146 



VERSES. 



I stood beside a spot of earth 



Where all around was green and bright ; 

 The summer winds, in fragrant mirth, 



Flung near a murmur of delight : 

 It seemed a part of Paradise, 



So fraught with luxury of bloom 

 And rich with Nature's blossomed dyes — 



Alas ! I stood beside a tomb, 

 And thought how often thus the smile 



Of Gladness, with deceptive glow, 

 May linger o'er the features while 



The heart is desolate below. 



The soul may brood in silent pain 



O'er withered hopes, o'er promise perished, 

 O'er gentleness beloved in vain 



With fervour prized and fondness cherished, 

 Yet — stem in all its grief — display 



No outward sign of sorrow's power ; 

 No token of the thoughts that prey 



Upon its lone and musing hour. 

 Oh ! often — often thus the smile 



Of Gladness, with deceptive glow. 

 May linger o'er the features while 



The heart is desolate below. 



A SCENE AFTER THE SACKING OF BADAJOZ. 



The men of the Connaught Rangers or, as they 

 called themselves, " The Boys, " had, nevertheless, 

 their joke, and the merits and demerits of the enter- 

 prize were regularly canvassed by them. The following 

 conversation will give a slight insight into the view 

 they took of the matter. Ten or a dozen of " The 

 Boys '' had got together near my tent, where I still 

 lay wounded, and after they had made themselves 

 tolerably comfortable over a large camp kettle of 

 spiced wine, one of them — a man of my own company 

 — ^named Paddy Aisy, having fairly discussed the 



