Early in the afternoon I dispatched men with a pack-horse to bring the finer of the two buffalo-heads. It was so ponderous that two powerful men could with difficulty raise it from the ground. The Bechuanas who had accompanied me, on hearing of my success, snatched up their shields and assagais, and hastened to secure the flesh, nor did I see any more of them, with the exception of the two Baquaines, who remained with me, being engaged in a plot with my interpreter to prevent my penetrating to Bamangwato. Isaac did not soon forget his adventure with the buffaloes; and at night over the fire he informed my men that I was mad, and that any man who followed me was going headlong to his own destruction. At an early hour on the 5th, I continued my march through a glorious country of hill and dale, throughout which water was abundant. [From Household Words.] EARTH'S HARVESTS. "Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War." MILTON'S _Sonnet to Cromwell._ Two hundred years ago,[6] the moon Shone on a battle plain; Cold through that glowing night of June Lay steeds and riders slain; And daisies, bending 'neath strange dew, Wept in the silver light; The very turf a regal hue Assumed that fatal night. Time past--but long, to tell the tale, Some battle-ax or shield, Or cloven skull, or shattered mail, Were found upon the field; The grass grew thickest on the spot Where high were heaped the dead, And well it marked had men forgot, Where the great charge was made. To-day--the sun looks laughing down Upon the harvest plain, The little gleaners, rosy-brown, The merry reapers' train; The rich sheaves heaped together stand, And resting in their shade, A mother, working close at hand, Her sleeping babe hath laid. A battle-field it was, and is, For serried spears are there, And against mighty foes upreared-- Gaunt hunger, pale despair. We'll thank God for the hearts of old, Their strife our freedom sealed; We'll praise Him for the sheaves of gold Now on the battle-field. FOOTNOTES: [6] Naseby, June 14, 1646. [Illustration: Z. Taylor [From a Daguerreotype by BRADY.]] BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE LATE PRESIDENT. Who has not heard of the opening words with which the court preacher Massilon startled the titled throng who had gathered in Notre Dame to do the last honors to that monarch whose reign was the longest and most splendid in French annals, "_God only is great!_" How often does the knell of vanished power repeat the lesson! How constantly does the fleeting away of our own men of might teach us that The paths of glory lead but to the grave!