was Christian heroism!

But we will not linger longer over this tragic and pathetic tale.
Suffice it, all was done for the wounded that could possibly be done;
and that Christian ministers committed reverently to the earth 'until
the morning' those who fell so bravely and so suddenly at Magersfontein.

Mr. Robertson shall close the chapter for us, in words as eloquent and
as pathetic as any we have read for many years, and with his sad
_requiem_ we will let the curtain drop on the tragedy of Magersfontein.

[Illustration: REV. JAMES ROBERTSON.

(By permission of the publishers of _St. Andrew_.)]

=The Scottish Dead at Magersfontein.=[5]

'Our dead, our dear Scottish dead! How the corpse-strewn fields of
the Modder, Magersfontein, Koodoosberg, and Paardeberg sorrowfully
pass before me! Let me picture the scene, sad, yet not without its
solace to those whose near and dear ones lie buried there,
otherwise I would not paint it or reproduce my comments thereon,
even by request. 'Tis only a miniature, with a few details, that I
attempt to draw. One field--nay, one corner of the field--is
descriptive of the rest, so I lift but a little of the dark-fringed
curtain.

'Reverently, tenderly, lovingly handle them, and carefully identify
them, for their own brave sakes, and that of the bereaved ones far
away. There, you will find the identity card in the side-pocket.
No, it's missing. Well, then, what's this? A letter; but the
envelope's gone. Let me see the signature at the end. Ah, just as I
thought, "Your loving mother!" God help her, poor body! Ah, boys,
don't forget the dear mother in the old home. She never forgets
you, but morning, noon, and night thinks and prays for her
soldier-son. Mindfulness of her brings God's blessing;
forgetfulness bitter remorse, when too late--after she's gone.
There's something more in the breast-pocket. His parchment
probably. No; something better still--a small copy of St. John's
Gospel, with his name thereon. Let us hope that its presence there,
when every extra ounce carried was a weighty consideration, is
more than suggestive of thoughts of higher things. Pass on. No
identity card on this body either, but another letter--a
sweetheart's one. Oh, the poetry and pathos, the comedy and tragedy
of love's young dream! Please see this burnt, sergeant; I don'