Chapter 15

Other nations fail in their attempts at colonisation because they proceed on military lines. With them it is the soldier first and the civilian where he can. England succeeds because she proceeds on _industrial_ lines. With her it is the plough where it may be and the sword where it must.

The military spirit never yet built up an enduring empire, and the danger of military success is that it is apt to confuse means and ends in the public mind, and to encourage the subordination of the civil to the military spirit in national institutions. Such a result could only be disastrous to the British Empire, and so, while rejoicing in the success of the British arms, it behoves us to oppose with all our strength the growth of the military spirit.

The seventh decade of the nineteenth century saw the realisation of one of the greatest facts of our time, the federation of the German states in one great military empire. The tenth decade has realised a greater fact, the federation of the British colonies in a great social and commercial empire. The German Empire must fall to pieces if it continues to subordinate the civil to the military Spirit in its national policy. The British Empire can never perish while it is true to the Fatherhood of God and the Brotherhood of Man.

Signs of the growth of a military spirit are to be seen in the advocacy of some form of conscription or compulsory service for home defence; and this, too, at a time when the ends of the earth have been sending us _volunteers_ in abundance to espouse a foreign quarrel.

Such advocates neither understand the national history nor the English character. Were England in any real danger there would be no need for forced service, and service forced without need would breed revolution. The nation that cannot depend upon its volunteers for its home defence is not worth defending.

ALFRED H. MILES. _October 1, 1900_.

CONTENTS.

NAME. AUTHOR.

The Englishman Eliza Cook England goes to Battle Gerald Massey England Once More F. T. Palgrave God Defend the Right F. Harold Williams The Volunteer Alfred H. Miles Down in Australia Gerald Massey Australia Speaks Gerald Massey An Imperial Reply Gerald Massey The Boys' Return Gerald Massey "Sound the Assembly!" Clement Scott The Absent-Minded Beggar Rudyard Kipling For the Empire F. Harald Williams Wanted--a Cromwell F. Harald Williams England's Ironsides F. Harald Williams The Three Cherry-Stones Anonymous The Midshipman's Funeral Darley Dale Ladysmith F. Harald Williams The Six-inch Gun "The Bombshell" St. Patrick's Day F. Harald Williams The Hero of Omdurman F. Harald Williams Boot and Saddle F. Harald Williams The Midnight Charge Clement Scott Mafeking--"Adsum!" A. Frewen Aylward The Fight at Rorke's Drift Emily Pfeiffer Relieved! (At Mafeking) "Daily Express" How Sam Hodge Won the V.C. Jeffrey Prowse The Relief of Lucknow R.T.S. Lowell A Ballad of War M.B. Smedley The Alma R.C. Trench After Alma Gerald Massey Balaclava--The Charge of the Light Lord Tennyson Brigade After Balaclava James Williams Inkerman Gerald Massey Killed in Action F. Harald Williams At the Breach Sarah Williams Santa Filomena H.W. Longfellow The Little Hatchet Story Burdette The Loss of the _Birkenhead_ Sir F.H. Doyle Elihu Alice Carey The Last of the _Eurydice_ Sir Noel Paton The Warden of the Cinque Ports H.W. Longfellow England's Dead Felicia Hemans Mehrab Khan Sir F.H. Doyle The Red Thread of Honour Sir F.H. Doyle The Private of the Buffs Sir F.H. Doyle A Fisherman's Song Alfred H. Miles The Field of Waterloo Lord Byron The Lay of the Brave Cameron J. S. Blackie A Song for Stout Workers J. S. Blackie At the Burial of a Veteran Alfred H. Miles Napoleon and the British Sailor Thomas Campbell The Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe At Trafalgar Gerald Massey Camperdown Alfred H. Miles The Armada Lord Macaulay Mr. Barker's Picture Max Adeler The Wooden Leg Max Adeler The Enchanted Shirt Colonel John Hay Jim Bludso Colonel John Hay Freedom J.R. Lowell The Coortin' J.R. Lowell The Heritage J.R. Lowell Lady Clare Lord Tennyson Break, Break, Break Lord Tennyson The Lord of Burleigh Lord Tennyson Dora Lord Tennyson Mrs. B.'s Alarms James Payn Sheltered Sarah Orme Jewett Guild's Signal Bret Harte Bill Mason's Bride Bret Harte The Clown's Baby "St. Nicholas" Aunt Tabitha O. Wendell Holmes Little Orphant Annie J. Whitcomb Riley The Limitations of Youth Eugene Field Rubinstein's Playing Anonymous Obituary William Thomson The Editor's Story Alfred H. Miles Nat Ricket Alfred H. Miles 'Spatially Jim "Harper's Magazine" 'Arry's Ancient Mariner Campbell Rae-Brown The Amateur Orlando George T. Lanigan A Ballad of a Bazaar Campbell Rae-Brown A Parental Ode Thomas Hood 'Twas ever Thus Henry S. Leigh Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question Mary Mapes Dodge The Heathen Chinee Bret Harte Ho-ho of the Golden Belt John G. Saxe The Hired Squirrel Laura Sanford Ballad of the Trailing Skirt New York "Life" To the Girl in Khaki "Modern Society" The Tender Heart Helen G. Cone A Song of Saratoga John G. Saxe The Sea Eva L. Ogden A Tale of a Nose Charles F. Adams Leedle Yawcob Strauss Charles F. Adams Dot Baby of Mine Charles F. Adams A Dutchman's Mistake Charles F. Adams The Owl Critic James T. Fields The True Story of King Marshmallow Anonymous The Jackdaw of Rheims R.H. Barham Tubal Cain Charles Mackay The Three Preachers Charles Mackay Say not the Struggle A.H. Clough Patriotism Lord Tennyson To-day and To-morrow Gerald Massey Ring Out, Wild Bells Lord Tennyson "Rule, Britannia!" James Thomson

THE IMPERIAL RECITER. _EDITED BY ALFRED H. MILES_.

THE ENGLISHMAN.

BY ELIZA COOK.

There's a land that bears a well-known name, Though it is but a little spot; I say 'tis the first on the scroll of fame, And who shall aver it is not? Of the deathless ones who shine and live In arms, in arts, or song, The brightest the whole wide world can give To that little land belong. 'Tis the star of the Earth--deny it who can-- The Island-home of the Englishman.

There's a flag that waves o'er every sea, No matter when or where; And to treat that flag as aught but the free Is more than the strongest dare. For the lion spirits that tread the deck Have carried the palm of the brave; And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck, But never float o'er a slave; Its honour is stainless--deny it who can-- And this is the flag of the Englishman.

There's a heart that beats with burning glow, The wrong'd and the weak to defend; And strikes as soon for a trampled foe As it does for a soul-bound friend. It nurtures a deep and honest love, The passions of faith and pride, And yearns with the fondness of a dove, To the light of its own fireside, 'Tis a rich rough gem--deny it who can-- And this is the heart of an Englishman.

The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone And boldly claim his right, For he calls such a vast domain his own That the sun never sets on his might. Let the haughty stranger seek to know The place of his home and birth; And a flush will pour from cheek to brow While he tells of his native earth; For a glorious charter--deny it who can-- Is breathed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."

ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

Now, glory to our England, She arises, calm and grand, The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- The good sword in her hand! Our royal right on battle-ground Was aye to bear the brunt: Ho! brave heart, with one passionate bound, Take the old place in front! Now glory to our England, As she rises, calm and grand, The ancient spirit in her eyes,-- The good sword in her hand!

Who would not fight for England? Who would not fling a life I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, And glory in the strife? Her stem is thorny, but doth burst A glorious Rose a-top! And shall our proud Rose wither? First We'll drain life's dearest drop! Who would not fight for England? Who would not fling a life I' the ring, to meet a tyrant's gage, And glory in the strife?

To battle goes our England, As gallant and as gay As lover to the altar, on A merry marriage-day. A weary night she stood to watch The clouds of dawn up-rolled; And her young heroes strain to match The valour of the old. To battle goes our England, As gallant and as gay As lover to the altar, on A merry marriage-day.

Now, fair befall our England, On her proud and perilous road: And woe and wail to those who make Her footprints wet with blood. Up with our red-cross banner--roll A thunder-peal of drums! Fight on there, every valiant soul Have courage! England comes! Now, fair befall our England, On her proud and perilous road: And woe and wail to those who make Her footprints wet with blood!

Now, victory to our England! And where'er she lifts her hand In freedom's fight, to rescue Right, God bless the dear old land! And when the Storm hath passed away, In glory and in calm, May she sit down i' the green o' the day, And sing her peaceful psalm! Now victory to our England! And where'er she lifts her hand In freedom's fight, to rescue Right, God bless the dear old land!

ENGLAND ONCE MORE.

BY FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

Old if this England be The Ship at heart is sound, And the fairest she and gallantest That ever sail'd earth round! And children's children in the years Far off will live to see Her silver wings fly round the world, Free heralds of the free! While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!

They are firm and fine, the masts; And the keel is straight and true; Her ancient cross of glory Rides burning through the blue:-- And that red sign o'er all the seas The nations fear and know, And the strong and stubborn hero-souls That underneath it go:-- While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!

Prophets of dread and shame, There is no place for you, Weak-kneed and craven-breasted, Among this English crew! Bluff hearts that cannot learn to yield, But as the waves run high, And they can almost touch the night, Behind it see the sky. While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!

As Past in Present hid, As old transfused to new, Through change she lives unchanging, To self and glory true; From Alfred's and from Edward's day Who still has kept the seas, To him who on his death-morn spoke Her watchword on the breeze! While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!

What blasts from East and North What storms that swept the land Have borne her from her bearings Since Cæsar seized the strand! Yet that strong loyal heart through all Has steer'd her sage and free, --Hope's armour'd Ark in glooming years, And whole world's sanctuary! While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless her as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!

Old keel, old heart of oak, Though round thee roar and chafe All storms of life, thy helmsman Shall make the haven safe! Then with Honour at the head, and Faith, And Peace along the wake, Law blazon'd fair on Freedom's flag, Thy stately voyage take:-- While now on Him who long has bless'd To bless Thee as of yore, Once more we cry for England, England once more!

GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT.

BY F. HARALD WILLIAMS.

Where Roman eagle never flew The flag of England flies, The herald of great empires new Beneath yet larger skies; Upon a hundred lands and seas, And over ransomed slaves Who poured to her no idle pleas, The pledge of Freedom waves; Whatever man may well have done We have with dauntless might, And England holds what England won, And God defends the right.

Where hardly climb the mountain goats, On stormy cape and crag, The refuge of the wanderer floats-- Our hospitable flag; While alien banners only mock With glory's fleeting wraith, It stands on the eternal rock Of our eternal faith; And handed on from sire and son, It furls not day nor night; So England holds what England won, And God defends the right.

When wrongs cry out for brave redress, Our justice does not lag, And in the name of righteousness Moves on our stainless flag; The helpless see it proudly shine And hail the sheltering robe, That heralds on the thin red line That girdles round the globe; A pioneer of truth as none Before it scatters light, And England holds what England won, And God defends the right.

Beneath the shadow of its peace Though riddled to a rag, The down-trod nations gain release, And rally round the flag; We fight the battles of the Lord, And never may we yield A foot we measure with the sword-- On the red harvest-field; And we will not retreat, while one Stout heart remains to fight; Let England hold what England won, And God defend the right.

THE VOLUNTEER.

BY ALFRED H. MILES.

Conscription? Never! The word belongs To the Foes of Freedom, the Friends of wrongs, And unto them alone. The first and worst of the Tyrant's terms, Barbed to spike at the writhing worms That crawl about his throne. Only the mob at a despot's heels Would juggle a man at Fortune's wheels, Or conjure one with the die that reels From the lip of the dice-cup thrown! The soldier forced to the field of fight, With never a reck of the wrong or right, Wherever a flag may wave-- By the toss of a coin, or a number thrown-- Fights with a will that is not his own, A victim and a slave!

Right is Might in ever a fight, And Truth is Bravery, And the Right and True are the Ready too, When the bolt is hurl'd in the peaceful blue By the hand of Knavery. And the Land that fears for its Volunteers Is a Land of Slavery.

Compulsion? Never! The word is dead In a land of Freedom born and bred, Of old in the years of yore, Where all by the laws of Freedom wrought May do as they will, who will as they ought, And none desire for more. Who brooks no spur has need of none, (Who needs a spur is a traitor son,) And all are ready and all are one When Freedom calls to the fore! The soldier forced to the field of war By the iron hand of a tyrant law, Wherever a flag may wave, And the press'd--at best but a coward's 'hest-- Fight with the bitter, sullen zest, And the ardour of a slave!

A hireling? Never! The bought and sold Are ever the prey of the traitor's gold, Wherever the fight may be. Or ever a man will sell his sword, The highest bidder may buy the gaud With a coward's niggard fee. Who buys and sells to the market goes, And sells his friends as he sells his foes, So he gain in the main by his country's woes,-- But the gain is not to the free;-- For the soldier bought with a price has nought But his fee to 'fend when the fight is fought, Wherever the flag may wave. And he who fights for the loot or pay, Fights for himself, or ever he may-- A huckster and a slave!

Or ever a Free land needs a son To follow the flag with pike or gun Upon the field of war, There's never a need to seek for one In the dice's throw, or the number's run, Or the iron grip of the law;-- All are ready, where all are free, With never a spur and never a fee, To fight and 'fend the liberty That Freemen hold in awe. The Volunteer is a son sincere, And ready, or ever the cause appear, Whole-hearted, free as brave,-- Ready at call to sally forth From east and west, and south and north, Wherever the flag may wave,-- With never a selfish thought to mar The sacrifice of the holy war, And never a self to save. And the flag shall float in the blue on high Till the last of the Volunteers shall die, And Hell shall tear it out of the sky-- From Freedom's trampled grave!

Right is Might in ever a fight, And Truth is Bravery, And the Right and True are the Ready too, When the bolt is hurl'd in the peaceful blue By the hand of Knavery. And the Land that fears for its Volunteers Is a Land of Slavery.

DOWN IN AUSTRALIA.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

Quaff a cup and send a cheer up for the Old Land! We have heard the Reapers shout, For the Harvest going out, With the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land; And our message shall be hurled Ringing right across the world, There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold Land.

We are with you in your battles, brave and bold Land! For the old ancestral tree Striketh root beneath the sea, And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land! We shall come, too, if you call, We shall fight on if you fall; Shakespere's land shall never be a bought and sold land....

O, a terror to the Tyrant is that bold Land! He remembers how she stood, With her raiment roll'd in blood, When the tide of battle burst upon the Old Land; And he looks with darkened face, For he knows the hero race Strike the Harp of Freedom--draw her sword with bold hand....

When the smoke of Battle rises from the Old Land You shall see the Tyrant down! You shall see her lifted crown Wears another peerless jewel won with bold hand; She shall thresh her foes like corn, They shall eat the bread of scorn; We will sing her song of triumph in the Gold Land.

Quaff a cup and send a cheer up for the Old Land! We have heard the Reapers shout For the Harvest going out, Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land; And our answer shall be hurled Ringing right across the world,-- All true hearts are beating for you in the Gold Land.

AUSTRALIA SPEAKS.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

What is the News to-day, Boys? Have they fired the Signal gun? We answer but one way, Boys; We are ready for the fray, Boys, All ready and all one!

They shall not say we boasted Of deeds that would be done; Or sat at home and toasted: We are marshall'd, drilled, and posted, All ready and all one!

We are not as driven cattle That would the conflict shun. They have to test our mettle As _Volunteers_ of Battle, All ready and all one!

The life-streams of the Mother Through all her youngsters run, And brother stands by brother, To die with one another, All ready and all one!

AN IMPERIAL REPLY.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

'Tis glorious, when the thing to do Is at the supreme instant done! We count your first fore-running few A thousand men for every one! For this true stroke of statesmanship-- The best Australian poem yet-- Old England gives your hand the grip, And binds you with a coronet, In which the gold o' the Wattle glows With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose.

They talked of England growing old, They said she spoke with feeble voice; But hear the virile answer rolled Across the world! Behold her Boys Come back to her full-statured Men, To make four-square her fighting ranks. She feels her youth renewed again, With heart too full for aught but "Thanks!" And now the gold o' the Wattle glows With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose.

"My Boys have come of age to-day," The proud old mother smiling said. "They write a brand-new page to-day, By far-off futures to be read!" Throughout all lands of British blood, This stroke hath kindled such a glow; The Federal links of Brotherhood Are clasped and welded at a blow. And aye the gold o' the Wattle glows With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose.

THE BOYS' RETURN.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

Wives, mothers, sweethearts sent Their dearest; waved their own defenders forth; And, fit companions for the bravest, went The Boys, to test their manhood, prove their worth.

As Sons of those who braved All dangers; to Earth's ends our Flag unfurled, The old pioneers of Ocean, who have paved Our pathway with their bones around the world!

To-day the City waits, Proudly a-throb with life about to be: She welcomes her young warriors in her gates Of glory, opened to them by the Sea.