17 SEPTEMBER 1898, Page 17

if H . rr . ” (EILLED AT OMDURMAN, SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1SC3.) DEATH — was

it Death that he met In the narrow, white-walled street, With the staring sun overhead, And the rotting bones at his feet; When alone in that city of fear, With heart and step elate,

As though on the hills at home, He rushed to meet his fate ?

Nay, rather the Angel of Life, Immortal, untiring, strong, Bearing a victor's crown To one who had righted the wrong.

And with him a living soul, Too gallant and eager and bright For this world's dingy tasks, Has winged his glorious flight.