An incident occurred on the 27th which is worth recording. During an attack made by the gun and mortar boats, a shell burst within the hospital and killed an artillerist. Some time before, this man, a very gallant fellow, had broken his thigh; his active spirit was ill able to endure the confinement his case rendered necessary, and he tottered abroad in order to enjoy the fresh air in the hospital court. Unfortunately, in one of his lively moods he fell, and was compelled to take to his bed again. He was lying there when a shell from the mortar boats crashed into the ward, and rebounding, lodged upon him. The invalids and convalescents in the same room contrived, by vigorous exertions, to crawl out on hands and knees, while the fuse was burning; but the unfortunate artillerist was kept down by the weight of the shell, which after some seconds exploded, tore off both his legs, and scorched him piteously. Strange to say, he survived the shock, and was sensible up to the moment that death relieved him from his agony. His last words were a regret that he had not died on the batteries, “with his face to the foe,” as all true soldiers wish. * * * * * A few days later a shell wounded a private of the 73rd; that is, he was knocked down by the wind of it; and the shell, instantly bursting, killed a soldier standing close by, and mangled most terribly the hero of our anecdote. His head was fractured, his left arm broken in two places, one of his legs shattered, the skin and muscles of part of his right hand torn off, the middle finger crushed, and his whole body most severely bruised. In a word, the man was reduced to a bleeding and mutilated mass of flesh, and his recovery seemed hopeless. The surgeons who took charge of him were at a loss to which injury they should first give their attention. That evening, however, he was trepanned; a few days afterwards his leg was amputated. All his wounds and fractures were carefully dressed, and, thanks, it may be supposed, to a wonderfully robust constitution, as well as to the skill of his medical attendants, his cure was completely effected. His name, adds the historian, is Donald Ross; and he long continued to enjoy His Majesty’s bounty in the shape of a pension of ninepence a day. “Ninepence a day,” however, seems but poor payment for a trepanned skull, an amputated leg, and a shattered right hand! * * * * *