st reville you will ever 'ear, 'nd ther colonel, whose
name is Death, gives the order ter march, you'll have nothink to fear
abart, if yer bandoliers are full o' faith 'nd yer rifles are sighted with
good works. Yer uniforms may be ragged, and you may not even have a
corporal's stripe to show; but if yer can pass ther sentries fearlessly,
you'll find a general's commission waitin' for yer just inside ther gate.
But yer earn't fool with my General. Remember this: ther password is,
'Repentance,' 'nd nothink else will do. The sentry on duty will see you
comin' and will challenge you. 'Who goes there?' 'Friend!' 'Advance,
friend, 'nd give ther counter-sign!' If you say, 'Good works,' you'll find
'is baynit up against yer chest. If yer say you forgot to get it, you'll be
in ther clink in 'ell in ther twinklin' of an eye; but if yer say, loud 'nd
clear, 'Repentance,' 'e will lower 'is baynit 'nd say, 'Pass, friend. All's
well!'"

PRESIDENT STEYN.

Out on the veldt, far from the wife and home he loves so well, he stands,
our country's bold, unyielding foe. And even as he stands he knows that the
finger of Fate has written his own and his country's doom in letters large
and deep on the walls of time. Yet, with unblenching brow, he waits the
falling of the thunderbolt, a calm, grand figure, fit to live in history's
pages when every memory of meaner men has passed into oblivion, M.T. Steyn,
President of the shattered Free State of South Africa. Around this man the
human jackals howl to try with lying lips to foul his memory. Yet, as a
rock, age after age, throws back with contemptuous strength the waves that
break against its base, so every action of his manly life gives the lie to
tales which cowards tell.

He is our foe, no stabber in the dark, moving with stealthy steps amidst
professions of pretended peace, but in the open, where the gaze of God and
man can rest upon him, he stands, defiant, though undone. He staked his
country's freedom, his earthly happiness, and his high position in the
great game of war; staked all that mortal man holds dear; staked it for
what? For love of gain! May he who spawned that lie to stir our people's
hearts to boundless wrath against this falling man live to repent in
sackcloth and in tears the evil deed so done. . . . Staked it for what? To
feed his own ambition! I tell you no; the undercurrent which brought forth
the deed sprang from a nobler and a hig