As the almost impossible name of Nundy Droog has been glorified by the "Dubs," one may fairly reason that the glory of a place-name may be derived from what takes place there. Nundy Droog is a fortress set upon a great crag, nearly half a mile high. The story of the three weeks' siege of this difficult place has a sublime climax in the final and victorious assault of the Dublin Fusiliers. It was night, and the Indian moon shone full upon the giant crag, whose serried points seemed to pierce the sky, casting deep shadows on the rocky facets and gloomy ravines. From far above fell the bugle calls of the defenders, tossed by echo from precipice to precipice, to die away in the dark spaces. Then rang out an answering clarion note from below, sounding the assault, and the Dublin Fusiliers advanced up the sides of that precipitous height. "Then," says a chronicler, with a peculiar inversion of metaphorical allusion, "hell opened _above them_, cannon shot ploughed through them, musketry raked them, rockets blasted them, great boulders rolled down from above and carried many away." But, undaunted, the Dublin Fusiliers climbed on and up, until at last their final dash on the summit was so determined that the enemy fled dismayed. Later, standing in pools of blood where lay women of Cawnpore, while little baby-shoes floated about them, the Dublin Fusiliers--strong men, sobbing with grief--vowed vengeance on the perpetrators of the foulest deeds, and saw it carried out. The murderers were captured and blown from the guns, their hands smeared with the blood of their innocent victims, and, according to their own belief, their high-caste souls consequently damned for ever. The Dublin Fusiliers fought grandly in the Boer War, and nothing could hold them back. After Colenso they were found to be only 400 strong. In view of their terrible losses it was decided to send them off to Frere to keep the communications open. It was at parade that they were informed of this, and they one and all "nabbed the rust" and swore they would be in the fighting line or die. They were expostulated with, but all arguments were of no avail; the fighting spirit was too strong, and these heroic fellows were allowed to remain to have another cut at the enemy. During the battle of Colenso occurred a real "Irish" incident which is amusing. The "Dubs" were advancing on the enemy's left flank under a searching shell and rifle fire, when they paused for cover at a poorly-sheltered spot. Here two of the men had a private difference, and, with the battle raging round them, and the bullets whistling through their hair, they set about one another with their fists, their comrades gathering round and looking on with interest. When the matter was satisfactorily settled, and the best man had let the other up, the two shook hands, and, joining common cause against the enemy, coolly resumed the advance, and proceeded about the less personal business of the day.