CHAPTER VII.
Tom Hood, Edward Wylam, Henry Sampson, Paul Gray, H. S. Leigh, W. S. Gilbert, Tom Robertson, Clement Scott, G. A. Sala, Arthur Sketchley, W. J. Prowse, Ashby Sterry, C. H. Leland, Godfrey Turner, Dutton Cook, George R. Sims, Henry Doyle, A. B. Houghton, R.W.S., F. Barnard, G. Thomson, Professor von Herkomer, R.A., Sir John Gilbert, R.A., Hal Ludlow, G. J. Pinwell, R.W.S., E. G. Dalziel, F. A. Fraser, J. F. Sullivan, Lord Dunraven, Ernest Griset, Edward Lear, John Ruskin.
Early in 1865 Mr. Edward Wylam became proprietor of the comic periodical Fun—at that time the only competitor of Punch—and was fortunate enough to secure Tom Hood as editor. On taking up the direction, Hood informed us that one of the stipulations he made with Wylam was that we should be solicited to undertake the engraving of all the drawings. At first we felt some hesitation in accepting the commission, thinking it might considerably interfere with very important works we were then engaged upon; but ultimately satisfactory arrangements were concluded, and our relationship continued in the most amicable manner, without a break for six years. In 1870—Mr. Wylam wishing to devote his entire attention to the development of "Spratt's Dog Biscuits," the patent for which he had recently purchased—we became the sole proprietors of the publication, paying for the goodwill and copyright the sum of £6,000, Hood continuing editor until his death.
The Old Year and the New.
FUN CARTOON, 1867.
By Paul Gray.
In 1869 Hood commenced the publication of "Tom Hood's Comic Annual," which at once secured a large amount of public favour. The second issue more than covered the slight loss sustained on the first. While the third issue was in preparation we purchased from Hood the title, copyrights, and stock of all literary and artistic matter connected with it for the sum of £600.
Tom Hood was, as perhaps half the world knows, the only son of the celebrated wit and poet, Thomas Hood, the author of "The Song of the Shirt," "The Bridge of Sighs," "Eugene Aram," and many other poems of great beauty and purport.
The Chosen Champion. By Frederick Barnard.
FUN CARTOON, 1869.
Tom Hood, like his father, was somewhat of an artist, possessing considerable skill in caricature, and giving a comic "twist" to his sketches. Many of his drawings are scattered through the pages of Fun. He invariably expressed himself well pleased with the manner in which they were reproduced. The following is only one of many letters we received from him:
"I am delighted beyond measure with the blocks. I have returned some of the proofs, which I have touched for alteration; which, with scarcely an exception, however, arises from my mistake and not from the engravers'.
"Ever yours faithfully,
"Tom Hood."
During the many years of our intimate association with Tom Hood, we received hundreds of letters and notes from his pen, but the following is the first and only instance in which he signed his name "Thos. Hood." After this, when he had resigned his post at the War Office and sat down steadily to literary work, he always studiously signed his name "Tom," with the express object that his name might not be confounded with that of his father, or that he should be accused of "making capital" out of his father's name and reputation.
"21 Montpelier Square,
"Brompton, S.W.
"Dear Sir,—I believe Mr. Routledge has (or is going to do so) given you the illustrations of my book to engrave.
"I need not ask you to do me justice, for I know you will do that; but as I am not a professional artist, but an amateur, I fancy I may give you more trouble to understand me at times.
"There are one or two blocks that I wish particularly to call your attention to as requiring facsimile engraving, they being likenesses. Two drawn in pencil I wish you not to touch, as I intend, when I come to see you (which I hope to do soon), to put in initial letters, as I think the fun in them forced. I have drawn a rude sketch of them on the other side. I can introduce them thus: a 'W' on the board, and an 'O' on the flag. At present I am sorry to say I am too ill to come over, but I hope to be on my legs again by the end of the week.
"I am at the War Office from 10 till 4. Should I be able to see you at 5 if I called?
"I hope this will not be our first and last connection in this line, but that it will be a case of 'cut and come again.'
"Believe me,
"Yours truly,
"Thos. Hood."
FUN OFFICE.
80 FLEET STREET E.C.
Friday.
My dear Mr Dalziel
To dine with the Shandies at fair Hampton Court
On Saturday, were I not bound on that day
To navigate Thames in the opposite way
As one of the crew of the scow "Albert-Victor"
(A steamboat that knowing ones vow is a pictur)
Which is bound for sweet Margate, the shore light beyond,
Being chartered expressly by Spiers & Pond,
(This is Spiers and Pond the bard continues)
To open their famous new Hall by the Sea.
(This is the Haul by the Sea Again the bard urges on his wild careen)
To decline your kind offer.
Yours truly
Tom Hood
E. Dalziel Esq
All our transactions with Hood, which continued for close upon ten years, were of the most friendly and agreeable character, leaving behind delightful remembrances of his truly social and sympathetic nature. The letter which we give in facsimile was received in reply to an invitation to join us at an "up-the-river" dinner party, where we promised he should meet a few kindred spirits and spend a very enjoyable day.
Unhappily, Tom Hood died too soon, after an illness of some short duration, against which he fought with great courage. He worked with the assistance of his friend Henry Sampson, to the last—taking part in preparing the number of Fun that was published the day after his death, which took place at his house, in Peckham Rye, on November 26th, 1874.
Subsequently his widow handed us the following letter, with the remark that they were the last lines he ever wrote:
"My dear Sirs,—To the best of my ability, and to the utmost of my power, I have served you loyally and honestly while strength remained. If I have failed it has not been wilfully, and when we have differed in opinion I have only done what I have believed it right to do, or assert beyond mere matter of expediency.
"Sampson has long co-operated with me, and now so well understands the working of the paper that it has been of the greatest comfort and use to me to have, for the first time in my life, some one on whom I could entirely rely when I was disabled.
"A more disinterested and faithful friend man never had, and I am sure if you transfer the bauble from my hands to his you will have secured fidelity and ability of no unusual order, loyalty and discretion, zeal and determination. It is my dying wish that he might be my successor on Fun. Of course I only express this as simply a wish of
"Yours always,
"Tom Hood."
Old Father Time. By Gordon Thomson.
A PORTION OF FUN CARTOON, 1871.
AN URBAN DELUSION.
AN URBAN DELUSION—(continued.)
By J. F. Sullivan. From Fun.
Among the many men, with whom our connection with Fun and the "Comic Annual" brought us into close communication, who have steadily ascended the ladder of fame—some, alas! no longer with us,—mention ought to be made of Henry S. Leigh, author of "Carols of Cockayne," "Strains from the Strand," and other volumes of verse; a man possessed of rare wit and unquestionable genius, but, unfortunately, without one atom of application or appreciation of the value of time. On one occasion, when some change of contributors was contemplated, Hood wrote:
"As for Leigh, he is hopeless: when perpetual motion is patented, a machine might be invented to bring him to the scratch regularly, but—he is unluckily a 'genius.' You might give him a retaining salary that would ensure—his never doing a line."
Yet, notwithstanding his extreme dilatoriness, he was a thoroughly good fellow, and Hood was at all times only too glad to receive any contributions he cared to send, for they were certain to contain some quaint conceit and out of the way sentiment.
That or Nothing. By G. J. Pinwell, R.W.S. From Fun.
Mrs. Vicar.—"Thomas, what has become of you lately? I haven't seen you at Church for several months."
Thomas.—"Noa, ye ain't. But I haven't been nowheres else."
On Leigh being remonstrated with for non-delivery of promised copy, we received the following:
"35 Strand,
"1st Feb., 1881.
"To Messrs. Dalziel Brothers,
An ambition and a future to your care to recommend.
He is timid, he is nervous, but may God above preserve us
If we cannot stretch a point or so to gratify a friend.
I have sent you oft a lyric, either genial or satiric:
Some were bad, and some indifferent, and some were very good.
So my errors don't be hard on, but beneficently pardon,
Were it only through the memory of dear old Tommy Hood."
Of W. S. Gilbert, of "Bab Ballads" and Comic Opera fame, it may not be generally known that all those "topsy-turvy" rhymes were published in Fun: though they were by no means the only work he did for the journal. For a considerable period he wrote a comic paraphrase upon the most popular play produced during the week, as well as an extremely clever series of papers called "People I Have Met." He also wrote several stories for the "Comic Annual." In his selected edition of "Fifty Bab Ballads" he gives the following account of how these happened to be published in Fun:
"It may interest some to know that the first of the series, 'The Yarn of the Nancy Bell,' was originally offered to Punch, to which I was at that time an occasional contributor. It was, however, declined by the then editor on the ground that it was 'too Cannibalistic' for his readers' taste."
To Even Money! By E. G. Dalziel. From Fun.
Teetotal Wife.—"Ah, when that 'evingly Sir Wilfrid 'as 'is way, 'e'll put that nasty beer down!"
Irreverent Brute.—"Hope he'll put it down to the price it used to was—thruppence a pot."
W. S. Gilbert, like many of his fellow workers on the staff of Fun, began life in the Civil Service, he having been for a short time in the Education Office; but the "diurnal drudgery" was not congenial. His impetuous temperament would not brook direction or control, as his most intimate friends were not slow to discover. Immediately on his fairly breaking away from the "ten to four slavery," the first thing he did was to buy a quire or more of foolscap paper, a bundle of quill pens, and a few pieces of boxwood. Thus armed, he commenced to fire away with pen and pencil, for at that time Gilbert contemplated turning his attention to art. His connection with Fun began in his early days, when he sent some of his "topsy-turvy" things to Mr. Maclean, the first proprietor, who, detecting the unquestionable merit, insisted upon their being accepted and published.
Clement Scott, another early and very valued writer on Fun, in a short sketch of his own career, referring to Gilbert, says:
"He was courteously, as a contributor, invited to the weekly Fun dinners, and I fear from what I have heard, that at the outset the young writer was not very courteously treated by some of those who afterwards recognised his great talent to the utmost, and became his warmest friends and companions. Frank Burnand, owing to his novel, 'Mokeanna,' was promoted to Punch; Tom Robertson, the dramatist, whom I met at the club on the Fun meetings every week of my life for half a dozen years; Arthur Sketchley, with his 'Mrs. Brown'; and for verse writers, the delightful Henry S. Leigh, Saville Clarke, and your humble servant, who has been writing bad verses for over thirty-five years."
So long as Hood lived, George Augustus Sala was a constant contributor, as were Edmund Yates and Arthur Sketchley; the latter gentleman's "Mrs. Brown at the Play," as well as a long series of "Mrs. Brown" papers, chiefly comments on the current events of the day, were all published in Fun, and had immense popularity.
Chelsea Hospitality, under a Cloud. By E. G. Dalziel. From Fun.
Pensioner (to Workman).—"Got e'er a bit o' baccy about ye?"
Workman.—"No, mate!—just smoking the last bit!"
Pensioner.—"Come off that there grass—directly!"
Another prominent member of the staff was William Jeffrey Prowse, a journalist of great brilliancy and power, and a "leader writer" and constant contributor to the Daily Telegraph. His advent, under the nom de plume of "Nicholas," was announced by Hood in the following quaint terms:
"With feelings of considerable pride we inform our readers that we have been enabled (at some expense) to secure the exclusive services of the celebrated 'Nicholas.' ... 'Nicholas,' that friend of man, has benevolently consented to impart (for a certain weekly stipend) the experience of—well, let us say middle age to the generous ardour of youth: AND THIS IS HOW HE DOES IT."
But Jeffrey Prowse was something more than the ordinary journalist working to order; he was a poet of no mean power. Some of his productions in this way were published after his death at the end of a small volume of "Nicholas Notes," edited by his friend, Tom Hood. Among his best are "To Be, to Do, and to Suffer," a poem showing great ability; and one named "The City of Prague," of which the following are the first and last verses:
And lonely indeed was my lot;
Two guineas a week, all I wanted,
'Twas certainly all that I got:
Well, somehow I found it was plenty,
Perhaps you may find it the same,
If—if you are just five-and-twenty
With industry, hope, and an aim.
Tho' the latitude's rather uncertain,
And the longitude also is vague,
The persons I pity who know not the city:
The beautiful City of Prague.
* * * * * * *
I have taken my watch out of pawn,
I keep an account with a banker,
Which, at present, is not overdrawn;
Tho' my clothes may be none of the smartest
The 'snip' has receipted the bill;
But the days I was poor and an artist
Are the dearest of days to me still!
Tho' the latitude's rather uncertain,
And the longitude also is vague,
The persons I pity who know not the city:
The beautiful City of Prague."
Park Lane. By E. F. Brewtnall. From Fun.
He.—"What a dreadful noise there is down there with those cabs and things! You can hardly hear yourself speak."
She.—"Yes; almost as bad as being at the opera, isn't it?"
Poor Prowse died at the early age of thirty-four. Hood, in a short memoir, says:
"Prowse, as a writer, was gifted with a great charm of style; with a fertile imagination he possessed a logical mind. The amount of work he has done is astonishing, writing often two or even three leaders a day; and yet amid this constant and fatiguing trial he found time to write poems and essays, papers for the magazines, the annuals, and for Fun."
A Drap o' the Best. By William Small. From Fun.
First Hielan'man.—"She'll pe ta pest wusky I shall have tastit for efermore."
Second Hielan'man.—"So tit I, neither!"
Third Hielan'man.—"Neither tit I, too!"
We must not omit to mention Ashby Sterry as one of the staff, and a contributor to Fun's pages of much graceful verse. He is well known for his volume, "Lays of a Lazy Minstrel." Then, Charles H. Leland, who gained considerable reputation as the genial Dutchman, Hans Breitmann. This gentleman contributed very liberally to the "Comic Annual." He is one of the most affable and interesting men it has been our good fortune to be associated with. He was full of entertaining anecdote, a true artist and no mean draughtsman—in appearance, a giant, in manner as simple as a child. On one occasion in America he asked a negro the name of a black man of rather fine physique and superior appearance, who was standing near.
"He Injun," replied the nigger; "he big Injun; he heap big Injun; he dam heap big Injun; he dam mighty great heap big Injun; He Jones." Jones appeared to be the nigger's culminating pinnacle of greatness!
Godfrey Turner, one of the talented young men who, in the early days, did so much towards placing the Daily Telegraph in the high position which it attained among the London morning papers, worked very constantly upon Fun, as well as on the "Comic Annual." Poor fellow! a protracted illness, generally attributed to overwork, incapacitated him during the last two or three years of his life.
Dutton Cook's short stories appeared constantly in the "Annual"—among his very last work being one he wrote for that periodical. Nor must we omit to mention Leman Blanchard, who was the author of more Christmas pantomimes than can well be counted. He did this work for Drury Lane under F. B. Chatterton, and then Sir Augustus Harris, for many years, as well as for many of the Provincial theatres. The able and accomplished editor of Sketch, John Latey, also was one of our most-esteemed contributors.
Henry J. Byron did much good work for Fun under Hood, but he retired from the staff on commencing a paper of his own, under the title of the Comic News, which unfortunately for the proprietor had but a short existence.
Frank Barrat, Manville Fenn, Austin Dobson, Byron Webber, Moy Thomas, H. C. Newton, and Christie Murray, are the names of others whose work frequently appeared in Fun and the "Comic Annual."
On the death of Tom Hood we complied with his dying request and placed the "Bauble" in the hands of Henry Sampson, who had been a constant fellow worker with Hood for some two or three years previous. One of the first things Sampson did was to introduce George R. Sims upon the staff. It is superfluous for us to comment upon Sims' great ability as a dramatist, a writer of short stories and sympathetic ballads, because the voices of the reading and the play-going world have already proclaimed their high appreciation of his genius. Suffice it to say that it was in the pages of Fun that he found his first opportunity of appearing in print.
In 1893 when Fun passed out of our hands, he alluded to us in the Referee, with which he had long been associated under the nom de plume of "Dagonet," in the following kind words:
"It was by writing a small 'Poem' in Fun that I first won a little journalistic recognition. It was called 'A Dumpty Captain....' It was in November, of 1874, that I first joined the staff of Fun and made my bow to the British public as an anonymous journalist. Tom Hood had just been laid to rest. It was in those days that I commenced my life-long friendship with Henry Sampson, the new editor. Though for me it was a time of struggle, I would give a good deal for the light heart with which I braved the slings and arrows in those dear old days."
Again, Sims writes:
"Although I left Fun in 1877, my association with the Brothers Dalziel was never severed, and right up to the last issue (October, 1893) I was a contributor to 'Hood's Comic Annual,' of which they were the proprietors and editors. I have nothing but pleasant memories of the cheery, generous-hearted brothers and their clever sons; and I am delighted to hear that this year the honoured name will still be on the front page of 'Hood's Annual,' for it is to appear as usual under the editorship of Mr. Charles Dalziel.[21]"
Later, in January, 1894, he kindly wrote in the same paper:
"For nearly half a century the firm of Dalziel Brothers carried on the business of newspaper proprietors and engravers with credit to themselves and advantage to the public, and they gathered around them the best of young men, many of whom have become shining lights in the world of art and letters. To those who had the honour and pleasure of working under them, their friendship and their hospitality were always freely extended, and I have nothing but pleasant memories of the days when I was allowed to be one of their working staff.
"The Brothers Dalziel paid me the first money I ever received for verse. Tom Hood, the editor of Fun, had gone to Paris for a holiday, and Henry Sampson edited the journal in his absence, and gave me half a column to fill, and I plunged into poetry at once; and when I left Fun, in 1876, the Brothers wrote me a charming letter, which I still possess. Though my connection with Fun ended then, I remained one of the contributors to 'Hood's Annual' until last year; and so our business relations continued uninterruptedly and pleasantly for nearly twenty years—yes, for quite twenty years, for it was in 1874 that I did my first work for them. Had there been no Dalziels there might have been no 'Dagonet.'"
Mistress and Maid. By A. Boyd Houghton, R.W.S. From Fun.
Mistress. "Biddy, how is it you did not answer the bell when I rang?'
Maid. "Sure, mem, 'twas bekase I didn't know what you was ringing for, mem!"
So long as Sims continued on the staff he was at all times a most welcome contributor, and, with one exception, always to our entire satisfaction. The exception came about from the severity of a criticism which he wrote upon Sir Henry Irving's rendering of Macbeth, the humour of the article not being quite as apparent as it was intended to be. This caused Irving [and his friends] so much annoyance that he commenced an action against us for libel. However, Sims at once acknowledged the authorship of the article, with ample apologies and regrets, and assurance that there was no "malice aforethought," and Henry Sampson did the same as the responsible editor, so Sir Henry, in a very handsome and kindly manner, withdrew from the prosecution, and the matter ended.
For several years George Dalziel (the elder of the Brothers), regularly contributed short stories and verse to "Hood's Annual." Among the latter was a rather lengthy poem, of which we give a few of the verses:
WHAT THE MOON SAW.
Beneath the rays of that pale silvery moon,
That never gives a weary moan or cry,
Or sign that sorrow dwelt 'twixt night and noon?
There, calmly sailing on amid the stars,
She looks as though no ruthless thought nor care,
Nor wicked deed could ever be that mars
And lays the black spots of our nature bare.
An ill deed done in all the million years
That she has gazed upon the earth, or been
Pale witness to a flood of bitter tears,—
Pale witness to the darkest deeds that man,
With demon brooding in his heart, could frame:
Foul, miry spots her gentle eye doth scan,
And "Lady Moon" goes smiling, all the same.
She saw the first red rose that e'er did bloom;
She heard the first grand carol that was sung,
And saw the mountains clothed with golden broom.
She heard each silvery stream and gurgling brook
Hymn its new song of never-ending praise,
And leaves and flowers, in every ferny nook,
Sing psalms to greet the glorious king of days.
* * * * * * *
That fell upon the ear like magic sound—
The first bright spark of that celestial fire
That thrills with rapture rare the whole world round.
She heard the first loud burst of ocean roar,
And saw the crested waves careering fly;—
She heard its ripple kiss the sandy shore,—
And saw the white foam dash against the sky.
* * * * * * *
And this world rolls beneath the silvery moon
As she sails calmly through the deep blue sky
Unheeding joy or sorrow, night or noon.
Unheeding revel, wail, or bitter cry,
Or joy, or grief, or weary toil, or rest,—
She slowly climbs the ever-darkening sky,
While dying sunlight pales upon her breast.
George Dalziel.
From another issue of the "Annual" we make a few extracts from some verses which are entitled:
MY BOOKS.
My never-failing—ever true and fair!
There standing round, come ready to my call,
And talk, and sing, and tell their wonders rare.
If I am sad, they give me joyous song;
Or if I wish for pleasant talk the while,
My friends are there, and will for short or long,
Just as I please, the ling'ring hour beguile.
With them at ease I play the conjurers part,—
They bring for me the stores of other times,—
Oh, rare the grace!—oh, rare the cunning art
That stirs the sluggish heart with ringing rhymes!
The troops march gaily through the busy town;
Methinks I hear the trembling maiden sigh
As her true knight goes forth to seek renown.
King Arthur, with his warriors brave and good,
Comes forth, the dauntless flower of chivalry;
And there be priests in monkish garb and hood,
As well as motley fools of revelry.
Brave Ajax, and the mighty Hector there;
In fancy hear the aged Priam speak,
And see fair Helen with the golden hair;
The war-like braves in single combat stand,
The ponderous spear each doughty hero hurled,—
Fair Beatrice takes Dante by the hand,
And shows the myst'ries of the hidden world.
* * * * * * *
These loving friends will each a posie bring,
With wooing words they take my ready hand,
And lead, where meadows smile and brooklets sing;
Where scented flow'rs cling round the cottage home,
Sweet new-mown hay, and fields of ripening corn,—
The broad smooth lake, the gorge where waters foam,
The shady grove, or by the scented thorn.
I see the fairies in the woody dells,
I join their midnight revels on the green;
The tower where the Enchanted Princess dwells,
Embowered in a blaze of golden sheen.
And wander where the palm and plantain grow,—
Through citron groves—or vine-clad summit gain,
Climb mountains clad with thousand years of snow,
The heathy moor, and o'er the high hill top,
And seem to breathe the cold crisp frosty air,
As from the lofty Alpine icy slope
I see the fertile valleys stretching there.
Through far-off lands with Livingstone I roam,
Or loiter where the mighty rivers flow,
While sitting in my easy chair at home.
There is no land in all the world we know,
There is no mighty lake or frozen sea,
No hidden depth where foot of man can go,
But my true friends will find and show to me.
A simple story full of jocund glee,—
And anecdote with point that cannot fail
To cheer the heart with true hilarity;
Kind jovial friends that merry songs can sing,
Or with a touch of pathos bring the tear;
Anon I hear the wedding bells out-ring,
And now for gallant deeds the sounding cheer.
The fairest names the world can ever tell;
For some like gold the test of time have stood,
And some!—Oh, there be "maidens fair" as well,
That take a foremost place amid the true,
Good trusty friends there loitering by the wall;
Here Art and Poetry and Science too,
With Travellers that come whene'er I call.
The time that busy men together strove,—
My friends come forth the quiet hour to share,—
The friends I trust, and trusting, best I love;
Here motley fool may preach a sermon true,
Or sombre garb may tell a merry tale;
Here by the fire where these warm friendships grew
They talk to me—the friends that never fail.
George Dalziel.
THE THEATRE OF NATURE.
BOXES.
PIT.
GALLERY.
AT THE DOOR.
During the period that Fun was in our possession George Dalziel was a constant contributor, writing upon the passing events of the day under the general heading of "Dots by the Way."
Few matters in modern history caused greater excitement in the public mind than the many unsuccessful attempts of our troops to reach Khartoum for the relief of General Gordon, and, on the news of how the place had fallen and the brave hero had been murdered by a horde of savage Dervishes, the following verses appeared:
DEATH OF GENERAL GORDON.
["The Fortress of Khartoum was treacherously delivered up to the Mahdi on January 26th, 1885, when General Gordon was slain."—Daily Paper.]
Be heard in all our busy streets to-day,—
For such dark news falls 'mong the surging throng
As sends men sadly pondering on their way.
Sad news that sends a pang of crushing pain
To every honest heart throughout the land.
Khartoum betrayed! her brave defenders slain,
And Gordon fallen by the assassin's hand.
That held this 'leagured city 'gainst the foe,—
And all that man could do, he did to save
The women and their babes from direful woe;
But who can stand against the cunning art,
The cruel, dark device, and darker sin
That traitors use, when with a fiendish heart
They ope' the gates and let the foemen in?
Or ever felt the warm grasp of his hand,
The loving kindness and the ready part
He took in each good work in every land.
A gentle nature, kind as it was brave,
To help the lowly in their poor estate,
He spent his life to free the fettered slave,
And guide the suffering to a better fate.
Its splendour yet shall brighter shine, and tell
In glowing numbers how he faced his foes,
And how by treason dire, great Gordon fell.
With head bowed down we mourn the good man gone,—
And with our sorrow comes a sense of shame,
That in the midst of foes he stood alone,
And died with added glory to his name.
'Tis like a darkening blight that falls at noon,
When men together meet and wondering stand,
And gaze as though the stricken heart would swoon,—
The flaming sword, the "lightning of the spear,"
Shone in the place where multitudes were slain,
The air is full of wailing, and we hear,
Mingled with prayer, the groan of mortal pain.
George Dalziel.
Again, when the decisive battle was fought under the command of Lord, then Sir Garnet, Wolseley, at Tel-el-Kebir, which practically brought the revolt led by Arabi Pasha to a close, this song appeared: