That happy day, when we welcomed them,
    Our men put Jessie first;
  And the general gave her his hand, and cheers
    Like a storm from the soldiers burst.

  And the pipers’ ribbons and tartan streamed,
    Marching round and round our line;
  And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
    As the pipes played Auld Long Syne.

ROBERT T.S.  LOWELL.

* * * * *

DANNY DEEVER.

  “What are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “To turn you out, to turn you out,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
  “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
      For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
      The regiment’s in ‘ollow square—­they’re hangin’ him to-day;
      They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,
      An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

  “What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
  “What makes that front-rank man fall down?” says Files-on-Parade. 
  “A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
      They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,
      They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;
      An’ ’e’ll swing in ‘arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound—­
      O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!

  “’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “‘E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
  “I’ve drunk ‘is beer a score o’ times,” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “‘E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
      They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,
      For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—­you must look ’im in the face;
      Nine ’undred of ‘is county an’ the regiment’s disgrace,
      While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

  “What’s that so black agin the sun?” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
  “What’s that that whimpers over’ead?” said Files-on-Parade. 
  “It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,” the Color-Sergeant said. 
      For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep play,
      The regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;
      Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer
          to-day,
      After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

* * * * *

WHERE ARE THE MEN?