Wot a crowd of people! Wot a sea of faces! ’Ow the ladies’ parasols are glist’nin’ in the sun! Troops in ’open order,’ Captains in their places. Wish the day was over, and I wish the job was done! Wot a lot of civvies! Mus’ be ’arf the city! Like a mob on Boxing-night outside Drury Lane! Ain’t it perfect weather? More’s the blessed pity! Wish instead of sunshine it was pourin’ ’ard o’ rain! Comes of bein’ famous— Mentioned in despatches! Comes of me a-carrying the Major to the rear! Empty stomach fighting— Getting sleep by snatches!— ’Ow the troops must cuss me for a-keeping them out ’ere! ’Ow the people eye me, Like a choice chrysanth’um! ’Ow this collar’s chokin’ me!—Lord! I’m feelin’ sick! Troops are at the ’shoulder’— ’Pre-sent’—there’s the anthem! ’Ow I ’ope ’er Majesty will get it over quick! Wonder if I’m dusty? ’Elmet feels lopsided! Chuck a chest for ’Eaven’s sake! _Lord_, I’m feelin’ queer! Twenty times they’ve brushed me, Twice ’ave I been tidied, Yet I’m feelin’ mucky still. Private Jawkins? ’ERE! Face the lan-dow panels, Dumbly; likewise blindly, Seein’ in a sorter mist a lady dressed in black: ’Ear ’er sof’ly talkin’. Thanks, mum, thank you kindly! Saw the Major fallin’, and I ’ad to take ’im back! Thank you, mum—your ’Ighness— Majesty, I mean, mum! ’M sure I’m much obliged to you for this ’ere pretty Cross! Bless you, you’re a lady! Mean you are the Queen, mum! On’y picked the Major up an’ shoved ’im on an ’orse! ’Saw our Sub go under, ’Alf ’is men around ’im Cut to bits—an’ ’im so young,—yes mum, very sad. Yes mum, ’e was buried In the place we found ’im. Thank you, mum,—your Majesty (God, I’m feelin’ bad!) *ARTHUR* ’Oo’s the Gen’ral ’ere? sez I; ’Oo’s the Gen’ral ’ere? ’O, ’e’s a Prince o’ the Royal Blood, so you ’aven’t got nothin’ to fear.’ But ’e marched me ’ere, an’ ’e marched me there, To burn blank cartridges everywhere; An’ ’e made me sweat, an’ ’e made me swear— Did Arthur! Wot can the Gen’ral do? sez I; Wot can the Gen’ral do? ’O, ’e ’s a Prince o’ the Royal Blood, an’ ’e don’t know much about _you_!’ But ’e doubled me round on a big field day: An’ ’e checked me for loafin’—a mile away! An’ I found there’s a time for work an’ play With Arthur! Wot ’as the Gen’ral done, sez I? Wot ’as the Gen’ral done? ’O, ’e’s a Prince o’ the Royal Blood, an’ they chucked ’im ’is rank for fun!’ But that was a lie, for I found out since ’E’s ninepence a soldier an’ thruppence a prince! ’E stood fire in Egypt, an’ ’e didn’t wince! Not Arthur!