'Her gentle birth and breeding are both self-evident,' said Sir Hercules. 'Neither the girl nor any one who has the pleasure of meeting her would need to be reminded of that fact.

'O, isn't it interesting, mother dear?' cried Rosamond. Then turning to her uncle she added. pleadingly, 'You'll let her come down, too, when her stepfather is here about our theatre, won't you? and she can tell me all about the stage, and teach me my parts. What I most desire in this wide, wide world is the chance of talking to and knowing an actress. A real live actress, mother-only fancy! -won't that be delightful?'

Mrs. Trevor did not fancy the proposition which so elated her daughter.

'Dinner is served,' announced the butler.

'You shall see and judge for yourself to-morrow, Ada,' said Sir Hercules, rising and offering his arm to his sister; don't condemn either Trevor's widow or his child without having seen them,' he added, in a confidential and persuasive

tone.

'Condemn' she replied hastily; 'why should I condemn where I am absolutely indifferent? Neither Mrs. John Hall nor her daughter can ever interest me in the least

degree. We, of course, have nothing in common.'

'What is her name, uncle ?' whispered Rosamond, as her mother was taking her place at the dinnertable.

'They call her Nell; but I believe she was christened Eleanor, after the Dowager Countess of Kentingtown,' answered Sir Hercules, who was evidently far more gratified by his niece's genuine interest in his new acquaintance than by her mother's studied indiffer

ence.

'And is Nell very pretty and very fascinating, uncle?' asked Rosamond, as she dipped the spoon into her soup.

'You shall answer all these questions for yourself to-morrow, my fair Rosamond,' he replied, smiling, as he thought of the pleasure in store for the happy child, to whom the theatre was still the embodiment of fairyland.

Mrs. Dalrymple was silent. It was the first time for many a long year that she was not thoroughly satisfied with her dear Hercules. He had quite a passion for theatrical people and things, as she knew. And in London, of course, he could follow these Bohemian inclinations of his, and the many doubtful acquaintances that belonged to the theatrical world, without let or hindrance; but surely Silverbeach should be exempt, not only from the presence of these professional persons, but also from the mere mention of their names or their circumstances. What possible interest could Mrs. Hall and her daughter, the actress, have for Mrs. Dalrymple and her fair Rosamond?

IN a London Gazette, towards the close of April, appeared the announcement that it was the Queen's intention to confer the Victoria Cross on two of the officers and six of the humbler soldiers engaged in the defence of Rorke's Drift. The act was in fullest sympathy with the feelings of the country. The mettlesome chord at the bottom of all manful nature was touched by, and thrilled answeringly to, the story of that nightfight of hours by a small band of Britons (mostly Welshmen) against a horde of magnificent savages fresh from a debauch of blood. Nobody begrudged Chard and Bromhead their reward; still, that they got it was an accident of war. Chard might have been plodding on for years, with his pluck and ability, vainly trying to creep over the heads of seniors-for promotion by seniority is the stupid rule in the Royal Engineers-but for the fortunate chance that came to him. Bromhead might have been accounted a pleasant companion and a good shot, but with minutest germ of martial genius in him, had not the disaster of Isandlwanha tossed him the opportunity of winning a name. So true is it that luck, quite as oft as patronage or courage or capacity, is a factor in military success. The ball hops to the feet of the lucky man; it is for him to give it the valiant kick. The ball hopped to the feet of Chard and Bromhead, and they showed that they were equal to the occasion; therefore it may be affirmed that there is

not an honest man in the service who is not delighted at their promotion and decoration. The one fact in that memorable resistance, which saved a colony and shed some thin consolation over an unexampled defeat close by-the one fact proving that the bravery of these officers was not of the noonday shout-and-glitter shop-window quality, but of the rarer and better type, quiet, stubborn, self-possessed, was that of their having held the reins of discipline as calmly as in garrison in peace. They placed two men of their small force on guard over the commissariat rum. They did not permit the ammunition to be wasted; the orders were, 'See that every bullet has its billet.' In other words, they never lost their heads. I fear me, not all of the men who wear the Cross 'for Valour' earned recommendation for it with heads so cool. They were flushed with the excitement of advance-perhaps enkindled with stirring music, waving flags, and serried columns in array of battle; they fought in the light of day and in the encouraging presence of comrades and chiefs. To distinguish oneself under these circumstances is gallant, no doubt; but the gallantry is cheap compared to that exhibited by the heroes of Rorke's Drift, and by many others in the red coat who have risked or lost their lives in the petty skirmishes of great wars, or in obscure liliputian conflicts in out-of-the-way places, of which not one in ten

ever hears in these islands, not one in a thousand has recollection in a twelvemonth, not one in ten thousand has coherent notion of the origin.

At the tail of the announcement in the Gazette was a memorandum stating that Lieutenant Melville would have been recommended for the Cross, had he survived, for his attempt to save the Queen's colour; and likewise that Lieutenant Coghill would have been recommended for his attempt to save the life of Lieutenant Melville. Against the intention of the latter award it would be ungracious to breathe a syllable. Coghill could have saved his own life. He was in Natal territory; he went back into the Buffalo to help his brother-officer; both sank exhausted as they clambered out on the bank, and there both were assegaied. But Melville's conduct, to my thinking, was not such as fairly to entitle him to the Victoria Cross.

It may seem harsh and mean to speak thus of the dead. But, for Heaven's sake, let us have the honesty of our opinions; leave cant to Exeter Hall and gush to the boarding-schools.

Isandlwanha is, in a sense, a modern Thermopyla; and over the graves of those who perished there might be written a parody of the distich of Simonides:

'Go, tell the Spartans, thou that passest by, That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.' One man escaped from Thermopylæ; the Greeks met him with reproaches. Nowadays it appears he would have been recommended for the Victoria Cross. Lieutenant Melville was trying to escape from the field where his comrades perished when he was overtaken and slain.* That is the plain truth. I

* It is only just to admit that a statement has been made, that the officer in command told Melville to save the colour at any price; but upon what valid evidence can

do not say that he was to blame for having shown his heels when he saw that there was no farther advantage in holding out, that the odds were invincible, and that he might do more good by warning others of what had happened and what might be expected by them than by staying to be massacred. In making for a last opening for dear life he obeyed a natural impulse; and, after all, he may have reasoned that it is the soldier's object not to be killed, but to kill. Besides, even if this were a civilised enemy, it should have been his object, when his associates were overpowered, to have avoided capture. No censure is to be attached to Lieutenant Melville or those who tried to burst from that ring of doom at Isandlwanha; their case is different from that of the officer of the Soth, on the Intombi river, who left his men to do their best while he 'sought help.'

But, then, the conduct of the man who acts in this manner is not exactly of the kind for which the Victoria Cross should be granted. granted. To be sure, the Queen's colour was found on his person. To hold that escaping with a colour, either torn from the staff and stuffed in one's haversack or held trailing from the saddle-flap, is 'saving the colour' is preposterous. The honour of the 24th-for that is what is symbolised by the colour, if anything-was never jeopardised. It was saved by the men who fell at their posts. Those men, the Pulleines, Mostyns, Wardells, and the rest, and their followers who died on the field, deserved the Cross, by the logic of honour, more richly than those who died away from the field. If

such a statement be based? The fact is, the details of that surprise at Isandlwanha, and the harrowing scene that ensued, will never be known,

to the military student of a reflecting turn of mind, it will appear imprudent and invidious to have selected anybody for recommendation for the Cross. A device which would have satisfied all the relatives of the dead, their surviving comrades, and the nation at large, would have been to have decorated the regimental flag. The notion is not mine; it is borrowed from the French, who have some pretty conceits in matters military. As that cannot be done, I hope, before the heroic gloom of IsandIwanha and the heroic glory of Rorke's Drift die out of the short memory of a public which runs too much after novelty, that a monument will be raised to those who took part in them-a monument on whose sides will be inscribed the names of the dead down to the drummer-boys, and whose apex will be the Victoria Cross.

It is better to be tiresome than leave seed of doubt, for which reason I make no excuse for returning to this legend of the rescued colours. There has been a controversy in the Service papers of late as to the propriety of retaining colours. Some vow that they do more harm than benefit, that they are a point de mire for an enemy's fire, that they are cumbersome to carry and hamper good men in action; in short, that they are more trouble than they are worth. Others swear that to abolish the colours would be to sign the death-warrant of the army. Who is right? Perhaps neither; for,

This story has been since denied: another proof of the difficulty of arriving at the truth.

sooth to say, as Tristram Shandy remarks somewhere, there is much to be advanced on both sides of the question. I think men nowadays would fight as well without colours as with; but, on the other hand, a regimental guard of honour would be as lop-sided without its colours as without its band. I know that the 60th Rifles and the Rifle Brigade, neither of which corps carries colours, are among the most famous in the service; and I also know that my old friends of the 2d Goorkhas, the Rifles of Sirmoor, would not part with the truncheon (which is really a mace) given them in lieu of their colours, without a desperate outcry. The right mode of settling the controversy may be to display the colours in the piping times of peace, and to stow them away in danger; and that is the mode Major-General Lord Chelmsford would seem to have adopted. It will be borne in mind that he quitted his unintrenched and unlaagered camp at Isandlwanha on a reconnaissance which he anticipated would lead up to a fight. He apprehended no peril to those in camp. With them he left the colours. Now there are two colours to every regiment, the Queen's and the Regimental. What became of the second, in this instance? We never hear of it. However, they did not disappear in shame, like the flag of Sergeant Hornus of Daudet's story at Metz; the colours are not lost so long as they are not surrendered! Those of the 24th never ran that hazard. They were brighter and haughtier in their frayed and filthy lowliness after that disaster at Isandlwanha than the myriad and sumptuous standards of the Queen's cuirassiers, those stately regiments of Household Cavalry which bear more gold-fringed silk and see less active service than any others.

Queen's and

23d

Luke

Two instances occurred at the battle of the Alma wherein the Victoria Cross was earned-pas volé-by devotedness to the colours, saving them, in the true military sense of the word. The Fusiliers of Brown's division went forward on the left with the Scots Fusiliers of the Duke of Cambridge's division in support. They effected the passage of the Alma, mounted the rugged and broken banks, pressed through vineyards and felled trees, and advanced under a galling fire of grape and musketry. There was a redoubt in front. When near the redoubt the colours were made the object of particular attention. O'Connor was one of the centre sergeants between the officers who bore them. Lieutenant Anstruther was mortally wounded and dropped his colour, O'Connor was struck in the breast at the same moment and fell, but, recovering himself, snatched up the colour and carried it until the end of the action. Colour-Sergeant Luke O'Connor of the Alma is now, I am proud to say, Lieutenant-Colonel Luke O'Connor. The other instance happened in the supporting regiment. The Scots Fusiliers were thrown into momentary disorder-one of the accidents of war; the 23d were confused, as well they might be with eleven officers and over two hundred men knocked over, when a voice shouted, 'Fusiliers, retire!' and the guardsmen, fancying the order was addressed to them, hesitated. At this critical moment Brevet-Major Lindsay 'stood firm with the colours, and by his example and energy greatly tended to restore order.'

An extraordinary instance of the danger of confounding one order with another, not unlike this at the Alma, but luckier in the event, occurred at Lucknow. After Lawrence had to fall back before the

mutineers, on his attempt to repel them on the road to Chinhut, he wisely determined to withdraw the garrison of the Muchee Bhawun Fort into the Residency, and to blow up the work. The movement was most successfully performed under cover of darkness, and so quick and noiseless was the march that at a quarter-past midnight the head of the column unexpectedly arrived at the lower water-gate. Their coming had not been prepared for, and the leading men shouted out, 'Open the gates !' The artillerymen at the guns above, which, loaded with grape, covered the entrance, mistook the words for 'Open with grape and were already beside their pieces when an officer providentially interposed.

It is fitting and wholesome that there should be some means of publicly indicating to their fellows those who have done the State some service, especially at pain of life or limb; and it must be a pride to the posterity of these paladins of Rorke's Drift and the Alma that their fore-runners were honoured by the Sovereign. Yet most of the growing youths of this generation, cadets in Volunteer corps, will be surprised to hear that the Order of the Victoria Cross has not yet been in existence a quarter of a century. Napoleon Bonaparte, when First Consul, instituted the Legion of Honour in 1802 as a reward to the army, civil officers, and others who did for the commonwealth good work. Frederick William III. of Prussia established the Iron Cross in March 1813 as an order of knighthood to honour patriotic bravery in the war against France, and on the break-out of the last war with the hereditary enemy the order was revived by the present Kaiser Wilhelm. Englishmen have won both Legion of Honour and Iron Cross, and it is no satisfaction to think that one