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 worn and faded memory of the past. These feeble tottering men, so forlorn, so helpless, seemed to have been unearthed from some long-forgotten tragedy. About them clung so little of the triumph of the victory that had been theirs. How had they spent the intervening years? For them the present and the future seemed to hold so little. They heard at last the shouts and acclamation of the cheering crowd. But it was so pathetically like a recognition that had come too late. What a rush of thoughts must have crowded in upon them as they played their little part in the proclamation of the King! What strange emotion must those cheers have raised in those long-forgotten hearts. Appreciation, recognition, gratitude in full measure—at last. It was not for these they fought. But to have given so much and met with so little in return. It was not even for their native country that these men had fought. It was for the great Queen of another race beyond the seas—the mother of men—to whom they had sworn allegiance, and to whom they had remained so true. But now at last, after well-nigh fifty years, the best and greatest in the land, the representatives of the world-wide British Empire, hailed them conquerers, and threw their tribute of gratitude and acclamation at their feet. 'For Auld Lang Syne.' The march round the arena was nearly done. And it was well, for even that short journey was all too long for some. The oldest and the weakest had fallen gradually behind, and many there were who would not have reached