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the man I pursued-till at length we were level. short, sharp struggle, and the colors were mine, the Russian trooper dead. How I got back I don't know: the next thing I remember is bending over our ensign, and putting the colors, all blood-stained and bullet-riddled, into his hands.

And hark! above the rattle of the gradually ceasing fusillade rise ringing shouts. The great Battle of Inkerman is fought: who has won it?

What are those triumphant voices shouting Thank God! for they are crying “Hurrah!" and "Vive'l Empereur !"-the allies have conquered.

"Sergeant!”-said my dying officer—"if ever you get back to the dear old country, tell them-father and mother I mean—that I died with the colors in my hand.” The end was coming quickly. With an effort he raised his hand and broke from the colors a strip hanging only by a thread or two, saying, “ 'Tis the best thing I can leave you, sergeant--take it, for of all the brave hearts here, living and dead, yours is the bravest.”

Then the summons caine for the roll-call we must all answer; and he whispered, “Good-bye, comrade"-and fell in.

Close, fast and thick, O gathering shades of even tide, over the fiell of battle. Hide thy light, O setting sun,-blood-red, as though the field of carnage were reflected in thy face. Oh! moon and stars, shine not to-night upon a scene like this.

I was wending my way slowly back to the tents some hours after the last shot had been fired, when a sudden gleam of light revealed a sight which seems never to have faded from my mind. Stretched on the cold ground, wet with evening dew and scarlet streams of blood, her eyes half closed, her fair white hands clasped together in prayerful attitude, a look of ineffable peace upon her pale, delicate features, lay a Sister of Mercy. Oh, rightly are they called so, the God of Mercy bless them!

By her side were the food and wine and medicine she had brought wherewith to succor the wounded. But alas ! dear sister, never more shall thy tender hands and kindly voice fulfil their offices of love, for from the pure and gentle heart which inspired them, blood is surgicg slowly through the black dress. Oh, I pray God that the bullet which has struck thee was fired not wilfullyand may the Good Shepherd gather thee to His bosom, poor lamb! Then I knelt by her side, and reverently covered with the silken strip of our regiment's banner what was in very truth the noblest, bravest heart on the field of Inkerman.

Very tenderly I carried her to her sisters in the rear, and on the day following the morrow of her death I saw her buried, with the beautiful rites of her Church. And my thoughts often wander to a little grave some thousands of miles away, on the rough headstone of which is written the name of Sister Ruth.

THE CURTSY.*-Robert C. V. MEYEKOS.

Mrs. Chertsy loved to curtsy
To the high;
A mayor was somewhat rare,
But a doctor, and the proctor
Of a college lived quite nigh,
So Mrs. Chertsy
Used to curtsy
When they went by.
Said she, “I must agree
I love a lord,
And yet, upon my word,
A lord I never see.
I must to London town
Where the king walks up and down,
So polite, I have heard say
That he bows the livelong day
To the people he goes by
So I'll curtsy,"
Said Mrs. Chertsy,

“ When I catch his eye.". *Written expressly for this Collection.

To London town she went,
A hundred pounds she spent
For a crimson velvet gown
In which to bow when down
And up the king should walk.
All her talk
Was how he'd see her curtsy,
And say, " That's Mrs. Chertsy,"
And he'd bow, bow, bow,
And she'd curtsy, curtsy, curtsy,
Till the people would allow
She must be pretty high,
For the king to bow so low
When he went by.
One fine morning, without warning,
Mrs. Chertsy and her curtsy
Went down upon the Mall.
The king, and eke his court,
Would pass

that way at noon,
On the way to hear a tune,
And to taste a glass of port
At a charming singer's house.
The Mall was just a crowd,
And the laughs and talk were loud,
But as quiet as a mouse
Was little Mrs. Chertsy.
Said she, “I came to curtsy,
Not to laugh and talk, not I,
Till the king goes by.”
Then the king, with robe and ring,
His crown on, and a thing
Called a sceptre in his hand,
Appeared upon the Mall.
The people one and all
Shouted, and the band
Struck up, “God save the King,"
And the king bowed, and the crowd

hrew up their hats and yelled.
Then the king saw Mrs. Chertsy
And her curtsy.
And he said, “I bow-1-1-
But no one dared to bow
To me ere now,
As I went by."

The word was passed along
To the court that was a throng.
Of fifty-seven score,
Or more,
That all should bow to her
The king bowed to, while she
Should curtsy, curtsy, curtsy,
And not stir
Away till there should be
Not a single courtier nigh,
But all gone by.
The king bowed, and the same
Did the courtiers as they came,
While the crowd
Cheered loud, then very loud,
Then louder, louder, louder,
While Mrs. Chertsy
Made her curtsy-
English, French and German,
Chinese, Turk and Burman,
Mohammedan and Quaker,
Israelite and Shaker,
By hundreds came they on,
And each one bowed and bowed
To Mrs. Chertsy, and the crowd
Liked the fun.
It took just seven hours
By the clock in St. Paul's steeple-
“Never," said the people,
“ By all the kingly powers,
Did it take so long, oh, fie!
For the king to go by.”
But Mrs. Chertsy made her curtsy
Till her

cap

fell off, her gown Ripped up the back and down, She paler grew and paler, But that did not avail her; At first she curtsied slowly, Majestically, lowly, Then quicker, even faster, And more fast--and the plaster Of her paint and powder passed her Like dust from a pilaster,

And her curls she thought would last her
Dropped off - oh, dire disaster!
And her neck of alabaster
Grew prickly and harassed her,
As she curtsied quick and quicker,
While the crowd drank strengthening liquor
Which made them cheer unmildly,
And they shrieked with laughter wildly,
While faster Mrs. Chertsy
Made her curtsy,
Till dizzy grew the king,
And snatching off his ring,
He cried “ 'Tis his who stops her!”
But they couldu't stop her,-faster
Was the curtsy, and disaster
Followed fast and followed faster.
They saw her head was wabbling,
That her shoulders needed cobbling,
Her arms flew from their sockets,
Her money from her pockets,
Her feet jumped in the air,
Her body anywhere,
Her bones strewed all the stones,
Yet despite the people's groans,
Her cap, her curls
Made polite wbirls;
Her arms, her feet
Made bends most neat;
Her bones they danced,
Fell back, advanced;
Her velvet gown
Moved up and down,
And all of her and hers just pranced,
Going faster, faster, faster
With a speed that none could master,
And naught was left of Mrs. Chertsy
But her curtsy.

PERONELLA.
Beauty and rags were the portion possessed
By this maid that the breezes of heaven caressed.
She ne'er heard of trouble; she knew not a care;
No burdens appeared for her shoulders to bear;

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