As regards insubordination, when you speak to a prisoner on the folly of having resisted or disobeyed a non-commissioned officer, he will generally give an answer somewhat as follows: 'Well, sir, when I came back from foreign service I had a little money, and with this I drank with some comrades more than was good for me. There is a corporal [or sergeant] in the barrack-room who is always down on me; and upon that day, having had a little too much, I could not stand his going on at me; and so I--though indeed I tried to help myself doing so--just struck him between his eyes.' There is no doubt that nine out of every ten soldiers in military prisons have got into trouble through drink. A soldier was once overheard describing the advantages of the Cape as a station in these words: 'Drink is cheap, and you are always dry.' Men of this stamp fill our military prisons. In some cases the crime of insubordination is provoked by the petty bullying and offensive manner of non-commissioned officers, though their superiors do their best to check them. Officers are now easily accessible, and are ready to give the youngest private an impartial hearing. In all respects the position of a British soldier is now greatly improved. Indeed it is not too much to say that life in a military prison now is quite as endurable as was existence out of it to the well-conducted soldier of forty years ago. DESOLATE. Like a funereal pall, Darkness lies over all; Weirdly the owl doth call From her lone steep. Sadly the night-wind blows Over December snows; Vain 'tis my eyes to close-- I cannot sleep. Thy voice is in my ear; Once more thy words I hear, Bringing now hope now fear, But always love; And thy sweet face doth rise Radiant with starry eyes, Cloudless as summer skies In heaven above. Once more at night's soft noon, Under the pensive moon Of a long vanished June, With thee I stray: As when in days of old All my heart's love I told, And to my pleading bold Thou saidst not nay. When thou wast by my side, Calmly the days did glide; Like an unruffled tide My life did flow. Then was each hour too brief; Now I but seek relief From my consuming grief, Rest from my woe. Now falls the scalding tear, Shed for the present drear; Shed for the past so dear, So quickly flown. Over thy lonely grave, Hard by the sounding wave, Madly the wind-gusts rave; I am alone. Yes; but my whole life through Leal have I been and true; True shall I be to you, As true as then; Till when that life is o'er, Skyward my soul shall soar, And on the heavenly shore We meet again. H. D. * * * * * Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. * * * * *