BY MARY A. BARR.
Up rose the sun o'er Egypt's tents,
O'er Egypt's pyramids and sands,
O'er fierce and fiery Mamelukes,
And o'er Napoleon's veteran bands;
The palms stood still in the hot air,
The sad and silent Sphinx looked on,
While over all the Afric sun
In burning, blinding splendor shone.
The Mamelukes fretted on their steeds,
Their cimeters all bright and bare;
The French stood grimly watching them,
Napoleon in the centre square.
He pointed to the Pyramids:
"Comrades, from those grand heights, I say,
The brave of forty centuries
Will watch you draw your swords to-day!"
They answered him with ringing shouts,
And ere the echoes died away
The van, like a tornado, charged,
Led by the brave and bold Desaix.
Then while the trusty "Forty-third"
Stood waiting for the word to charge,
They saw their little drummer-boy
Come from the column of Dufarge.
With tottering steps and bleeding breast,
But bravely beating still his drum,
He said, with sad and tearful face,
"Oh, Forty-third, to you I've come;
I've come to you, my Regiment,
For nothing but a child am I;
I've come to you, my comrades brave,
That you may teach me how to die!
"I'll never shame you, Forty-third;
I want to be as brave and true;
I want to die as brave men die;
So tell a poor child what to do."
Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard,
And Joubert turned his head away:
The lad had been the pet of all,
And now they knew not what to say,
Till Regnier kissed the boy, and spoke:
"Our Petit Jean, I see 'tis plain
Your place is with the Forty-third;
So beat us now the 'charge' again,
Then follow, and we'll show you how
Death comes unto the soldier brave.
Comrades, salute the nine-year-old
Who'll bravely fill a soldier's grave!"
The men's hearts glowed like living coals,
And Regnier cried, "Why do we stay?"
And to the roll of the little drum
They rode upon their vengeful way;
But each one as he passed the child
His sword with earnest purpose drew,
And cried in brave or tender tones,
"Mon Petit Jean, adieu! adieu!"
"I come, my Regiment, I come!"
But never Petit Jean again
His drum beat for the Forty-third:
They found him lying with the slain.
They put the medal on his breast,
Together clasped his childish hands,
And dug, with many a bitter tear,
A grave for him in Egypt's sands.
'Tis near a century ago,
But still his memory is green;
The Regiment has not a name
So dear as that of Petit Jean;
And many a weary soldier has
To brave and noble deeds been stirred
By the tale of the little nine-year-old
Who died among the Forty-third.
[THE MILKMAIDS OF DORT.]
Girls often declare that boys have all the fun. Well, they certainly do seem to get the larger share of it in a good many ways. Then, when they grow up, they are very apt, too, to carry off all the honors, the literary fame, the military glory, the professional success, while the girls are left at home to do worsted-work.
Now and then, however, the girls come to the front in art, in literature, in science, and even in war. You all know how Joan of Arc led the armies of France to victory, and how Moll Pitcher stood at the mouth of her cannon, pouring confusion into the British ranks.
Not so great as these women of martial fame were the "Milkmaids of Dort," but still they have their place in history. If any of you ever go to Holland, the land of wooden dikes and windmills, it is quite possible that you may find yourselves some day in the ancient town of Dort, or Dordrecht. It is a grand old city. Here among these antiquated buildings, with their queer gables and great iron cranes, many an interesting historical event has taken place.
In the centre of the great market-place of Dort stands a fountain, and if you will look close you will see upon the tall pyramid a relievo representing a cow, and underneath, in sitting posture, a milkmaid. They are there to commemorate the following historical fact:
When the provinces of the United Netherlands were struggling for their liberty, two beautiful daughters of a rich farmer, on their way to the town with milk, observed not far from their path several Spanish soldiers concealed behind some hedges. The patriotic maidens pretended not to have seen anything, pursued their journey, and as soon as they arrived in the city, insisted upon an admission to the burgomaster, who had not yet left his bed. They were admitted, and related what they had discovered. The news was spread about. Not a moment was lost. The Council was assembled; measures were immediately taken; the sluices were opened, and a number of the enemy lost their lives in the water. Thus the inhabitants were saved from an awful doom.