But things like that, you know, must be

At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun :

But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won
And our good Prince Eugene;"
"Why 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine;

"Nay — nay — my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"

Quoth little Peterkin :

"Why that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory."

THREE PORTRAITS OF PRINCE CHARLES

ANDREW LANG

THE first two kings of the Hanoverian line were more German than English. They knew next to nothing about affairs of state and aroused little enthusiasm among their subjects. Disappointed office-seekers and persecuted Romanists joined the ranks of the Jacobites. James III. was not the man to push his claims, but his son, Charles Edward, was a promising lad and determined to recover the throne. Opportunity came in the outbreak of war with France (1743). Encouraged by

promises of aid from Louis XV., Prince Charles landed in Scotland, and raised the royal standard at Glenfinnan (1745). The Highland clans gathered about him and he marched against Edinburgh with a considerable army. The battle of Prestonpans gave him control of Scotland. He then crossed into England and advanced as far as Derby. But France sent no aid, and the English Jacobites did not rise in his behalf. The older heads among his officers counselled retreat. On the way back to the Border, the Jacobite army was overtaken and cut to pieces at Culloden Moor (1646). Charles fled to France and spent the rest of his life wandering about from one refuge to another, growing more drunken and dissolute as hope waned. With him died the - Jacobite cause.

1731

Beautiful face of a child,

Lighted with laughter and glee,
Mirthful, and tender, and wild,
My heart is heavy for thee!

1744.

Beautiful face of a youth,

As an eagle poised to fly forth

To the old land loyal of truth,

To the hills and the sounds of the North:

Fair face, daring and proud,

Lo! the shadow of doom, even now,

The fate of thy line, like a cloud,

Rests on the grace of thy brow!

1773

Cruel and angry face,

Hateful and heavy with wine,
Where are the gladness, the grace,

The beauty, the mirth that were thine?

Ah, my Prince, it were well,

Hadst thou to the gods been dear, To have fallen where Keppoch fell, With the war-pipe loud in thine ear! To have died with never a stain

On the fair White Rose of Renown, To have fallen, fighting in vain,

For thy father, thy faith, and thy crown! More than thy marble pile,

With its women weeping for thee,
Were to dream in thine ancient isle,
To the endless dirge of the sea!
But the Fates deemed otherwise;
Far thou sleepest from home,

From the tears of the Northern skies,
In the secular 1 dust of Rome.
A city of death and the dead,
But thither a pilgrim came,
Wearing on weary head

The crowns of years and fame:
Little the Lucrine lake

Or Tivoli said to him,

Scarce did the memories wake

Of the far-off years and dim,

For he stood by Avernus' shore,

But he dreamed of a Northern glen,

And he murmured, over and o'er,

And his feet, to death that went,
Crept forth to St. Peter's shrine,
And the latest Minstrel bent

O'er the last of the Stuart line.

WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?

LADY NAIRN

PRINCE CHARLES had landed at Moidart, a bay on the west coast of Invernesshire, where he hoped to find support among the Highland clans. When counselled to abandon the desperate enterprise, he replied, "I am come home and I will not return to France, for I am persuaded that my faithful Highlanders will stand by me." The song speaks the genuine devotion of the Celts, who made up the bulk of the army with which the Prince invaded England.

The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen,

Will soon gar mony ferlie;1

For ships o' war hae just come in

And landit Royal Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groats to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.

1 make many wonder.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!
For wha'll be King but Charlie?

The Lowlands a', baith great and sma',
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's King an' law,
An' speir1 ye wha but Charlie?

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!
For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan',
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han',
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?