Part 1 — THE SIX-INCH GUN.

(From the Christmas number of the Bombshell, published in Ladysmith during the siege.)

There is a famous hill looks down, Five miles away, on Ladysmith town, With a long flat ridge that meets the sky Almost a thousand feet on high. And on the ridge there is mounted one Long-range, terrible six-inch gun.

And down in the street a bugle is blown, When the cloud of smoke on the sky is thrown, For it's sixty seconds before the roar Reverberates o'er, and a second more Till the shell comes down with a whiz and stun From that long-range, terrible six-inch gun.

And men and women walk up and down The long, hot streets of Ladysmith town, And the housewives walk in the usual round, And the children play till the warning sound— Then into their holes they scurry and run From the whistling shell of the six-inch gun.

For the shells they weigh a hundred pound, Bursting wherever they strike the ground, While the strong concussion shakes the air And shatters the window-panes everywhere. And we may laugh, but there's little of fun In the bursting shell from a six-inch gun.

Oh! 'twas whistle and jest with the carbineers gay As they cleaned their steeds at break of day, But like a thunderclap there fell In the midst of the horses and men a shell, And the sight we saw was a fearful one After that shell from the six-inch gun.

Though the foe may beset us on every side, We'll furnish some cheer in this Christmastide; We will laugh and be gay, but a tear will be shed And a thought be given to the gallant dead, Cut off in the midst of their life and fun By the long-range, terrible six-inch gun.