saw. Moreover, the bush around it was reported to be full of Kafirs, and for that very reason my troop was sent to look for them; because, in fact, we were looked upon as a set of regular fire-eating devils! We marched forward again. Our destination lay only about thirty or forty miles from the town; but I made a two days' march of it, because I judged it imprudent to put my neck into such a place of jeopardy, for the first time, after dark. On the second day we reached the "Drift," which was a ford on a branch of the Great Fish River. I must explain, however, to the reader, who may be ignorant of the peculiarities of South Africa, that many of the beds of rivers there are quite dry. Such was the case with this one; so that there was merely a "blind river," or ravine, where there should have been a noble stream. Crossing this blind river, I led my men to an open space beyond it, according to the wise instructions I had received from the powers that were. Here we prepared to encamp. To fortify such a position effectually was almost impossible, but I did my best. Before us lay a dense, impenetrable bush, which may be said to have occupied two sides of the triangle on which we were placed, the third side being the deep bed of the blind river before mentioned. We were careful enough about our sentries all night, I can assure the reader. As for myself, I was riding or walking from one post to another nearly the whole of the time. Not a sound disturbed us, however; not the faintest hint that a Kafir was in the dark, black-looking bush beyond us. In the morning, some of the party began |