loves, it is my face he shall see once more before him in his dying hour when the companionship of human life is ended. It is not her soul that will know his when only love gives recognition, and only love may guide him over the great threshold. He rested his head down upon her hair, and she whispered longingly, "If I had only had your first love! He looked at her sadly and gravely, and into his voice there came a sweetness I had never heard, as he answered her slowly, "You have my best love." . . . And still I stayed looking at him and listening to him, knowing that I should do so nevermore-that now indeed was the great parting between us. For that which he had called love had been but a delight in sound and sight and touch, born of the flesh and dying with it, and not worthy of the name, and nothing else could bring me to him. And I would have been content, since he had willed it so, had she that was with him had power to give him a perfect love; but I knew that it was not so. And still I stayed, even while he clung to her until he shut his eyes so that in fancy be might not see me, and hid his face so that he might not hear me, and with a wrench he shut all remembrance of me out of his heart and turned to her again. . . And then I fled out into the night, knowing that if we met again there would be no memory of me with him, for memory dies with the body unless it is strong enough to outlive death, or love is there to carry it on. And even if he saw my face again in some dim future of which I knew not yet, it would be strange to him, as a flickering thought that can be identified with no past and which we dare not call memory, is strange. For as the body knows much the soul may not remember, so has the soul secrets that can never be known to the body. . . . And I cried out to the darkness in my anguish, and the wind lent me its voice and shrieked in at the crevices and beat against the windows; but I knew he standing within heard not or took no heed, and thought of nothing save of the woman beside him. "Oh, could you but know!" I cried, "could you but know how with our own hands we make our heavens and hells and the heavens and hells of those we love!" For that which is in our hearts to the end is always, and so ourselves do we work out our own immortality. The choice is with us, and the material in our own hands, to live or die even as we will; but to live the soul must have strengthstrength that is greater than death, greater than the power that comes after to gather us in until separate life is ours no more, and the strength that is greatest is born of love that is perfect. And of perfect love are all things born, of love that in its highest has gathered beauty and knowledge and wisdom to itself, until the mortal life has become immortal and passes on with all things in its hands. I do not know how far I went, on and on, into what strange lands, on and on, borne by the wind and hurried by the storm, making no sign, leaving no footprint behind. Sometimes it seemed as if the wind that met me understood, and went by moaning and pitying, and carried on, perhaps to him, some sad message, for in its tone there seemed a cry of parting and despair that was my own. And then I went back once more to see the babe that had slept in its cot the night I had first stood beside my husband in his sorrow. There is only one being with which one's soul longs for affinity, an affinity born of love and sympathy, and now my soul knew that this was denied it; my thoughts went back to the child that was mine and his. And I loved it chiefly for the life that was in it-life that was his once and might know me still. I stole in the darkness through the quiet house, and found the room where the child lay sleeping in its bed. I saw its face and its soft hair and closed eyes, and heard the sweet sound of breathing that came through its parted lips, and I longed for human life again, and would have given my soul up thankfully to have had my flesh and blood back for one single instant, to have held that little one in my arms. And I stooped and kissed it, but it turned shrinkingly away even in its sleep, and then, affrighted, woke and cried "Mother, mother!" And from an inner room the fair woman came; but I stood close to the child still, and touched it softly; and again, shrinking and affrighted, it held out its hands to her and cried "Mother, mother!" and she took it into her arms, and the child looked up at her face and smiled, and was satisfied. . . . And I passed out into the night, and on and on for evermore, farther and farther away-on and on, seeking the infinite and finding it never. . . SIR DONALD STEWART'S MARCH FROM KANDAHAR TO KABUL. THE following account of Sir Donald Stewart's march from Kandahar to Kabul in 1880 was written at the time and sent home for publication by an eye-witness of the events described. The letter bag in which it was inclosed never, however, reached its destination; the messenger to whom it was entrusted having either been murdered en route or having himself made away with the letters which he was carrying. No detailed account of Sir Donald Stewart's march has, as far as we are aware, ever appeared in print, and what was undoubtedly a noteworthy military feat has been temporarily eclipsed by the glare of more recent events. We believe however that the march below described, accomplished as it was under circumstances of peculiar difficulty, is one which deserves permanent record, and with this explanation we submit the following brief narrative to our readers, couched as nearly as possible in the language in which it was written as the event occurred. gar The long expected order to march on Ghazni reached General Stewart's force in the third week in March, 1880. At that time the troops had been in rison at Kandahar for nearly eighteen months. The circumstances of their life there had been exceptionally trying; the quarters provided for the men were cramped and uncomfortable; there was an unavoidable lack of amusement; all the small petty luxuries of a soldier's life were wanting; they had passed through a cholera epidemic of extreme severity; and they were daily exposed to the ceaseless attacks of fanatics or Ghazis who, individually, or in small numbers, never desisted from attempts upon the lives 1 1 These attempts were at times of daily occurrence, and were often perpetrated by youths of eleven to fourteen years old, armed with of men and officers, and whose presence in the city and neighbourhood made it imperative on every one to be always on the qui vive, and to go about fully armed. Life in Kandahar was, in short, tedious and uninteresting; and though Sir Donald Stewart, in his general order to the troops on leaving Kandahar, emphatically testified to their admirable conduct while in garrison, and to the absence of crime among them, there can be no doubt that the long period of forced inaction had been burdensome and trying for English and native troops alike. The order for the march was therefore most heartily welcomed by all, and within a very few days after its receipt, the First Brigade, moved into camp, and the whole force, inclusive of Sir Donald Stewart himself and the head-quarter staff, had quitted Kandahar by the 30th March. First Brigade, which was to move up the Arghastán Valley was under General Barter, the Cavalry Brigade under General Palliser, the 2nd Infantry Brigade under General Hughes. The Sir Donald Stewart's departure gave rise to unfeigned regret in the minds of the Wali Sirdar, Shere Ali Khan, and the great majority of the native community of Kandahar. The influence which he had attained was widespread and deep-seated. His rule had been marked by decision and moderation, and above all by an absence of all unnecessary interference with the native officials and the people; the attitude of the troops towards the natives of the country had been unexceptionable, and security for life and property had been every where established among lethal weapons and characterised by a ferocity and determination beyond their years. Penal measures were found quite inefficient to stop them. the people. Those well affected to the English also witnessed with dismay the departure of the Bengal troops accustomed to deal with the frontier tribes of India, and their replacement by the Bombay Sepoys reared in the more peaceful regions of the Deccan, and unfamiliar alike with the language or the customs of the Afghans. Many even at that date presaged difficulty and disaster from the change; but it was the departure of Sir Donald Stewart himself that was most deplored by all who, from whatever cause, desired the prolongation of English supremacy in Kandahar and the surrounding country. During the preceding winter the mortality among the camels had been so severe, and the market was so badly supplied, that efforts almost superhuman were needed to get the requisite number of animals together for the march of Sir Donald Stewart's Division. Some idea of this number may be formed from the fact that the bag gage train when in single file extended over nine miles. However, all the departments concerned-Quarter-Master General's, Political, and Transport, worked with right good will; both officers and men in the force met the difficulty half way by dispensing with every superfluous ounce of baggage; and the consequence was that within eight days from the receipt of the order, the various columns moved into camp fully equipped. Nothing but complete cordiality between all those concerned could have effected this result; nor would it have been possible had the force marched even a few days earlier, when the severity of the weather would have rendered it necessary for the sake of health that every preservative against cold should be taken with the troops. the matter of forage, and the very weak state in which many of the camels commenced their march, but 3 per cent of the whole number died between Kandahar and Kabul; and from this fact it may be judged how great an improvement had been effected in the transport department. From Kandahar to Shahjui, forty miles beyond Kelat-i-Ghilzai, the march of the troops was unattended by any interesting event. The programme originally laid down had been strictly followed. General Barter's brigade. had moved up the Arghastán valley, marching parallel with the remainder of General Stewart's force, and on the day fixed emerged from the hills on to its appointed camping ground on the left bank of the Tarnak river, at the same hour as General Palliser's Brigade and the Headquarters pitched their tents at two miles distance on the right bank and from that date the two brigades kept within sight of one another until a final junction was effected at Karabagh. Up to this point (Shahjui) the army had marched through a country that nominally at least was subject to Sirdar Shere Ali Khan, of Kandahar, and his officials, backed by the presence of our troops, had had but little difficulty in collecting supplies for us in his name. But from the date of our quitting Shahjui, until we marched into Ghazni, we traversed a purely hostile country; a large and daily increasing body of the enemy was, as we knew, marching at a considerable distance on our right flank along the skirts of the hills; and the inhabitants of the districts through which we passed, partly from doubt as to our intentions, partly from a feeling of hostility to ourselves-but still more from a fear of the retaliation that they might expect from the hostile tribes should they attempt to assist us with supplies As it was, the increasing mildness of the weather enabled regiments to dispense with their posteens, sheep--had quitted their houses en masse, skin coats, and warm clothing, and all superfluous baggage was lodged in the commissariat to be returned to India as occasion offered. Notwithstanding the difficulties experienced in burying their grain and provisions, and leaving nothing behind them but empty grain pits and deserted homesteads. To troops unaccustomed to Indian warfare, no course would have been It more embarrassing. At first sight on entering one of these deserted village clusters, it might well seem as if nothing was attainable, and that the troops at least must want for food, even if the horses and cattle found grazing on the young crops of clover or lucerne, which by this time were well above the ground. But it is an old adage, "Set a thief to catch a thief," and there were many Pathans and frontier men in our ranks to whom the policy now being pursued by the enemy was nothing new. was wonderful to see the sagacity and readiness with which these warriors pounced upon the hiding places where the grain and provisions had been concealed; from the centre of newlyploughed fields, from freshly-dug graves, from superincumbent dungheaps, from the bottom of underground canals, from every conceivable and inconceivable place, were large stores of grain and flour dragged into light. On no occasion were the troops compelled to go entirely without food, though the natives especially were often on short rations, and for several days together were without flour, eating nothing but parched grain and sugar, and always cheerfully, and without a grumble or sigh of discontent. From the 12th to the 21st April the army had to forage entirely for themselves; but in no case was anything taken from the villages, save that which was absolutely necessary for the supply of the troops. On those rare occasions, when even a single individual was found to have remained in one of the deserted hamlets, payment was pressed upon him for all that was received. The inhabitants had ample notice of the requirements as well as of the friendly intentions of the English force, and knew that everything would be paid for at a liberal rate. Letters to that effect were always sent on two days ahead by the Political Officers, but they were never answered, and in most cases were brought back unopened. It was curious to notice that though the inhabitants had concealed their grain and provisions, they took no pains to remove or hide their household utensils and property. The dwellings, many of them displaying in their interiors a neatness and cleanliness quite foreign to one's preconceived ideas of Afghan domestic life, had apparently been left in their normal state. Korans, carpets, looking-glasses, combs, cooking pots, were found scattered about the rooms and left untouched. The people must have been forewarned that English discipline admits of no promiscuous looting of undefended villages. It was at Karabagh, 190 miles north of Kandahar, that General Stewart first received trustworty intelligence of the numbers and constitution of the hostile gathering on our right, and of their avowed intention to fight at all hazards. At this time, however, the enemy were out of sight among the hills, being driven to a greater distance than before by the crowds of their deadly enemies the Hazaras, who, at the first sign of the approach of the English troops, swarmed down in thousands from the lofty mountains to the West. A great deal had been written and said about the advantages we should reap directly we got into the Hazara country; all difficulties about getting supplies and intelligence were at once to disappear; the Hazara tribes were in short to prove themselves most efficient and useful allies. Suffice it to say that so far from this being the case, from the moment that the first Hazara chiefs came into our camp at Karabagh, to the date on which at Ghazni the General finally dismissed in Durbar the very large gathering of chiefs that had by that time assembled, the presence of these men was to all concerned not only an immense and unmitigated nuisance, but a positive obstruction to our movements; while their conduct in looting and burning Afghan villages, and in slaying every Afghan man, woman, and child whom they met with on the road-as long as our presence secured them against retaliation-brought upon us the odium and responsibility of acts which we exerted ourselves to the utmost to prevent |