THE WEEK.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XII, Issue 77, 31 March 1877, Page 2

THE WEEK.

With the tones of the Band ringing in my ears as they were heard on the departure of our troops for the tented field, the tender partings that I witnessed between the volunteers who were off to " the front" and the girls they left behind them still lingering in ray vision, and the martial ardour that has generally prevailed throughout the last day or two still influencing, involuntarily though it may be, my thoughts and actions, it is not to, be wondered at if I should, as I do, experience some little difficulty in settling down to the mere civilian's task of penning a newspaper contribution. To have done this on Thursday night before the excitement had passed away would have been impossible, but since then I have had time to cool down a little, and the opportunity of witnessing and hearing something of camp life. When I thiuk that it might have fallen to my lot to be on sentry duty between three and five yesterday morning when the raiu was coming down in torrents; and when on visiting the camp yesterday I saw that the officers' tents were pitched on a low marshy piece of ground painfully suggestive of rheumatism and ague —when I came to learn all about these little irconveniences I began to be more reconciled to the fate which had decreed that I was not to be a volunteer. And yet even the sentry doing his solitary tramp, tramp, tramp in the storm, and the officer lying in his tent on the soft spongy ground, may each have had his pleasant thoughts, and have been soothed by the consideration of what was taking place elsewhere. The former as he felt the water trickling down his back may have comforted himself with the reflection that the waking thoughts of his Mary Ann, who must have been aroused from her sleep by the downpour, were at that moment with him, and that she was wondering how her own sweet William was faring "in camp"; the latter, as he heard the patter of the (rain on the canvas above him and felt that the earth beneath him was growing- moister and moister, may have consoled himself with the knowledge that baby was teething and in all probability was making such a howling at home that, even had he been in his own snug bed, he would have got no sleep. There is a dark and a rosy side to almost every event that occurs, and if we could only bring ourselves always to look at the brighter color what a lot of fussing and fretting we might avoid. "Don't forget the password." That is a maxim I wouli impress upon all who who are likely at any time to be camped-out volunteers, my reason for doing so being based upon the following occurrence that has been reported to me from the camp. Just before the rain ceased yesterday morning there came up to the officer of the guard one of the volunteers, upon whom I will for the time confer the distinctive and uncommon appellation of Bill, who asked if he might be allowed to absent himself from the camp for a few hours. In reply to the question why he wished to leave thus early he stated that he was desirous of temporarily exchanging his martial avocations for the more peaceful occupation of milking the cows. This appeared to the officer to be a sufficiently cogent reason, and so Bill got his leave without further demur. But alas, in his hurry to attend to the requirements of Polly and Betty he forgot to ask for the password. Away he went, thinking probably how kind and considerate the officer was, but on approaching the sentry he was stopped, and my familiar, who professes to have heard Avhat took place— though he is not always to be depended upon — reports the following dialogue as having occurred: — Sentry: Who goes there? Bill: BUI. Sentry: Who's Bill? Bill: Why, didn't I tell yer? BUI. Sentry: Well, give the password. Bill: I don't know nothing about passwords. All I know is as the boss said I could go home to milk the cows. Sentry; That won't do. Last camp I passed a chap as didn't know the password, and I got into an awful row about it, so I ain't going to let an udder man go now without the word. Bill, (coaxingly) : Well, tell me the first letter, and see if I can guess it. Sentry; No, that ain't Marshall law. Bill (half angrily, half persuasively): Marshall law be blowed. Supposing you was a cow as wanted to be milked, and there was nobody to do it for you, because he couldn't answer a riddle, what would your opinion be of Marshall law? Blowed if I don't chance it. And, suiting the action to the words off he rau as fast as his legs could carry him in the direction of where Polly and Betty were awajtjng his arrival. The sentry . had his orders, in obedience to which he did not in-

tend to allow any one to enter or quit the camp without giyiug the word, so away he went in pursuit, and being the fleeter runner of the two, he soon came up with Bill, collared , ! him, and dragged him back to the guard tent, where, Avringing wet as he was, he had to remain until the officer had "been conferred with, and confirmed Bill's story, as to his having obtained leave to go homei" I don't know whether Polly and Betty were more roughly handled than usual that morning, but Bill, they tell me, left the camp in anything but a good humor. The moral of this is contained in the words with which this paragraph commenced, and which I present to the volunteers with my compliments — Don't forget the password. I see that the, Wellington election has terminated in favor of Mr Travers, who was, however,returnedby a very small majority. I know one class of men to whom this will be most unnacceptable news. I meau the Hansard reporters, for Mr Travers is oue of the fastest..,: speakers who ever sat in the House. It so happened that on one occasion I met one of the reporters leaving the gallery after his quarter of an hour's duty there, and looking as black.as a thunder cloud. " What's the matter now?" I asked. "Matter indeed," said he, '* you report Travers for a quarter of an hour, and you'd soon know what was the matter. Fox is bad enough, but Travers is the ." Never mind what was the word he used, but it was sufficiently expressive to convince me that if the reporters had been on the roll they woufdC have given a block vote for Hutchison. : . A great improvement has been effected at the Post Office by the .erection of a lamp which is kept burning ; all night. This is all very well for 364 nights in the year, but on behalf of a great number of the young people of Nelson, I would 1 suggest to the messenger, or whoever it is :. that has to light the lamp, that on one night at least he should forget to perform his duty. I refer to the 13th of February. To keep the lamp burning on that night would occasion a serious loss both to the stationers and the Post Office, for there is many a blushing boy and modest maiden who would forego the pleasure of sending his or her Valentine if deprived of the opportunity of posting it under the friendly cover of darkness. Are there not scores of them who were there on the evening of the 13th of last mouth who will bear me out in this statement, and who in their own hearts, although perhaps they won't openly acknowledge it, will feel deeply grateful to me for making the suggestion?' F.