served with an unstinted measure of devotion his generation and country.  He has been snatched away in what we thought was the full tide of buoyant life, still full of promise and of hope.  What more can we say?  We can only bow once again before the decrees of the Supreme Wisdom.  Those who loved him—­and they are many, in all schools of opinion, in all ranks and walks of life—­when they think of him, will say to themselves: 

    This is the happy warrior, this is he
    Who every man in arms should wish to be.

On the occasion of Alfred Lyttelton’s second visit to Glen, I will quote my diary: 

“Laura came into my bedroom.  She was in a peignoir and asked me what she should wear for dinner.  I said: 

“’Your white muslin, and hurry up.  Mr. Lyttelton is strumming in the Doo’cot and you had better go and entertain him, poor fellow, as he is leaving for London tonight.’

“She tied a blue ribbon in her hair, hastily thrust her diamond brooch into her fichu and then, with her eyes very big and her hair low and straight upon her forehead, she went into our sitting-room (we called it the Doo’cot, because we all quarrelled there).  Feeling rather small, but, half-shy, half-bold, she shut the door and, leaning against it, watched Alfred strumming.  He turned and gazed at the little figure so near him, so delicate in her white dress.

“The silence was broken by Alfred asking her if any man ever left Glen without telling her that he loved her; but suddenly all talk stopped and she was in his arms, hiding her little face against his hard coat.  There was no one to record what followed; only the night rising with passionate eyes: 

‘The hiding, receiving night that talks not.’

“They were married on the 10th of May, 1885.  “In April of 1886, Laura’s baby was expected any day; and my mother was anxious that I should not be near her when the event took place.  The Lytteltons lived in Upper Brook Street; and, Grosvenor Square being near, it was thought that any suffering on her part might make a lasting and painful impression on me, so I was sent down to Easton Grey to stay with Lucy and hunt in the Badminton country.  Before going away, I went round to say good-bye to Laura and found her in a strange humour.

“Laura:  ‘I am sure I shall die with my baby.’

“Margot:  ’How can you talk such nonsense?  Every one thinks that.  Look at mamma!  She had twelve children without a pang!’

“Laura:  ‘I know she did; but I am sure I shall die.’

“Margot:  ’I am just as likely to be killed out hunting as you are to die, darling!  It makes me miserable to hear you talk like this.’

“Laura:  ’If I die, Margot, I want you to read my will to the relations and people that will be in my bedroom.  It is in that drawer.  Promise me you will not forget.’

“Margot:  ’All right, darling, I will; but let us kneel down and pray that, whether it is me or you who die first, if it is God’s will, one of us may come to the other down here and tell us the truth about the next world and console us as much as possible in this!’”