But all was not yet over.  The current ran fiercely, swollen high by months of rain.  Often I thought him sinking—­and indeed nearly sent in a message to that effect—­but still again he rose.  Never, I think, did any swimmer in like circumstances perform such a remarkable feat of natation.  But at length he felt the bottom, was helped ashore by myself and the Senate, and was carried shoulder-high through the River Gate.  I understand that some special recognition is to be made of his splendid feat.

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From “Rome Chat."

Our frontispiece this week is a family group of brave Captain HORATIUS, together with the tender mother who (formerly) dandled him to rest, and his wife, who, it will be noticed, is nursing his youngest baby.  We are glad to hear that, in conformity with the principle of settling our gallant soldiers on the land, a goodly tract is to be given to this popular hero.  The story of how he held the bridge-head will certainly afford a stirring tale for the home-circle for a long time to come.

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[Illustration:  “LUMME!  THIS IS A BIT OF ALL RIGHT, I DON’T THINK.  ME A-VOLUNTEERIN’ FOR INFANTRY, GOIN’ RIGHT THROUGH ME TRAININ’, AN’ NAH THEY MAKES A BLOOMIN’ LANCER OF ME!”]

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’EAD-WORK.

Bob Winter is our local carrier.  His old grey mare Molly—­or a predecessor very like her, driven by Bob’s father before him—­has jogged into town on market days as long as anyone in the village can remember.  The weather-beaten, oft-patched tilt of Bob’s cart must have heard in its day generations of village gossip, and a mere inspection of the cargo on the flap which lets down at the back will provide quite an amount of interesting information, such as “whose new housemaid’s tin trunk be a-goin’ to station already, lookee, and who be a-getten a new tyre to ees bicycle—­see.”

Now, however, there is a likelihood that Bob may be called up; and the fate of the carrying business hangs in the balance.

“Never mind, Bob,” I said (I had overtaken him and old Molly sauntering up the steep hill above the village); “if it comes to that, you know, the women-folk will have to take turns at the carrying while you are away.  I believe I should make rather a good carrier.”

Bob shook his head and looked evasive.

“No, Miss,” he said, “‘twuddn’ do, ‘twuddn’ do at all.”

“Come,” I said, “you don’t mean to say Molly would be too much for me?”

“No, Miss, ’tain’t Molly, but—­well, ’tain’t no job for a lady, ain’t the carryin’; leastways, not to my way o’ thinkin’.”

“Oh, but I should get the people at the shops to help me with the heavy things.”

Bob cleared his throat loudly and looked more uncomfortable still.  Then at last he decided to take the plunge.