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In the low whisper than tempestuous tone:
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze
More powerful terror to the mind conveys
Than he who, swollen with big, impetuous rage,
Bullies the bulky phantom off the stage.

He who in earnest studies o'er his part
Will find true nature cling about his heart.
The modes of grief are not included all
In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl
A single look more marks the internal woe
Than all the windings of the lengthened O!
Up to the face the quick sensation Alies,
And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes.
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair,
And all the passions, all the soul is there.

Courage

BY FLORENCE EARL COATES.

[In The Outlook. ]

'Tis the front toward life that matters most

The tone, the point of view,
The constancy that in defeat

Remains untouched and true;

For death in patroit fight may be

Less gallant than a smile,
And high endeavor to the gods

Seems in itself worth while !

Cremona*

BY A. CONAN DOYLE. [The French Army, including a part of the Irish Brigade, under Marshal Villeroy, held the fortified town of Cremona during the winter of 1702. Prince Eugène, with the Imperial Army, surprised it one morning, and, owing to the treachery of a priest, occupied the whole city before the alarm was given. Villeroy was captured, together with many of the French garrison. The Irish, however, consisting of the regiments of Dillon and of Burke, held a fort commanding the river gate, and deferded themselves all day, in spite of Prince_Eugène's efforts to win them over to his cause. Eventually Eugène, being unable to take the post, was compelled to withdraw from the city.)

The Grenadiers of Austria are proper men and tall;
The Grenadiers of Austria have scaled the city wall;
They have marched from far away
Ere the dawning of the day,

And the morning saw them masters of Cremona.

There's not a man to whisper, there's not a horse to neigh,
Of the footmen of Lorraine and the riders of Duprés;
They have crept up every street,
In the market-place they meet,

They are holding every vantage in Cremona.
The Marshal Villeroy he has started from his bed;
The Marshal Villeroy has no wig upon his head;
“I have lost my men !" quoth he,
“And my men they have lost me,

And I sorely fear we both have lost Cremona."
Prince Eugène of Austria is in the market-place;
Prince Eugène of Austria has smiles upon his face;
Says he, “Our work is done,
For the Citadel is won,

And the black and yellow flag flies o'er Cremona."
Major Dan O'Mahony is in the barrack square,
And just six hundred Irish lads are waiting for him

there; Says he, “Come in your shirt,

* From "Songs of Action.” Copyright 1898 by Doubleday & McClure Co., New York.

And you won't take any hurt,

For the morning air is pleasant in Cremona."

Major Dan O'Mahony is at the barrack gate,
And just six hundred Irish lads will neither stay nor

wait;
There's Dillon and there's Burke,
And there'll be some bloody work

Ere the Kaiserlics shall boast they hold Cremona.

Major Dan O'Mahony has reached the river fort, And just six hundred Irish lads are joining in the sport; "Come, take a hand!” says he, “And if you

will stand by me, Then it's glory to the man who takes Cremona!"

Prince Eugène of Austria has frowns upon his face,
And loud he calls his Galloper of Irish blood and race:
"MacDonnell, ride, I pray,
To your countrymen, and say

That only they are left in all Cremona!"

MacDonnell he has reigned his mare beside the river

dike. And he has tied the parley flag upon a sergeant's pike; Six companies were there From Limerick and Clare,

The last of all the guardians of Cremona.

"Now, Major Dan O'Mahony, give up the river gate,
Or, Major Dan O'Mahony, you'll find it is too late;
For when I gallop back
'Tis the signal for attack,

And no quarter for the Irish in Cremona!"

And Major Dan he laughed: “Faith, if what you say be

true, And if they will not come until they hear again from you, Then there will be no attack, For you're never going back,

And we'll keep you snug and safely in Cremona.”

All the weary day the German stormers came,
All the weary day they were faced by fire and flame;

They have filled the ditch with dead,
And the river's running red,

But they cannot win the gateway of Cremona.

All the weary day, again, again, again,
The horsemen of Duprés and the footmen of Lorraine,
Taafe and Herberstein,
And the riders of the Rhine;

It's a mighty price they're paying for Cremona.

Time and time they came with the deep-mouthed German

roar, Time and time they broke like the wave upon the shore, For better men were there From Limerick and Clare,

And who will take the gateway of Cremona ?

Prince Eugène has watched, and he gnaws his nether lip; Prince Eugène has cursed as he saw his chances slip: "Call off! Call off !” he cried, "It is nearing eventide,

And I fear our work is finished in Cremona."

Says Wauchop of McAulliffe, “Their fire is growing

slack.” Says Major Dan O'Mahony, "It is their last attack; But who will stop the game while there's light to play

the same,

And to walk a short way with them from Cremona?"

And so they snarl behind them, and beg them turn and

come, They have taken Neuberg's standard, they have taken

Diak's drum;
And along the winding Po,
Beard on shoulder, stern and slow

The Kaiserlics are riding to Cremona.
Just two hundred Irish lads are shouting on the wall;
Four hundred more are lying who can hear no slogan

call; But what's the odds of that, For it's all the same to Pat

If he pays his debt in Dublin or Cremona,

Says General de Vaudray, "You've done a soldier's

work! And every tongue in France shall talk of Dillon and of

Burke!
Ask what you will this day,
And be it what it may,

It is granted to the heroes of Cremona."

"Why, then," says Dan O'Mahony, “one favor we en

treat, We were called a little early, and our toilet's not com

plete. We've no quarrel with the shirt, But the breeches wouldn't hurt,

For the evening air is chilly in Cremona."

The Hero of the Hill*

BY EDMUND VANCE COOK. Do you ever stop to watch a horse pull a big load up a

hill ? There's something fine about the way he sends his rugged

will Down through those quivering shoulders, till it seems as

if he clutched And hurled the hill behind his heels until the top is

touched. It gives a man new courage when he comes to his steep

grade To think of that example which the plucky beast has

made.

But if the load prove stronger; if the horse, with hoofs

outspread, With reddened nostrils, foaming flanks, and bowing,

straining head, * From “Rimes to be Read.” Copyright 1905, Dodge Publishing Co. Reprinted by permission of the author.

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