B. B. marked on his linen, found cut to pieces
on a level crossing on the Great Round About
Railway.

The verdict was, "Accidental death; the
railway authorities not to blame."

       BACK FROM THE CRIMEA.

YESTERDAY was a great day for the great sea-
port where I live—the day of the landing of
the convalescent sick and wounded from the
trenches and the battle-fields of the Crimea; a
long, long line of wan pale warriors, tottering
to their resting-place, the hospital; and those
who could not walk, borne after them on
litters. This was not the first sight of this
kind we have witnessed here, and it will not
be the last by many. The deepest feelings of
gratitude and commiseration are weakened
not one whit within us; but the enthusiasm
that requires novelty to re-awaken it has
almost died out. No shouting crowds now
follow these poor soldiers to the hospital gates:
no flags wave from the windows; no cannons
roar. We have found out other ways of
welcome,—there is a subscription-list lying open
at the Town Hall, whereto you may add your
help in supplying books and papers to the
invalids; and volunteers, who understand
the art and mystery of letter-writing, are
plentiful by the sick beds, to send for their
disabled occupants a word of comfort
homewards. To-day a still more solemn scene took
place: the sick and wounded who were too
ill to be moved yesterday—no convalescents,
but men well nigh death's door—were brought
back to their fatherland to die.

The great three-decker lies in the offing
that conveyed them from Scutari, watched by
us these three days with dim eyes,—a vast
death-ship and floating hospital between
decks, and gay with flags and full of life
above.

There has been sad work at these dread
landings of the wounded; but to-day, at least,
were all things fitting and in readiness. The
Royal Rampshire sent its hundred men or so
to the Dockyard Pier with litters, and almost
all its officers were in attendance. A score of
hardy seamen, too, were there, contrasting
strangely with the slight slim figures of the
young militiamen; official people with the fear
of The Times before their eyes; surgeons, and
dockyard dignitaries. It is cold enough waiting
upon harbour piers for steam-tugs, with
the wind and tide against them, and a little
leap-frog does not seem out of place among
the gallant Rampshire-men; but directly the
first puff of smoke is seen above the Bastion,
the order is given to '"fall in,"—all eyes
are directed to the approaching vessel, all
hearts beat quickly, all faces lose their
smiles.

First, the dark dismal hull, and then the
decks spread thick with dim white tarpaulins,
whose shapes, as they draw nearer, are as of                                        sheets above the dead; and there the dying,
perhaps dead, men are,—the worst cases, that
would not bear moving underneath, but lie
with heaps of blankets over them, and only a
prominence observable at heads and feet.
The vessel is brought alongside, and four tars
descend the narrow plank to bear the sick
men, feet foremost. The litters cannot here
be used, so bad are all these cases; but
through the thick canvass of these "cots"
great poles are inserted, and shouldering
these with difficulty, and keeping in step for
the sufferers' sake, which is hard work also,
the sailors land their burthen. Sometimes
from under the great pile of clothes an ashy-
white thin face just shows itself, or rather is
shown by chance, for the eyes are lustreless,
and express no gleam of interest. The heavy
moustache and the military cap, still worn
as bed-gear, contrast most painfully with
the dependent, prostrate condition of their
wearers. What expression yet remains to
some is of a thoughtful cast. They have seen
and suffered much these last six months;
and want and danger are such teachers as the
most careless may not disregard. The bearers
are warned of all impediments; and tenderly
and skilfully do they lift their heavy burthen,
and the "wheelers" start with the left foot,
and the " leaders" with the right, and so
"slow-march" to the hospital. Now, too, must
the less dangerous cases be brought from
between decks, and transferred from their
cots to litters. Each man is dressed in his
great coat, and his knapsack lies beside him
as though he should presently arise and walk;
but it is easy to see there is no walking for
him these many weeks, though his eyes are
bright with happiness, and he will answer
softly if you address his ear; and these, too,
are carried to the sick wards to join their less
fortunate brethren.

These wards are warm and comfortable,
with a fire at each end of them. "We have
not seen a fire since we left old England,"
say many of the sufferers; and medicines are
in plenty and attendance good, though medical
help is still greatly needed: but things were
not go at first by any means. Ragged and
swarming with vermin (as we are credibly
informed) did our poor fellows lie for days;
for there was signing and counter-signing to
be effected, and the "proper channel" to be
quite decided upon, before the official mind
could rightly understand the matter and
provide clean linen. Let, however, bygones be
bygones. Now, we repeat, were there a larger
medical staff (especially in the matter of
dressers), all would be well.

Accompany us, then, with some of the
officers from the Royal Rampshire, and bring
pen, ink, and paper, and a little writing-case;
seat yourself down on one of the deal stools
that stand beside each bed, and hear a story
of the war,—quite unpictorial, without rose-
colour, flame-colour, drum accompaniment, or
any such thing,—and let the look of each