The third battery of the Second Artillery, which had been saved from premature retreat by the appearance of the lancers, kept up its fire for some few minutes, and then, under command of General Cooke, fell back toward the rear, the lancers guarding it as it limbered up and retreated. As they reached a place of safety it was found that the enemy's advance had been stopped again at the crest of the hill, and on looking back it was seen that a brave handful of not more than one hundred infantrymen who had stood their ground—they were part of the Ninth Massachusetts—were fighting there so desperately that many times their numbers had been checked. At once the lancers and the First Cavalry were ordered to take up the position on the left of this little band; but unfortunately, by some misunderstanding of the orders, they advanced close upon their rear. Just as they disappeared in the smoke, a single squadron of the Fourth Pennsylvania, under Colonel Childs, reported to General Cooke. Immediately they were sent to the front, and "with a precision and bravery that would have honored veterans," the volunteers went down the hill under a hot fire of infantry. The advance of the enemy was checked now on the left flank of the line of battle; but the bravely fighting infantry and the new-comers suffered from the fire of their friends as the Fifth Cavalry had done, and turning, they retreated in good order. The infantry retreated at the same time, and both formed in the hollow, safe from the volleys of the enemy and the misdirected fire of the batteries on the enshrouded hill-side.
The Pennsylvania lancers, under Colonel Rush, lost 9 officers killed, wounded, and missing, 92 rank and file, and 128 horses. The Fifth Cavalry lost all their officers but one.
[AN ANGLING THOUGHT.]
BY JIMMIEBOY.
Each day I go a-fishing
For bull-head or for trout;
As long as I catch something
I'm not at all put out.
It may be perch or blue-fish,
It may be mackerel,
It may be cod or halibut—
I like 'em all full well.
I may not land a fish, sir,
Save minnow or sardine;
If I get one I'm happy
As any boy has been.
But I will tell a secret
Quite close unto my soul:
When I have gone a-fishing
I've always had one goal,
And that's some day to hook one
On river, lake, or sea,
To make a fight if I catch him,
Or if he catches me!
[THE BROTHER OF STEFANOS.]
BY G. B. BURGIN.
He was a lad of fifteen, sinewy, lithe as a greyhound, with dancing blue eyes and immensely strong shoulders. Under one arm he carried a long gun, a game-bag slung beneath the other; his legs were encased in yellow gaiters, and his slouch hat, with a peacock feather in the band, shaded bronzed resolute features. "Permit me to make known myselfs," he said, with an amiable smile, as he raised the slouch hat and disclosed a head crisped over with short dark curls. "I am Oscar Van Heidsteyn. And you are the good Smithsons of Constantinople, is it not so?"