The Press. — London, England, 1857-10-17 00:00:00

labour—not unmixed, however, with some little natural acrimony at the fastidious appetite of the official tyrant whom they are compelled to supply with food. At the meeting of the Board, held on Wednesday last, the rejection of another " dainty dish " by the great Sir BENJAMIN formed the subject of discussion. We cannot congratulate the public on the results arrived at. Neither the original motion, nor the amendment subsequently carried, can he said to expedite matters much. 'The latter contents itself with simply tabulating the differences between the Board and Sir B. HALL, and regretting that they cannot agree with him. Why, the whole public has been regretting the same thing for the last twelve months, and nothing has come of their regret. Sir BENJAMIN may or not merit the epithet betowed on him by the indig nant Mr. T AYLOR, who said he was a " second NANA SAHIB ;" but if he does not slay by the sword, he seems indifferent to the fact that he will probably do so by the pestilence if something is not soon agreed upon between himself and his subordinates. The zealous and admirable friends of national education seem still t o be confronted by their old difficulty —one, too, to which it is very doubt ful whether Lord LYNDHURST'S definition will apply. We cannot, indeed, help thinking that in the meeting at Basingstoke last week the Earl of CANARVON had the advantage of his senior, the Dean of SALISBURY. When the advantages of education, said the former, and the marketable value of labour come into collision, the weaker will go to the wall. When we come to reflect on the amount of education which every labouring boy could receive, and the comparatively small service it would be to him in making any appreciable rise in life, we cannot wonder at the feeling of the parents, in whom, too, all sentiments of ambition may well be supposed to have been deadened by the daily struggle for existence. As far as the farmers are concerned, we cannot presume to contradict those who have devoted so much time to the consideration of this question, yet we do not very well under stand how there can be much of " skilled labour " in a boy of twelve or fifteen years of age—sufficient, at least, to make his three (lays' work as good as the six days' of another boy who was not skilled. We cannot see how the use of the globes, or the rule of three, would aid a lad in driving a team, milking a cow, or hoeing a turnip-field. But upon this supposed superiority is based the chance of persuading the farmers to consent to the half-time system. The ath °cotes of this view maintain that it is supported by facts• To such an assertion, and front such a quarter, we can only make a silent bow. We heartily hope that it may be so. For at present the crime, credulity, and vice which is rampant among our lower orders is a disgrace to a philan thropic nation. Crimes of violence are certainly not on the decrease, even if we leave out such cases as are known to have been the work of previously convicted persons. Life is held shockingly cheap even among classes considerably above the lowest. Recently murders have been perpetrated which betoken not only ignorance but degeneracy of race. The knife has been freely used : a symptom of national corrup tion which we hold to be real cause for anxiety. All these are reasons why the cause of education should receive all the support which the wealthy and enlightened can afford to it, and why, too, every man should lay aside crotchets—look realities in the face—and strive as much as possible to progress from words to deeds. THE PRESS, OCTOBER 17,1857. It was sixteen hundred rank and file with native levies made, Two thousand men of horse and foot, true each as his good blade; And at their head role Havelock, his fearless forehead bare— Hia warrior locks, worn thin and white, awave with every air. Well knew that noble General what gallant souls he led, Right well his stalwart Highlanders knew too that snowy head ; And through the night, by that pale light, forward the columns strode Over the yawning nullah, and along the deep sand road, Fording the rain•swelled river -wave, breasting the weary hill, One thought alone in every heart, one purpose working still : To reach betimes the battle, and their 'leaguered brothers save, Or bring the villain slayers to their victims bloody grave. And right and left the scouts go out, as tale on tale comes in Of horsemen gathering on the flank and cannons' distant din; And left and right the scouts come in, and tell of squadrons near, But check no forward footsteps, and raise no thought of fear, Till the shrill jungle-chicken's cry hailed the day's rosy sign, And the grey light of morning showed the grim rebel line. Out spake our gallant leader, " Look ! yonder goes the way, To where our o'erpressed brothers stand, and where the butchers slay,— And in our road the knaves stand thick, wherefore, as you may see, Our path lies o'er their carcuses, and carved shall quickly be." Thereat they rested from the march a thirty minutes space, Then rose and met the foe a field in the sun's brighcning face, And long before the dew was dry, or sounds of morning still, The rattle of the strife was done—the slaves flew o'er the hill. Onward again—the good grey head, foremost in fight and march, While the sun's blazing gold burned up through Heaven's cloudless arch. No hoarse command, no need of hand, nor voice in all their way, To bid them close those dust-clad files, to keep their just array ; The hope that bears their Captain on, the rage that scorneth rest, Throbs in the soldier's honest heart, burns in the drummer's breast— Lightens the road of lance and gun, the weight of ringing steel, Whose biting ball and sharp swift fall the assassin soon shall feel. Now sinketh in the tall cane-brake the thin long line of spears ; Now on the crest the vengeful gleam of bayonets appears; Now from his lair in rock and cave the opposing foe they thrust And pass, but leave along the rear the battle's blood and dust; By night, by day, without a stay, right onward rolled their band, Till under Cawnpore's wall they met the fierce Lord of that land. Scant time of breath—life and black death hangs on the passing hour ; The thunder breaks less suddenly, when heavy storm-clouds lour, Than breaks on those dark traitorous files the fury of the few Whose eager eyes behold at last the sought-for caitiff crew; Once only, as the dastard crowd their heavy cannon plied, And swept with hissing hail of grape the green hill's level side, But once, they paused, and crouching down under that deadly rain, Waited with noble patience that mocked at grief and pain— Waited, till, waving the true steel, brave Havelock cried aloud, " Enough, boys ; up ! take cut those gulls and clear away this crowd." Then up they sprang, and high out rang the long, loud British cheer, The saddest sound on all the earth for the oppressor's ear, And with set leet at equal beat, and steel at equal slant, Like blood-hounds on the view-halloo, all fanged and grim and gaunt, Out flew they then, on grew they then—a crash !--and once again The Highlanders of Havelock held the red battle plain. Oh, sisters, gentle sisters, it is not fit to pen A deed so sinful, devilish, such bitter scathe of men. If I did write with tears and blood, meseems that I should shame To set this savage villainy in bight of English dame. Ah ! lady, lady ! turn aside the knowledge from your heart, Or knowing not its hideous tale, keep all its pain apart. Sisters of thine, sisters of mine, were tortured trampled, killed, Their tender babies butchered, their husband's heart-blood spilled. Let it alone with piteous moan—the cowed and beaten foe Left reeking in his beastly lair—that hopeless, awful woe. God's will be done ! but under sun was never deed so dark. Leave it to God, as they whose eyes the bloody scene did mark; As that brave chief, w•h ose Victory shout had sounded the death knell For all the gentle, gallant souls that in those shambles fell. Alas ! the angry heart is hot, the lightnings of the Lord Seem so to sleep, seem so to keep, its scabbard his bright sword. But patience ! patience ! even now the veugeance-debt is due ; Life pays for life—strife follows strife—the Highlanders pursue— The Highlanders of Havelock !—till in his very den They flout and chase the murderer, and smite his flying men. Oh, good grey head ! that ever led first in the chase and charge, With hand so true and valiant, and heart so loyal and large! Oh, faithful fighters for the right ! what need to swell the page With tale of blast by noonday's sun, and blight by plague's wild rage I tell you, easy dwellers here, who own unused hands, That nine times iu the open field met they the rebel bands— That nine times from the open fields they drove them howling far, Each time, alas ! grown weaker with the wear of constant war ; I tell you, twice they stemmed the flow of Ganges at his swell, Thrice on the farther bank gave fight, captured the cannon ! Well ! God's ways are dark ! The bravest men that ever worked His will, Thinned by the battle and the pest, but all unbroken still, Rest on their arms—soul-weary all,—but rest to rise anew, And freo their pi isoned countrymen ; us they shall surely do, If God see good to grace therewith on this side of the grave The Highlanders of Havelock—the bravest of the brave. • HAVELOCK'S MARCH. Years hence, when eyes, now blind with tears, can look upon their loss — When the bright crowns are come to them who now bear bitter cross— When mothers, mourning gallant sons, friends friend, and husband bride, Can smile a proud and mournful smile, telling how well they died— When bitter wrong bath righted been, and vengeance had at last, And all this awful page of Time is turned into the past — Then will it be a tender tale, a touching thing to hear, The story of the scattered few who in that hour of fear Blenched not at death, nor bated breath, but quiet, true, and brave, kept iron hand upon the land that God to England gave-- Who mid that reeling surge of blood stood rooted as the rock, And turned the crimson billows back, at each insulting shock, — Turned them, till far above the war the cry of " Rescue " came, Till burst upon the traitor-hordes the flood of sword and flame, Till England's band leaping to land in noble rage went forth, And all those coward killers sank in a Red Sea of wrath. 'l'herefoie I sing a gallant thing—l also in that strife Desolate of a noble friend, dear to me as my life, For which great grief seeking relief none can such comfort yield, As marking how God fights for us, for us outspreads His shield, — o w sternly-steady on her path His angel Justice goes, With the unswerving onward eyes, the bent and settled brows,— How He doth hear our soldiers shout " For God and for our Right," And as He struck for Havelock, strikes for us in the tight. At Alla abad the tidings came to them at the noon, 01 muiderous knives whetted to slay, and succour needed soon; For ove '-, all that lovely land, in palm-tree grove and plain, Wandered or waited for fresh prey the hacker of the slain— The coward crouching Sipahi—the false fanatic slave, Viho gnashed up on hi s mas t er ' s h an d, taking the food it gave ; The tameless jungle tiger, that tasting noble blood, Drunk with the licence and the lust, loathed all other food. At Allababad the tidings came to them at the noon; Saddles were filled, uud ranks close up by rising of the oon, And long before her silver light s h on e the d a rk mangoem o'er Behind us lay the city, and before us Futtehpore. 1013