remarkable progress in all soldierly
qualities made by the fellaheen forces, under the guidance and
instruction of their British Officers."--_The Times._]

_Tommy Atkins, loquitur_:--

"WE'VE fought with many men acrost the seas,
And some of 'em was brave, an' some was not."
(So Mister KIPLING says. His 'ealth, boys, please!
'_E_ doesn't give us TOMMIES Tommy-rot.)
We didn't think you over-full of pluck,
When you scuttled from our baynicks like wild 'orses;
But you're mendin', an' 'ere's wishing of you luck!
Wich you're proving an addition to our forces.
So 'ere's _to_ you, though 'tis true that at El Teb you cut and ran;
You're improvin' from a scuttler to a first-class fighting man;
You can 'old your own at present when the bullets hiss and buzz,
And in time you may be equal to a round with Fuzzy-Wuz!

You've been lammed and licked sheer out of go an' grit,
From the times of Pharaoh down to the Khe-_dive_;
Till you 'ardly feel yerself one bloomin' bit,
And I almost wonder you are left alive.
But we've got you out of a good deal of _that_,
Sir EVELYN and the rest of us. You _foller_;
And you'll fight yer weight in (Soudanese) wild cat
One day, nor let the Fuzzies knock you oller.
Then 'ere's _to_ you, my fine Fellah, and the missis and the kid!
When you stand a Dervish devil-rush, and do as you are bid,
You'll just make a TOMMY ATKINS of a quiet Coptic sort;
And I shouldn't wonder then, mate, if the Fuzzies see some sport.

Some would like us lads to clear out! Wot say _you_?
_We_ don't tumble to the Parties and their fakes;
But I guess we don't mean scuttle. If we _do_,
We shall make the bloomingest o' black mistakes;
With the 'owling Dervishes you've stood a brush,
With a baynick you can cross a shovel-spear;
But leave yer to the French, and Fuzzy's rush?
That won't be a 'ealthy game for many a year.
So 'ere's _to_ you, my fine Fellah! May you cut and run no more,
Though the 'acking, 'owling, 'ayrick-'eaded niggers rush and roar,
We back you, 'elp you, train you, and to make the bargain fair,
We won't leave you--yet--to Fuz-Wuz--him as broke a British Square.

You ain't no "thin red" 'eroes, no, not yet,
But a patient, docile, plucky, "thin brown line."
May be useful in its way, my boy, you bet'!
All good fighters may shake fists, you know--'ere's mine!
Yo