the chivalrous cry of "burke Sir Walter." We are still very Radical
in the Forest, and you were taken away from many evils to come. How
would the cheek of Walter Scott, or of Leyden, have blushed at the
names of Majuba, The Soudan, Maiwand, and many others that recall
political cowardice or military incapacity! On the other hand, who
but you could have sung the dirge of Gordon, or wedded with immortal
verse the names of Hamilton (who fell with Cavagnari), of the two
Stewarts, of many another clansman, brave among the bravest! Only
he who told how


The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood


could have fitly rhymed a score of feats of arms in which, as at
M'Neill's Zareba and at Abu Klea,


Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well.


Ah, Sir, the hearts of the rulers may wax faint, and the voting
classes may forget that they are Britons; but when it comes to blows
our fighting men might cry, with Leyden,


My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me!