incoherent manner, for full five minutes. Her
good temper was all gone.

By-and-by they came to Thames-street, which
was full, as it always is, of carts, and drays,
and barrels, and sugar-loaves, and piles of
dried haddocks, and dirt, and clamour. And
there, at the entrance to a narrow lane, stood
an individual in a suit of oilskin, who was crying
at the top of his voice, "The Bolong
steamer! The Bolong steamer! This way to
the Bolong steamer!" till he almost deafened
Lily.

There was a porter waiting by the side of this
individual, and he had a truck and some luggage
on it. The luggage belonged to the lady. The
porter touched his cap, and assisted the coachman
to remove Lily's trunk to the truck, which
he trundled down a steep passage and along a
wooden pier, and so on board a ship, much
larger than the steamer in which Lily had gone
to Greenwich. The deck was covered with
people, luggage, and merchandise. Everybody
was running about in the most distracted
manner, and a great bell kept dingdonging furiously.
Then a rope fell across Lily's feet and
hurt her toes, and the steam began to make a
hideous noise, and the funnel began to vomit
great masses of black smoke, and the captain,
who stood on a bridge above the deck, gave
a number of orders in a hoarse voice, which
a dirty boy who stood below him repeated in a
shrill one. And then the wharf and the warehouses
beyond it, and the people upon it, all
seemed to be moving away; but it was the
steamer itself, and its crew, and Lily, who were
moving.

She was on board the Harlequin steam-packet,
bound for Boulogne. The shore drifted away
from her; the last sound she heard on shore was
the voice of the porter, with whom the lady had
had a trifling dispute respecting payment, and
who was shaking his fist at her, and bawling
out:
"You call yourself a lady! You call yourself
a lady!  Yah!"

IN THE DANISH CAMP.

MANY interesting anecdotes are told of the
horses and dogs connected with the Danish
army; and first I will speak of the horses; those
noble creatures which, during this winter campaign,
have suffered much, and accomplished incredible
exploits, and on which not only human
life, but all the war-material, depended during
the retreat; the poor horses, which have suffered
so patiently, without receiving thanks, warm
woollen garments or blankets, and have made
no complaints either of stores-managers or
anybody else.

A cavalry horse is quite as familiar with the
long list of varying trumpet signals as the rider
himself; he stops instantly when the signal for
halting is sounded; passes from a walk to a trot,
from a trot to a gallop, without requiring any
reminder from spur or rein. If his rider fall in
battle, or lose his stirrups, he stops in a mo-
ment, and waits for him ; if he remain lying on
the ground, he stoops his head, smells at him,
and when he ascertains that there is no hope of
his remounting, makes his way back to his troop,
wedges himself in his place in the ranks, and
shares afterwards in the movements of the rest.
Music has an amazing influence upon him. If
an air be suddenly struck up, you will see the
worn-out and mortally tired horse raise his sick
head, prick up his ears, become animated, and
move briskly forward to the front.

During a halt, or when quartered for the
night, the cavalry division stretched out on the
ground, lies sleeping confusedly together: a
jumbled mass, which it would be impossible to
disentangle; men and horses side by side, the
rider using his horse as a pillow, or rolling
himself together beside it to shield himself from the
cold, the faithful creature seldom changing the
position it has once taken. If it do so, it is with
the greatest precaution; first it moves its head
and legs, endeavouring gently to free itself; then
it raises or turns itself very slowly and carefully,
so as not to trample upon or disturb those who
surround it. If the halt take place when the
ground is wet or frozen, the rider will gladly
force his horse to one side after it has lain down
awhile, that he may occupy its place, which by
that time is warm, if not dry.

The most affectionate relationship subsists
between man and horse, as the result of their
thus living together. The animal seems to un-
derstand everything connected with his rider;
he knows his master's step, his voice, his
peculiar ways; knows how to seek him out from
among others ; is a faithful, disinterested
companion and friend to him, and has this advantage
over many another good comrade:—that
he does not grow weary even of suffering for
him.

During the retreat from Dannevirke, a little
way beyond Isted, a dragoon's horse fell; its
rider helped it to rise; it rubbed its head against
his shoulder, groaned, panted, then again dropped
down. Its shoes were gone. There was a great
crowd, and the road was very slippery; those
who marched in front making it still worse for
those who came after. In the mean time, the
dragoon managed to get his horse on its legs
a second time, and they again went forward.
Presently the animal neighed. "It is for her
supper that she is longing," said the soldier,
"I know it well enough; but supper-time is
long past. Lotte, dear," said he, addressing
his horse, " you must try and wait till
to-morrow."

At that instant a cart laden with bread drove
by; the horse pushed forward and smelt at the
cart. "How good and sensible Lotte is," said
the soldier ; " she knows there is no food to be
had, so she contents herself with smelling at the
bread!"

Almost immediately afterwards came up a
baggage-waggon.

"What have you got there?" asked Lotte's
master.