Or gaze for Gothas up in heaven!"

"I want to hear your rowlocks ring
Like a good volley, all together."
"Hands up (or 'Kamerad') as you swing
Straight from the hips. Don't sky your feather,

As if I'd given the word, 'High Port'!"
"Five, I admit your martial charms, Sir,
But now you're on a rowing-thwart,
So use your legs and not your arms, Sir!"

"Six, you've a rotten seat, my son;
Don't trust your stirrups; grip the saddle!"
"Squad--properly at ease! Squad--'shun!
Get forward! By the centre--paddle!"

O.S.

* * * * *

CAST.

The auctioneer glanced at his book. "Number 29," he said, "black mare,
aged, blind in near eye, otherwise sound."

The cold rain and the biting north-east wind did not add to the
appearance of Number 29, as she stood, dejected, listless, with head
drooping, in the centre of the farmers and horse-dealers who were
attending the sale of cast Army horses. She looked as though she