[Illustration: EN ROUTE FOR THE HORSE GUARDS.
["In assisting to carry out the plans of War Office reform sketched by the Hartington Commission, Lord WOLSELEY will have an unequalled opportunity of connecting his name with a monumental achievement, and, at the same time, of establishing upon a firmer foundation the efficiency and the welfare of the British Army, which, we are well assured, are the objects he has most sincerely at heart."--_Daily Paper._]]
[The Falls of Foyers, near Loch Ness, are menaced by the projected proceedings of an Aluminium Company.]
"_Among the heathy hills and rugged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods, Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As high in air the bursting torrents flow, As deep recoiling surges foam below, Prone down the rock the whitening stream descends, And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. Dim-seen, thro' rising mists, and ceaseless show'rs The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding low'rs. Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils--_"
The above never-finished fragment was written by BURNS, with a pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers (now called Foyers), near Loch Ness.
O "brither Scots," and is it thus, For all your patriotic fuss O'er names and sic-like trifles, Ye can stand by whilst soulless Trade, With greedy pick, and grubbing spade, Old Scotia's charms so rifles? How well the hour my heart recalls, When, fired by all the Muses, I strove to honour Foyers Falls! But now my song refuses Its singing, swift-springing, At sight of Scotia's charms, My song now is wrung now With patriot alarms.
That I, "for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least," Was aye my wish. But, Scotland dear, What is this shameful news I hear, That racks your poet's breast? That ruthless commerce, spreading wide, Will stain the shores of Ness, And turn those mossy floods aside I sang--with some success? That Beauty and Duty-- It sure _must_ be a hum!-- A Scot still can blot still, For--Aluminium!
I know my country's love of "brass." 'Tis loth to let a bawbee pass, A saxpence bid go bang. Yet "Caledonia stern and wild," Rather than see these Falls defiled, Should bid gross gain go hang! Fancy those "rocky mounds" replaced By refuse-heaps--alack!-- And all the "heathy hills" defaced By smoke and chimney-stack! A tunnel?--Each runnel, In river and cascade, Seems shouting, and flouting The claims of tasteless Trade.