Then I lay down huddled up in a corner. The opening tableau was ready, and we rang up the curtain, or rather the tent-flap. Jimmy was as serious as a judge: "All present, conductor? All right; where's that medicine got to? Oh, there; now then, anybody got a corkscrew?" A hum went up from the figures squatting round. Jimmy held up his hand: "Quiet there, the captain is very bad; I must see to him first." He lifted my drooping head and forced a spoonful of the filth between my teeth. I heaved a sigh, patted myself below the belt, rolled my eyes open, and stood up, fully recovered! Astonishment mingled with applause! We selected a hulking, big brute as the next victim. He was palpably shamming; he spluttered a bit over his dose, but took the cue from me: patted himself, rolled his eyes, and was recovered. Genuine plaudits. "Next," said Jimmy. It reminded me of the brimstone and treacle at Dotheboys Hall. Applause gave way to regular hilarity, and the blacks were soon ragging each other on the faces they made. "This is the biggest thing of modern times," said Jimmy as the last man went off grinning and spluttering. "Talk about faith-healing--well, either it's an absolute fact, or else we two are the leading medical stars of the new century." Then Jimmy and I shook hands, and he tried to whistle "Dolly Day Dreams" again, but couldn't manage it for a minute or two. There were a few real bad cases still, but they all pulled through. Then we served out to the men the best rations we could raise and a bit of 'baccy apiece. They cooked away with a will, filled themselves out with breakfast, lay down beneath their wagons, and went to sleep. Jimmy and I went to sleep too. At sunset we inspanned and made the 10 miles to the farm early. Our doctor met us there. But I shall never hear "Dolly Day Dreams" again without thinking of bare veldt, black faces, and chlorodyne. ANONYMOUS. * * * * * THE "N.C.O." There's some one in the Army that I'd like to write about, For it's seldom that he gets his share of praise; He's as gallant as most lions and you can always hear him shout, Through the rattle of the battle now-a-days. When we read in all the papers of the Comp'ny officers killed, We don't stop to think who has to take their place; But if we knew, our hearts with admiration would be filled For the N.C.O. with grim and grimy face. His language on the barrack square, ain't quite what it should be, And it's probable he likes his whack of beer, But there's nothing like that voice of his, and never yet will be To steady the young soldier when he's feeling "Bullet-queer." He's ahead in all the rushes, he's the last one to retire, And in battle's got a joke for every one; He doesn't seem to mind a damn, when under Mauser fire, And he don't forget the wounded when the day is fought and won.