at church, and before I left the neighbourhood I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, that she had quietly breathed her last, and had gone to rejoin those she loved in that world where sorrow is never known, and friends are never parted. AN EPISODE OF THE CRIMEAN WAR. [Armistice—March, 1855.] On Saturday, during the armistice, I came out upon the advanced French trench, within a few hundred yards of the Mamelon. The sight was strange beyond description. French, English, and Russian officers were walking about saluting each other courteously as they passed, and occasionally entering into conversation, and a constant interchange of little civilities, such as offering and receiving cigar-lights, was going on in each little group. Some of the Russian officers were evidently men of high rank and breeding. Their polished manners contrasted remarkably with their plain, and rather coarse clothing. They wore, with few exceptions, the invariable long gray coat over their uniforms. The French officers were all in full uniform, and offered a striking contrast to many of our own officers, who were dressed Balaklava fashion, and wore uncouth head-dresses, catskin coats, and nondescript paletots. Many of the Russians looked remarkably like English gentlemen in 'style' of face and bearing. One tall, finelooking old man, with a long gray beard and strangelyshaped cap, was pointed out to us as Hetman of the Cossacks in the Crimea, but it did not appear as if there were many men of very high military rank present. The Russians were rather grave and reserved, but they seemed to fraternise with the French better than with ourselves, and the men certainly got on better with our allies than with the few privates of our own regiments who were down towards the front. While all this civility was going on, we were walking among the dead, over blood-stained ground, covered with evidences of recent fight. Broken muskets, bayonets, cartridge-boxes, caps, fragments of clothing, straps and belts, pieces of shell, little pools of clotted blood, shot— round and grape-shattered gabions and sandbags, were visible around us on every side, and through the midst of the crowd stalked a solemn procession of soldiers bearing their departed comrades to their long home. I counted seventy-seven litters borne past me in fifteen minutes, each filled with a dead enemy. The contortions of the slain were horrible, and recalled the memories of the fields of Alma and Inkermann. Some few French were lying far in advance towards the Mamelon and Round Tower, among the gabions belonging to the French advanced trenches, which the Russians had broken down. They had evidently been slain in pursuit of the enemy. The Russians appeared to treat their dead with great respect. The soldiers I saw were white-faced, and seemed ill-fed, though many of them had powerful frames, square shoulders, and broad chests. All their dead who fell within and near our lines were stripped of boots and stockings. The cleanliness of their feet, and, in most cases, of their coarse linen shirts, was remarkable. Several sailors of the 'equipages' of the fleet of Sebastopol were killed in the attack. They were generally muscular, fine, stout fellows, with rough, soldierly faces. In the midst of all this stern evidence of war, a certain amount of lively conversation began to spring up, in which the Russian officers indulged in a little badinage. Some of them asked our officers, 'When we were coming in to take the place?' others, 'When we thought of going away?' Some congratulated us upon the excellent opportunity we had of getting a good look at Sebastopol, as the chance of a nearer view, except on similar occasions, was not in their opinion very probable. One officer asked a private, confidentially, in English, how many men we sent into the trenches? 'Begorra, only seven thousand a night, and a wake covering-party of ten thousand !' was the ready Irishman's reply. The officer laughed, and turned away. `At one time a Russian with a litter stopped by a dead body, and put it into the litter. He looked round for a comrade to help him. A Zouave at once advanced with much grace and lifted it, to the infinite amusement of the bystanders; but the joke was not long-lived, as a Russian brusquely came up and helped to carry off his dead comrade. In the town we could see large bodies of soldiery in the streets, assembled at the corners and in the public places. Probably they were ordered out to make a show of their strength. General Bosquet and several officers of rank of the allied army visited the trenches during the armistice, and staff-officers were present on both sides, to see that the men did not go out of bounds. The armistice was over about three o'clock. Scarcely had the white flag disappeared behind the parapet of the Mamelon, before a roundshot from the sailors' battery went slap through one of the embrasures of the Russian work, and dashed up a great pillar of earth inside. The Russians at once replied, and the noise of cannon soon re-echoed through the ravines. THE BALD KNIGHT. A certain knight growing old, his hair fell off, and he became bald, to hide which imperfection he wore a periwig. But as he was riding out with some others a-hunting, a sudden gust of wind blew off the periwig, and exposed his bald pate. The company could not forbear laughing at the accident; and he himself laughed louder than anybody, saying: 'How was it to be expected that I should keep strange hair upon my head, when my own would not stay there?' THE ASS'S SHADOW. A youth, one hot summer's day, hired an ass to carry him from Athens to Megara. At mid-day the heat of the sun was so scorching that he dismounted, and would have sat down to repose himself under the shadow of the ass. But the driver of the ass disputed the place with him, declaring that he had an equal right to it with the other. 'What!' said the youth, 'did I not hire the ass for the whole journey?' 'Yes,' said the other, 'you hired the ass, but not the ass's shadow.' While they were thus wrangling and fighting for the place, the ass took to his heels and ran away. HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN. It is recorded of Henry L. that after the death, by drowning, of his son Prince William, he never was seen to smile. 1. The bark that held a prince went down, He lived—for life may long be borne, Ere sorrow break its chain : Why comes not death to those who mourn? 2. There stood proud forms before his throne, The stately and the brave; But which could fill the place of one- Before him passed the young and fair, In pleasure's reckless train; But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair— 3. He sat where festal-bowls went round; He heard the minstrel sing; A murmur of the restless deep Was blent with every strain ; A voice of winds that would not sleep— |