(_By our Special Correspondent._)
HORATIUS, the only one of the "dauntless three" (as they have been already
named) about whose safety doubts were entertained, has swum the river and
is safe. I saw him, when the bridge fell, standing alone, but obviously
with all his wits about him, despite the ninety thousand foes before and
the broad flood behind. When he turned round he might have seen, I believe,
from where he was standing (just where, on other occasions, I have stood
myself) the white porch of his home. His lips parted as if in prayer. The
next moment, pausing only to sheathe his ensanguined sword, he took a
graceful dive into the river.
Some moments of terrible tension ensued. When at last his head appeared
above the surges, a cry of indescribable rapture went up, and I am happy to
place on record the fact that I distinctly detected a note of generous
cheering from the Tuscan ranks.
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.
* * * * *
_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.
* * * * *
[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!"]
* * * * *
'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.
"'Tain't the liftin' that do be troublin' I, Miss," he said confidentially,
"'tis the 'ead-work. I don't believe there be a wumman livin' could do it.
There be a tur'ble lot of 'ead-work in the carryin' business. Why, I do
think--think--think mornen till night, till what wi' one thing an' what wi'
another thing I'm sure there's times when I don't know if I be on my 'ead
or my 'eels. Why, I've seen the time when I've a-comed in and I've a-set
down and I've a-said to Missis, 'No, Missis, I don't want no tea; I don't
want nothen only to set quiet, for I be just about tired out with that
there thinkin'.'
"There be such a sight o' things you do have to remember, lookee. What wi'
the grocer, an' what wi' the draper, an' folks's parcels to leave an'
folks's parcels to call for, an' picken up here an' setten down
there--well, a woman's brain ain't strong enough for it, leastways not to
my way o' thinkin'....
"Well, now, if I ain't a-gone an' forgot to call at old Mrs. Pettigrew's
for her subscription for to get made up at the chemist's! There, now, Miss,
don't that just show how you do 'ave to kip on thinkin' all the time, else
you be just about sure to forget somethin' or another? Oh yes, there be a
smartish lot of 'ead-work in the carryin' business, an' no mistake!"
* * * * *
An Enviable Post.