with special interest. 'I, too,' said the Bishop, 'can tell you
a short prayer I heard recently, which had been offered up by a common
soldier just before the battle of Blenheim, a better one than any of you
have yet quoted: "O God, if in this day of battle I forget Thee, do
_Thou_ not forget me."'[2]

Years have gone by. On December 10, 1899, when so many of our brave men
had to face death in South Africa, immediately before going into action
at Modder River, the gallant officer commanding the 65th Howitzer
Battery gathered his gunners around him, and offered up the very prayer
of the poor Blenheim soldier: 'Almighty God, if this day we forget Thee,
do Thou not forget us.'

[Footnote 2: This, as the reader will probably note, is but a variant of
a still older story.]

=Prayer before Battle.=

So begins a tiny booklet issued by the South African General Mission.
The picture it presents to us is one beautiful in the extreme. It
reminds us of the Covenanters of long ago. We have heard a great deal of
Boer prayer-meetings. Who is there to record for us the prayer-meetings
held in the British camp? But this artillery officer and his short
prayer will not be forgotten, and will remain as the most touching
expression of a soldier's need and a soldier's hope.

And, surely, if such a prayer as this were needed at any time, it was
before the battle of Magersfontein. All was so sudden, so unexpected! In
a moment death was upon them! All unlooked-for that deadly hail of
bullets! No time for confession of sin! No time even for a whispered
prayer! A few brief moments, and the flower of the British army lay
prone to rise no more!

It was the Highland Brigade that suffered most severely--the brigade of
which every true Britisher is so justly proud. Who that has not seen
these Highlanders march can have any idea of their perfect bearing and
splendid condition? The faultless line, the measured rising and falling
of the white gaiters, until you almost forget they are men who are
marching there, and fancy it must be the rising and falling of the crank
in some gigantic piece of machinery.

And the individual men. What splendid fellows they are! of what fine
physique, of what firm character! It is an honour, surely, to command
such men as these. And as General Wauchope marches at their head to his
death, with stern, sad face and purpose fixed, what wonder that his
heart is racked with pain, as he fears, not for himself, but for hi