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Op rechterstoel of in den mijn,

Op, Afrikaners, op!
Het recht ligt nu aan onze zij,
Wij zullen triomfeeren, wij,
In God's kracht, en zoo worden vrij.
Op, Afrikaners, op!

Door Afrikaner.

RISE, AFRICANDERS, RISE !

(The following is a rather free version of the foregoing song.)

Yon British Lion's paw, with power,
Is stretched to grasp his prize!
Betrayed, assailed, in danger's hour,
Up, Africanders, rise!
Come each with rifle in his hand
To keep, here taking firm your stand,
These rocky portals of your land
From odious foreigners' command.

Guard well against surprise!
Up, Africanders, rise!

First marching east and south, go where
The Laing's Nek road extends,
And, darkling half the upper air,
Majuba's peak ascends;
Thence might ye overrun Natal
Ere your invading foe
Can muster there his mighty host-
His towns and forts ye could lay low,
Aye, Durban's port might fall;
In war, quick striding does the most.

Ye hear our country's cries?
Up, Africanders, rise!

Or be it westward, be it north,
Along our famous rivers,
The Vaal and Orange-ye ride forth-
Or Rhodesia's far Mashona hills,
Where lust of gold imports new ills-
Your valor still delivers
Your Land, your Nation, and your State,
Long deemed and held as Free
By either Commonwealth, whose fate,
As twins, the same must be.

Bequeathed you by your forefathers,
Could you that trust despise ?

Never! Then to its rescue haste.
Up, Africanders, rise!

Aye, rise! and with your weapons sure
Come meet in war's array.
The old and young, the rich and poor,
Wise lawyer, sturdy, rustic Boer,
One labor share to-day.
Their duty clear, their cause is just,
This conflict is for right.
In God, their only Lord, they trust;
They, you, we, all thus emulate
Our father's service of the State.

Up, Men! We will no longer wait.

Up, Africanders! Fight. The Sphere.

THE FUTURE OF THE VERY RICH.

M. De Blowitz tells us this week that the smart set in Paris, or, rather, the fast set among the old aristocracy, intend, if they can, to expel the Rothschild family, the "Barons of finance," as they are called, from France, the method adopted being to persecute the younger members with incessant challenges. That is a cleverly devised method, for, although the Rothschilds would probably fight like any other French gentlemen, and, indeed, in the affair of this week responded to the call almost too eagerly, a daily cartel does not add to the appetite of any man immersed in important affairs. Yet under the social system of France, if the caste is unscrupulous enough to resort to such means, it is impossible to avoid the daily battle except by one of three plans,-to appeal to the law, to leave the country, or to submit to be struck; and to men like the Rothschilds all three must be equally objectionable. There is, indeed, a fourth plan, which we know to have been

adopted in one case with success-yiz., to refuse to fight except with pistols and across a handkerchief-but that is not a plan which every man approves, and might involve, even if successful, appearance before jurymen, who, if the challenged were rich and of the obnoxious faith, would reject all evidence of provocation. It is a curious as well as a shameful incident, and makes one wonder whether if by and by it will be altogether so pleasant to be exceptionally rich, as also does another incident recorded this week in a journal which is the property of a millionaire. In the Pall Mall Magazine for April, Mr. Benjamin H. Ridgely, whose name we do not recall in recent literature—but that may be our own unpardonable ig. norance—tries to explain the babit common among rich Americans of living for years away from their native land. He writes for the most part humorously enough, and is inclined to believe that most Americans are driven abroad by their wives, who find life in

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Europe more tranquil and more dignified, but we seem to detect in one of his stories a certain seriousness. It is an account of a millionaire who was driven almost frantic by the American Press, which compelled him, his wife, and his daughters to live like so many curious insects under a sort of microscope. They could not "turn around" without seeing some reference to themselves, not always, we imagine from the context, gently laudatory, in the daily papers. "I sat,” says one victim, “one night three years ago in a box at the opera, and the next day there was not only a flippant and nortifying reference to our little operaparty in one of the newspapers, but portraits of my wife and daughters, and further suggestions that my daughters, owing to the fortune of their father, were worth the attention of a European nobleman who was then in the United States, and whose very name they were bold enough to mention. The publication was humiliating in the extreme, and I promptly expostulated with the editor, who was himself a gentleman and a member of good society. Yet he gave me to understand that he could not undertake to keep the names of people who showed themselves in public places out of the personal columns of his paper. There was no real scandal or libel in what was published on this occasion, or in various other references to my family that had been published before; they were simply an unwarrantable and abominable invasion of my privacy as a private citizen; and since there appeared to be no remedy for the imposition, my wife and I concluded that we would be freer and happier in Europe. Hence we closed up our home and came abroad. But for the shanie of our personal journalism, which, as I say, makes individual freedom of life or movement out of the question, I would return home to-morrow." Daily

libel-for it comes to that, dally flattery being a little insipid-must be nearly as hard to bear as a daily challenge, and we find ourselves wondering whether the very rich are or will be in the future among the very unhappy.

The answer to that question depends, of course, mainly upon idiosyncrasy, as there are men whom their acquaintance would soon give up challenging without reason, and men whom comment would no more move than it moves some politicians-others more sensitive-but we can easily fancy that life will, hereafter, become a little difficult for millionaires. They are already judged more censoriously than their neighbors, most of their acts being considered, as those of the old Nabobs were, vulgar in the extreme. They have distinctly less license for their idiosyncrasies than their neighbors, any marked peculiarity or habit being set down to a desire to be conspicuous. There is a tendency to grudge them political careers, an undercurrent of opinion classing them with "the capitalist gang" who are supposed to be using Governments to "exploit" the world and find 20 per cent investments, and although they are besieged by the charitable till, as one of them told us, “I positively dare not give publicly," yet unless they found galleries or universities there is but scant praise accorded to their liberalities. One of the greatest of millionaires gave, the other day, £50,000 to an object Englishmen have very much at heart, and, though the fact was recorded in the papers, it elicited none of the usual conventional thanks. He ought, muttered public opinion, to have given five times as much, and he was probably drowned next day in beseeching or malignant letters. The marriages of their daughters are remarked on unpleasantly, as if no man could love a pretty Miss Kelmansegg, and

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Chancellors of the Exchequer exult minority which is taxed for keeping publicly in their deaths, as if the great coachmen and gardeners—is refused reason of their existence was to infate to them with a roughness which, connational Treasuries. Above all, really sidering the English character, is good people are beginning to refuse quite amazing. Their occasional trouthem common justice, declaring, ble, if their wealth is in realty, in whenever they are injured, that they raising money to pay a Death-duty is possess so many "compensations” as a subject of venomous ridicule, or of to deserve no pity. As if money could suggestions that if the municipalities compensate for the death of a wife, could only "get at them” as well as the lunacy of a son, or disfigurement the State, ratepayers would be a great in a railway accident.

deal happier. Should this disposition increase, life Perhaps the process will not go far will be no bed of roses for the million- here, for Englishmen, being money. aires, and we have a suspicion that it getters, sympathize to a certain dewill. It certainly will on the Conti- gree with those who have got mowy, nent, where envy is more of a motive and only momently forget the great power than with us; and it may in principles of justice; but we are America, where public feeling seems nearly sure of this, that the very rich compounded of the admiration we all will one day find unusual seclusion feel for the very successful, and a very conducive to the serenity which strong sense that the possession of so is so nearly the equivalent of happimuch power of action by an individ- ness. They seek it already in the seual is in some way or other "un-Re- clusion of their yachts. Edgar Poe publican." We see it already in was a genius, and had the prévoyance very acute form in France, for this which is so often one of the compenattack on the Rothschilds is not sations of that pain-giving quality. wholly dictated by Anti-Semite feel- He thought the millionaire of the fuing, and their houses are said to have ture would bury himself in a secluded been already threatened by Anarch- paradise, and, allowing for poetical ists; and in Switzerland, where legal exaggeration, we fancy he was right. efforts have been made to reach the That was the instinct of the old wealth of the very rich; and we sus- Barons, and these are the men who pect its existence in Germany, though are to-day filling their place. There the prodigious strength of the police are

Americans who are creating keeps down its overt expression. It "paradises" now almost exactly in the is beginning to show itself in Austria way Edgar Poe suggested, and in under cover of an Anti-Semite move- Europe they will have still better opment, and there is a trace of it liere, portunities, for they can change from not only as described above, but as in- climate to climate as the seasons dictate. fluencing the projects of very able A very few years and there will be political economists. There are ideas order in the Eastern Empire, as there floating about as to a progressive is already in the Western Empire, of scale of Death-duties, and even a PIO)- Kome, and the most beautiful divisgressive Income tax, which bode no ions of earth, the Greek islands, the good to the great accumulators, and Balkan Peninsula, Cyrenaica, and, which, whether just or unjust, will be above all, Asia Minor, will be as seto them sources of great exasperation, cure as the “audacious" but orderwhile the sympathy bestowed on all loving "race of Japhet” have already other tax-payers-except the luck!ess made their colder and rougher pos

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sessions. Then will be the opportu- haps from other causes than the presnity of the multi-millionaire, who in a ent he will find it no closer to him delicious climate will be able for six than he does now. Meanwhile, it is a months in the year to live in a palace curious feature of the time that the planted amidst a paradise, among de- Rothschilds are being persecuted by pendants careless of newspapers, in

French gentlemen for being so ag. nocent of envy, and inclined to regard gressively rich, and that keen him who spends, or, above all, him American Consul should be CONwho distributes, as closely related to vinced, apparently on excellent evithe beneficent Providence which dence, that Americans of unusual gives, yet denies, so much. When wealth have been driven into permaEastern Europe is civilized in the nent exile by the unbearable heat sense in which India has been civilized, they suffer from living under a social the very rich man will have scope in microscope. his seeking for serenity, though perThe Spectator.

SONG OF GLEN DUN.

Sure this is blessed Erin an' this the same glen,
The gold is on the whin-bush, the wather sings again,
The fairy thorn's in flower,-an' what alls my heart then?

Flower o' the May,

Flower o' the May,
What about the May time, an' he far away!

Summer loves the green glen, the white bird loves the sea,
An' the wind must kiss the heather top, an' the red bell hides a

bee;
As the bee is dear to the honey-flower, so one is dear to me.

Flower o' the rose,

Flower o' the rose,
A thorn pricked me one day, but nobody knows.

The bracken up the braeside has rusted in the air,
Three birches lean together, so silver limbed an' fair,
Och! golden leaves are flyin' fast, but the scarlet roan is rare.

Berry o' the roan,

Berry o' the roan,
The wind sighs among the trees, but I sigh alone.

I knit beside the turf fire, I spin upon the wheel,
Winter nights for thinkin' long, round runs the reel.
But he never knew, he never knew that here for him I'd kneel.

Sparkle o' the fire,

Sparkle o' the fire,
Mother Mary keep my love, an’ send me my desire!

Moira O'Neill.

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