What the Lady from Glasgow thought of it.

Margot stood on the edge of the footpath at the corner of Willis Street and Lambton Quay, with her skirt tucked under one arm and her umbrella atilt over the other. She was a perfectly honest old lady, and the police passed and repassed without suspicion.

"A think there's ower mony o' thae sojers," she said; "whatna' way can he on gang aboot himsel' wi' his leddy and nane o' thae sojers an' trappin's aboot him. A thocht A would be the on'y party dist here aboots, an' A'd hae a guid keek at him an' mebbe boo till him: an' then Ad gang awa' hame tae the hills and dee as happy as a cook, a' wi' seein' the King's laddie. Ay, there's ower mony o' thae guns whatever. A never seen siccan a pile o' them in a peacefu' country. It's a' the consequence o' that war, A ken weel. A'd hae them Boers a' rooted outen the country. A'm thinkin' a muckle the noo aboot the kin' o' non he'll turn out. A've never seen him, ye ken. Bit A'm on sae bad sequent wi' thae Dooks at a'. Ance A recollect Lang Syne, the Dook o' Buccleuch cam doon tae Gamrie. Siccan a day that wis! An' the muckle erood that cam doon frae the hills! Dod, aye! an' it wis Donald MacLachlan, ma cousin, took the Dook's horse till the byre: sae A'm no sae bad acquent wi' Dooks. Bit wae's me, thae Georges! A never trustit thae Georges. A no ken, but it wisna' the last George that didna' ken an apple frae a dumplin,' dod aye. Sic frightfu' bigotry A never could trust! And there thae Edwards!—A sorra lot they were! Bit A'm no sae certain oor present ane is ca'd richt. Ye ken he wis always ca'd Albert, an' A no see what way he's Edward the noo. Dod! there's ower mony o' thae sojers! Bit A'm aye wunnerin' whatna' kind 0' mon he'll turn out. Siccan a crood o' sojers, an' ad mirals, an' preences A never saw! Ma certes! Look at thae uniforms! Donald said A would easy ken the Dook, gin he wore spurs, bit a'body wears spurs. There no a' dooks that hae spurs. Oor Airchie had bunnies o' them, bit he wisna a dook, wis oor Airchie." (Loud cheers in the offing.) "Wae's me! that the Dook! A aye thocht he were a bigger mon nor that. Siccan a flashin' o' spurs an' preences A'm fair dumfoonored. Ah! there a bonnie big fellie, wi' a' the flamingerin' on his breest. Von big yin's a hantle mail like to be the Dook. Weel, weel, we maun gie'm a cheer. An, his leddy's a bonnie woman. Oh! here the Dook! Hip, hip, hoo_____ Whisht, whatna' way can ye no gie 'on a cheer? An' there his big sword as lang nebbuts himsel', hip, hip, hoo—an' there his medals an' his spurs flamingerin' on his breast—hip, hip, hoorar. Dod, aye, bit he's a bonnie laddie! Whatna' way do ye no cheer for, pleeceman; staunin' there glowerin'? Bit there's ower mony o' thae sojers for ma likin'. It's a' thae Boers' fau'ts. Bit ta Dook's on siccan a bonnie fellie as A thocht. A aye thocht a' dooks were braw big. Dod, aye! bit he's fine dressed. A'rn aye wunnerin' what kin' o' a king lie'll be. Hip, hip, hooray! bit A dearly love preences and a' thae cattle. Ye ken ma faither wis descendit frae Robert Bruce. Weel, weel, a' this exhibeetion's ower, an' the crood's gangin' awa' doon the street. A'll dist saunter alang an' hae a keek at the airches. Dod, ave! Here an airch a' ae '00, an' yon's a graun' airch o' sheep's legs! Bit A no like a' thae sojers tranipin, and drillin' aboot. A've been wunnerin' a muckle what kin' o' king he'll make. I wis aye of the opeenion preences were bigger nor that. Sin he's sae sma' whatna' way can we no hae ane for oorsel's—a dook or a preence. A'm sair disappointit wi'm."

And Margot took the train to the Wairarapa, and went to bed.

"There ower mony o' thae sojers," she mumbled in soliloquy as she fell asleep. And she awoke a socialist and a democrat.