I helped the man to build it,
And we labour’d hard and long,
But the granite came up slowly,
For we were not very strong.
I remember, I remember,
How we raised its form on high,
With one block in December,
And another in July.
Both.
We remember, we remember,
When St. Martin’s bells were rung,
In the laying of the first stone, for
We both were very young.
But weary years have past, now,
Since we our work begun;
We fear we shall not last now,
To see our labour done.
We remember, we remember,
But we heard it on the sly,
’Twon’t be finished next November,
Nor the subsequent July.”
Very early in November, a War Office circular (dated 31 Oct.) was issued, to regulate and establish regimental savings banks, which have done so much to encourage thrift among our soldiers. The maximum of each soldier’s deposit was
limited to £30 in any one year, and to £200 in the whole. The rate of interest on deposits was fixed at £3 15 s. per cent per annum, but no interest was to be allowed upon less than 6s. 8d. and 13s. 4d., nor upon any sums that had not remained on deposit for at least one month, to be reckoned from the last monthly muster day.
In the Times of 10 Nov. is the following: “A rather amusing scene took place in Cheapside, yesterday, shortly before the Lord Mayor’s procession to Westminster. Whilst the streets were blocked up against the passage of vehicles and horses, one of those sharp little urchins, known by the generic title of the ‘twopenny cavalry,’ who rattle through the streets with Her Majesty’s suburban mails, was stopped, opposite Bow Church, by a party of police, who told him they acted under the orders of the Lord Mayor. The post-boy, with all the dignity of Her Majesty’s representative, assuming an air of great condescension, assured the police that he had the highest possible respect for the Lord Mayor, but, being express upon Her Majesty’s business, he was determined to proceed. The police persisted in stopping him, a crowd collected, and it was clear their sympathies sided with the post-boy, who carried himself, throughout the controversy, with great courage, calmness, and self-possession. The police had, by this time, seized the bridle, whilst the boy endeavoured to force his way forward, backed by the strenuous exertions of his steed, who also appeared as if inspired by the authority of a Royal Commission. The post-boy, finding physical force insufficient, tried what authority would do, and threatened them with the vengeance of the Home Secretary, for attempting to stop Her Majesty’s mails. This had the desired effect of bringing the police to a parley; and, as the post-boy was backed by popular applause, he gained momentarily in the discussion, but did not complete his advantage until he took out a memorandum book, and began, coolly, to note down the numbers of the constables. This stroke was decisive; they, at once, capitulated, merely stipulating that they should have his address in return. To this, he readily assented, and searched diligently for his cardcase, but that mark of gentility
was not at hand. He, however, made a page from his memorandum book serve his purpose, and took his leave amid the loud congratulations of the applauding crowd, with the following pithy address to the constables: ‘I can’t well see what use you are. A hundred years ago there were no police, and Lord Mayor’s shows went off better than they do now. For my part, I can’t see what you do here at all, for you know’—he added with a significant grin—‘you know you don’t look so very well in a procession.’ Shouts of laughter followed the post-boy’s brief speech, as he rode on triumphantly.”