High and dry I've kept thee here, In hopes of getting aid; My cruise, alas, is lost, I fear-- Oh why was BACCE made! I've borne all weathers, wind and rain, And patiently I bore-- When shall I see thy like again, Thou last one of my store. His gaze was on the muddy ground, And mis'ry in his eye; Sudden he sprang with eager bound, On something glitt'ring nigh: A sovereign's aid, 'tis very plain, Thank heaven, I ask no more; Soon shall I see thy like again, Thou last one of my store. ANECDOTES. _The Precious Pipe._--Napoleon greatly patronized the habit of smoking in the French army, so that it soon became actually indispensable for the continuance of that _gaite du coeur_, for which his troops were remarkable, even in the moments of severest peril. Under the cheering influence of the pipe, they surmounted all difficulties; and, under its consoling power, bore fatigue, and hunger, and thirst with a fortitude and philosophy, remarkable in the annals of military record. During the latter end of their march to Moscow, and after the burning of the Russian capital, they endured severe privations from the loss of their favourite herb, the stock of which was all expended: nor was this all; they suffered exceedingly through want of food and the inclemency of the weather, with many other evils, the smoking of tobacco had hitherto consoled them for. Such was the general state of the army, when a private of the _Garde Imperiale_, being out with a detachment on a foraging party, chanced to stray from the rest, and, in the skirt of a wood, came upon a little low deserted hut. Overjoyed in the hopes that he might find something to relieve his necessities, he stove in the door with the butt end of his musquet, and instantly commenced a scrutiny, to see if anything had been left behind by those who had evidently lately quitted it. The few articles of comfort it had formerly contained seemed, however, all to have been carried away in the flight of its late inmates, and he was about abandoning his search, when he perceived something stuffed up between the rafters of the ceiling. Thrusting it with his bayonet, a dark bundle fell at his feet: his joy may be better imagined than expressed, when, on untying the rag that bound it, he found a quantity of coarse tobacco. After filling his pouch with it, and stowing the rest of the (to him) invaluable treasure about his person, he pulled forth a short clay pipe, whose late empty bowl he had so often contemplated with melancholy regret, and, having struck a light, filled it with his darling herb, and commenced smoking immediately. "Never," said the soldier, who himself narrated the tale to us in Paris, "since the campaign began, when we started with the certainty, almost, of returning with plunder to enrich the rest of our lives, did I feel half the pleasurable emotions I did, the hour I spent, sitting in the darkened room of that hut, whiffing the grateful fumes from