The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-04-10

1 new IIdHdSemenC, L, as BunS says 1 All that had been spoken of came | off as arranged by the various parties. l On the fifth of June Roberts took Pre- | toria in his victorious march. Mafek ng
 and Ladysmith had been relieved. and | Johannesberg had fallen. Now. Kruger | and the remainder of his forces were | hurrying into the Lydenburg noun | tains to make what stand they could; | and not the least keen of their foes
 were those who had been their guests | in the Bird-cage. Ath1yne rejoined his | regiment ana was under Buller's com
 mand till the routed army escaped into
 sent by Kitchener along the ranges of | block houses whose segregations slow l ly brought the war to an end.
 When his turn came for going home l three years had elapsed London and 1 his club claimed him for his spells of 1 his short leave. for there was still
 much work to be done with his regi- | ment. When he began to tire of the i long round of work and distractions he commenced to think seriously of visit to America.
 His experience at the war had sober. ed him down. He was now thirty-two years of age. the time when most men. who have not arrived there already, i think seriously of settling down to matrimony. In other respects he want ed to be free. He was tired of obeying was over and Britain was at peace with the world. Had there been still lighting going on anywhere such thought would not have occurred to him; he would still have wanted to be , in the thick of it. But the long months of waiting and inactivity. the endless routine. the impossibility of doing any thing which would have an immediate effect: all these things had worn out much of his patience. and stirred the natural restlessness of his disposition. At home there seemed no prospect of following soldering in the way he
 wished: some form in which excite ment had a part. Indeed the whole scheme of War and Army seemed to be
 shaping themselves on lines unfamiliar to him. The idea of the old devil-may-
 care life which had first attracted him and of which he had had a taste did not any longer exist, or. if it existed it was not for him. Outside actual fighting the life of a soldier was not now to consist of a series of seasonable amusements. And even if it did the
 very routine of amusements not only did not satisfy him. but became irk-
 some. What. after all. he thought, was
 to a grown man a life of games in suc-
 cession. Polo and cricket. fishing
 shooting. hunting in due course; rac-
 Quets and tennis. yachting and racing
 were all very well individually. But they did not seem to lead anywhere.
 In fact such pastimes now seemed
 inadequate to man who had been actively taking a part in the biggest
 game of them all. war!
 When once the idea had come to him
 it never left him. Each new disap- pointment. the unfulhlled expectation of interest. drove it further and fur
 ther home. There was everywhere 9
 lack of his old companions: always a
 crowd of new faces. The girls he had
 known and liked because they were
 ikable. had got married within the few years of his absence. The matrons
 had made fresh companionships which
 held possession Bridge had arisen as a new society fetish which drew to it.
 ceIf fI.aa fr,fa tC md of on A
 new order of South African Million
 aires" had arisen who by their wealth and extravagance had set a defiance the old Crder of social caste. and large 'ly changed the whole scheme of exist ing values.
 When he fled away from London he found something of the same changes elsewhere. In the stir of war, and even
 in the long weariness of waiting which followed it. the whirlfng along of the
 great world, was, if not forgotten, un- thought of. The daily work and the
 daily interest were so personal and so absorbing that abstract thinking was not.
 In the country. of course. the changes were less. but they were more marked. The few years had their full tally of loss: of death. and decay. The eyes that saw them were so far fresh eyes that unchecked memory had not a perpetual ease of comparison.
 For a while he tried hard to find d fresh interest in his work. But here again was change with which he could feel neither sympathy nor tolerat on. Great schemes of reform were on foot; schemes of organization, of recruiting, of training. The ranks in the Service, of which he had experience. were be- coming more mechanical than ever Had he by this time acquired higher rank in the army it is possible that he would have entered with ardour into the new conditions. He was fitted for such; young. and energetic. and daring. These in the Cabinet or in the Army Council have material for exercising broader views of the machinery of war. and to the eyes of such many things which looked at in detail seem wrcng or foolish stand out in their true national importance.
 His dissatisfaction with the army changes was the last straw. He took it into his head that in future the army had no place for him. The idea multiplied day by day with ever-in- creasing exasperation. At last his mind was definitely made up. He sent in his papers: and in due time retired.
 It is generally the way with human beings that they expect some radical change in themselves and their sur roundings to follow close on some vol untary act. They cannot understand verities'' are eternal. 'I may die but the grass will grow says Tennyson in one of his songs. And this is the whole story in epitome. After all. what Is lone llI0, nOWSOSN0T peIIGCl UT HOU!c II may be, in the great moving world of fact. The great Globe floats in a sea of logic which encompasses it about everywhere. What is ordained is or dained to an end and no puny hopes or fears or wishes of an individual can sway or change it's course. Conclusions l follow premises results follow causes. We rebel against facts and conditions | because they are facts and conditions | Then for some new whim or purpose entirely our own we take a new step forward or backward it matters not | and loi we expect the whole world 1 with its million years of slow work l ing up to that particular moment to l change too.