I ain't a timid man at all, I'm just as brave as most;
I'll take my turn in open fight and die beside my post.
But riding round the whole day long as target for a Krupp,
A-drawing fire from koppies—well, I'm quite Fed Up!
There's not so many men get hit—it's luck that pulls us through,
Their rifle fire's no class at all—it misses me and you;
But when they sprinkle shells around like water from a cup
From that there bloomin' pom-pom gun—well, I'm Fed Up!
We never gets a chance to charge—to do a thrust and cut—
think I'll chuck the Cavalry and join the Mounted Fut.
But, after all, what's Mounted Fut? I saw them t'other day,
They occupied a koppie when the Boers had run away.
The Cavalry went ridin' on, and seen a score of fights,
But there they stuck, those Mounted Fut, for seven days and nights—
For seven solid days and nights—with scarce a bite or sup,
So when it comes to Mounted Fut—well, I'm Filled Up.
And trampin' with the Footies ain't as pleasant as it looks—
They scarcely ever sees a Boer, except in picture books.
They make a march of twenty mile, which leaves 'em nearly dead,
And then they find the bloomin' Boers is twenty mile ahead!
Each "Footy" is as full of fight as any bulldog pup,
But walking forty miles to fight—well, I'm Fed Up!
So, after all, I think that when I leave the Caval-ree
I'll have to join the Ambulance, or else the A.S.C.
There's always tucker in the plate and coffee in the cup;
But bully beef and biscuits—well, I'm fair Fed Up!
MISS BLOEMFONTEIN.
There appears to be some general misapprehension as to the authenticity of the letter written by "Miss Bloemfontein" in our issue of yesterday. The Editors wish to state that the communication in question was written by a lady, a member of a well-known family in this city, and undoubtedly reflects with wit and frankness the feeling of many of those to whom the abandonment of this place to the British forces has been a bitter disappointment.