472 The Water Companies. [MAY, 



public proceeding be requisite, this is the only one which could produce any 

 beneficial result. At the same time, we are not at all convinced that such a 

 course is necessary. The best measure for any parish which found itself ill- 

 supplied by one company, would be to offer its custom, secured for a stated 

 period, to another : there is very little danger in despite, of the proverbial 

 inviolability of treaties that such a temptation would be resisted. For 

 the formation of a "new company," the public can suffer no injury from 

 its establishment; but we would recommend those persons who are to supply 

 the money for such a purpose to consider well before they undertake it. 



THE OLD WARRIOR'S GRAVE.* 



THOU didst fall in the field with thy silver hair, 



And a banner in thy hand ; 

 Thou wert laid to rest from thy battles there, 



By a proudly mournful band. 



In the camp, on the steed, to the bugle's blast, 



Thy long bright years had sped ; 

 And a warrior's bier was thine at last, 



When the snows had crown'd thy head. 



Many had fallen by thy side, old chief! 



Brothers and friends, perchance; 

 But thou wert yet as the fadeless leaf, 



And light was in thy glance. 



The soldier's heart at thy step leaped high, 



And thy voice the war-horse knew ; 

 And the first to arm when the foe was nigh 



Wert thou, the bold and true ! 



Now mayest thou slumber thy work is done 



Thou of the well-worn sword ! 

 From the stormy fight in thy fame thou'rt gone, 



But not to the festal board. 



The corn-sheaves whisper thy grave around, 



Where fiery blood hath flowed ; 

 Oh ! lover of battle and trumpet-sound ! 



Thou hast won thee a still abode ! 



A quiet home from the sunbeams glare, 



And the wind that wandereth free 

 Thou that didst fall with thy silvery hair, 



For this men toil like thee ! F. H. 



* I came upon the tomb of Marshal Schwerin a plain, quiet cenotaph, erected in the 

 middle of a wide corn-field, on the very spot where he closed a long, faithful, and glorious 

 career in arms. He fell here at eighty years of age, at the head of his own regiment, the 

 standard of it waving in his hand. His seat was in the leathern saddle his foot in the iron 

 stirrup his fingers reined the young war-horse to the last. Notes and Reflections dur- 

 ing a Ramble in Germany. 



