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42
Mortimer De Verc welcomed Nettie to his
side, and whispered : ‘‘Your new head dress is
quite be oning, and, as Beauty said t» Folly,
when he donned Reason's cap : I like you still
better in that than your own."
“A questionable compliment, which might have
more meanings titan one,” replied Nettie, ballanc
ing her teaspoon on the edge of her cup.
Supper over, the girls retired to make a new
toilet for the ball.
Nettie arrayed herself quite becomingly, in a
pink silk, with wide silk lace flounces —her neck
covered only with a pearl necklace, and her
beautiful arms with bracelets to correspond.—
Her hair was pushed back carelessly, as usual,
and she wore on either side two crimson Dahlias.
Theresa was attired magnificently in some
light colored silk, which glistened like silver.-
She wore a bunch of flowers, confined in her
bosom with a small diamond pm; her hair was
arranged in turban-like folds, and among her
tresses a pure white Japonica showed itself.
Now, I will not say she would have preferred a
plain white muslin, with a rose in her hair —the
usual dress of novel heroines, in season and out
of season; for I have yet to learn that there is
a young woman in the world, who, when she
can afford it, does not like to dress richly and
becomingly. Not that Theresa valued such
things more than they deserved, but with an in
nate love of the beautiful, she derived an inno
cent pleasure from being well-dressed. And Mrs
Vinton, plain herself, even to severity, thougat
nothing too pretty for her sweet Theresa, and
lavished upon her every gift that taste and
wealth could suggest.
No one, not even her mother, would have
recognized the brilliant looking young lady
who entered the crowded ball-room, leaning on
the arm of Mortimer De Vere, as the ragged
little girl who had stood at the crossings and
asked alms. Yet such are life’s changes.
Mortimer De Vere—‘'the catch," perhaps, also,
the adventurer and fortune-hunter —who k ows ?
—divided his attentions between Nettie and
Theresa; bending to pick up Nettie’s fallen
handkerchief, and arranging the light searl
which Theresa had thrown over her shoulders.
Yet it was Nettie's face that brightened when
he approached—Nettie who ch inged color when
he lowered his voice to a whisper—Nettie who
laughed at his witticisms; and teased him un
mercifully when occasion offered. Theresa seem
ed scarcely conscious of his presence at times;
and preferred rather to sit quietly in one corner
a looker on, than to parade up and down the
brilliantly-lighted rooms, the tips of her fingers
resting on his coat-sleeve —“ the observod of all
observers.”
Our little wild flower could not bloom well
when transplanted to the hot-house of fashion;
while Nettie, reared an exotic, felt this to be
her home, and drank in its delights eagerly.
Very glad was Theresa when De Vere and
Nettie went whirling away in a Scliottisehe, leav
ing her to herself and her own thoughts. Per
haps she wandered back to her early life; for
thought travels with more than telegraphic
speed, and wondered to herself: “ Can this be
real, or is it only a dream’”
Mrs. Vinton sought her out. “You look
wearied, dear; you do not like gaiety so well as
Nettie. What do I behold? my niece in the
arms of a stranger ? Yet such arc the vagaries,
the worse than follies, of the tyrant fashion.”
“Do l look wearied, mother ? Ah 1 well I
fancy I was uot made for such scenes. I should
much prefer to be in our quiet home, with only
you and Nettie for dompaniona; then. 1 feel that
life is real—is earnest. Here all is flippant and
frivolous, and I tire of it so soon ; gaiety pulls
easily on my taste, while study is always wel
come. Ido not despise innocent recreation, but
life was made for something better than to lie
f.-ittered away. We were born for a nobler pur
p >se than to seek merely our own selfish enjoy
m -tit, and to ”
“Moralising, Miss Stancey, and in such a
scene I" interrupted the gay voice of one of her
muiy admirers. “You must certainly be a
‘olue stocking,’ or that other frightful tliiug, a
philosopher in long garments.”
“ Neither the one nor the other." she replied
quietly, rising, and taking his proffered arm.
Neitie, panting, and almost breathless from
her dancing, was led to the piazza by De Vere.
„re they found seats, and sat down for ‘a cozy
as no expressed it And then, and there,
Nettie V nton heard from the lips of the hand
some Southerner, vhnt no woman can hear in
differently, the passionate declaration that ho
loved her.
Nettie, very much pleased, and exceedingly
frightened, hung her head, and said demurely—
the saucy little witch 1 “ Please don’t make love
to me. I am freshly imported from boarding
school, and I shall lie sure to faint if you say
another word!’’
“Butyou can, at least, givo me an answer?"
“No, indeed, I can't. You see, I didn’t learn
it iti my books, and I am not posted as to which
is the most fashionable way of telling a gentle
man that you love him, and are much obliged to
him for addressing you. Miss Dews neglected
that part of my education."
“ Nettie—Miss Vinton—why this trifling ? By
yon moon I swear ’’
“Ohl don’t swear; it isn’t polite in the pre
sence of ladies; and don't swear by the moon,
for she is a changeable creature.”
“Is it possible that you have trifled with my
heart?”
“Didn’t know you owned such an article;
dangerous piece of property; somebody might
steal it l”
“ Is this jesting real, or assumed ?’’
“Assumed of course," said sue. mockingly,
it is only worn mask-like to conceal the wild
throbbings of a heart which beats for you only.
I know you will tuiuk so any how. for l never
saw a whisker yet that wasn't as vain as a pea
fowl : if you are not, you are an unomoly."
“ Please be serious, for five minutes, if you
can ; are you indili'erent to my love? As a
token that you are nor, give me this little flower
I will wear it next my heart forever, as a talis
man -against evil.”
“ Piease don't be so sentimental; you com
pletely overwhelm me. for [ can’t remember a
ine ot poetry to s tve my life, except,
‘ How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour.’
and somehow I can’t fix that in properly.”
“ I am sure it would be very appropriate just
now, for, like the 'busy bee,’ I am improving the
shining hour as fast as l can.”
Nettie blushed this time—she had met with
her match for once. “Well, don't keep me in the
cold any longer ; I shall be quite hoarse to-mor
row, and I h tve promised to practice a duet,
with Mr. James."
“ Deuce take Mr. James and his songs 1”
“ What is that? a muttered imprecation, not
loud but deep ?"
“No: only a prayer for the welfare of my
rival.”
“ I tell you I am chilly—see how I tremble.”
“ May I have the flower?"
“If you will value it so highly, yes." She
handed it to him—unreadable Nettie!
And with a flushed cheek and happy heart,
XKK SOtrSfEHE&K XXB&B MB XXBBBJBK.
she re-entered the ball-room, dreaming such
sweet vague dreams ot love and happiness, as*
haunt us all sometimes, when life is culeur de
rose.
Our two young friends were much admired, and
heard flattery enough to turn older heads than
theirs. Nettie accepted it as a matter of course
I R. demanded universal homage, and must
we it ? delighted in in -mless conquests.
Theresa listened to it indifferently, and knew
exactly what it was worth.
On the morrow, after the great ball of the
season, Theresa went to the deserted parlor, to
look for some music, she had left there. Mor
timer DeVere entered at the same time, oppor
tunely for him, for he was seeking her. He
was a strikingly handsome man, with a suavity
of manner, and a careless easy grace, that mdde
him quite a favorite. His “small talk was bril
liant, and he had intellect enough to intersperse
it with an occasional sensible remark. Some
one said of him, that he seemed to be born for
no other purpose than to win hearts, and I can
use no other words which will better describe
him.
“ Will you sing for me, just one song ?"
Theresa looked up. “ I scarcely have time
just now —this afternoon, perhaps.”
“No. now; ray impatient nature can brook no
delay. Surely your kind heart will not refuse
so simple a request, and yet one which, when
granted, will give me such exquisite pleasure.”
Theresa passed her lingers over the piano
keys, and played a soft symphony; then glided
into that most beautiful of all beautiful songs,
“Kathleen Mavourneen.”
Her voice was clear and rich, she sang with
out effort, and sang with her whole soul, for
Theresa was a passionate lover of music.
“Thank you! thank you! Miss Stancey.
livery note in your voice is a pearl. What a
pity you were bom with a golden spoon in your
Hjoutb, else you might have gone on the stage,
and gladdened tiie world with a flood of melody.”
“ Sometimes, I think I should like such a life;
but it must be very trying to one who has great
sensibility.”
“ A modest violet like yourself for instance.”
Theresa smiled, not knowing what to say, for
she was a great talker.
“I wish l could have you sing to me always ;
wrapped in the Elysium brought by your heaven
j ly voice, I should forget the pains and ills of
earth, and live such a lifo of rapture as was
never known to mortal before.”
Theresa frowned—she detested studied com
pliments. “Your flattery is wasted when
(loured in the ear of a simple girl like myself,
Mr. De Vere.”
“Flattery! no! by heaven; every word is
true, and you wrong me by unjust suspicion.
Miss. Stancey, you cannot have been insensible
to the fact that lam your humble adorer. To
me you seem “a something half divine, half hu
man." too (Hire for earthly love —too etherialised
to listen to such mad words as mine; and yet, I
worship on. basking only in the sunlight of your
smile: and feeling that life would be a dark
desert should I meet your frown.”
“Why, I fancied you devoted to my friend,
Miss Vinton."
■‘lndeed could you have mistaken me so? I
may have whiled away a pleasant hour
or two in her pleasant society; for she is a pretty
child, full of fun and frolic—nothing more. But
as to loving her —why that is a rich joke—pon
my honor.”
Theresa fancied she heard a stifled sob from
somewhere, or smoihered laughter, she could
not tell which. She started; but "hearing no
other sound, imagined liersell deceived the heart
and hand which DeVere pressed on her accept
ance, and walked from the room.
“A something half divine, half human,"
chorussed Nettie, an hour aftewards, as she
busied herself in arranging a wreath for her
hair.
“What do you mean, Nettie?”
“Oh 1 nothing, still mouth, only I heard it all;
but is’nt it too provoking ? Why the man courted
me last night, and I dreamed of him until
breakfast time—fact, you need not laugh. You
see, 1 was hid behind the curtain reading a book,
or a love letter —I forget which; and as I could
not retreat gracefully, why, I sat still, and was
compelled to listen-uot a very pleasant position,
eh, Theresa ? heariug my lover propose to anoth
er. Umph! it is a wonder I did not faint, and
como tumiding down on the floor before you.
Now, that would have been a scene. But it is
just as Col. James told me—he is an unprinci
pled flirt and fortune hunter. You see such ani
mals infest watering places in droves, and are
uot always harmless, either; for they frequently
bear off heiresses as their prey. Now this gen
tleman is after game of that kina, and I must
say he builds a nice trap for us—what, with his
poetry and his whiskers, (my tom-cat at home has
a pair equally as pretty.) Well, when he fancied
I was the wealthier of the two (for he inquired
into our jiedigree and fortune before we had
been here an hour (so Mr. Jaine s tells me), he
made love to me ; but some one told him yester
day that Aunt Vinton’s fortune was princely,
and you would heir it all; so he transferred his
unappropriated stock of affection, like a porta
ble writing desk, to what ho imagined the
richer girl. Didyoa really care for him, Nettie?”
“I, Theresa, care for him? a contemptible
coxcomb 1” But sbe hid her face on Theresa's
iMisom, and burst into an hysterical passion of
tears.
Her pride was wounded, if her heart w as not;
and it was her first lesson in the world s deceit.
But she soon peeped up roguishly through
her curls, and her tears, and said :
“ Wasn't he handsome, though; and didn’t he
have a pretty name —De Vere?”
“ Yes; all of that —but I’m glad you don't
care for him.”
“Soam l; but, oh! Theresa, wont we hai’e
a nice time this winter, when we both ‘ come
out ?’ Aunt Vinton will give us a graud party,
and so will mama; and in one unceasing round
of gaiety we will whirl away the weary hours.”
“ Perhaps so;” replied Theresa, absently and
sadly. “ Mais Cho mine propose et Dieu dis
pose."
Nettie- merely caught the echo of a foreign
tongue, and made no comment.
Theresa had been tried by adversity, and re
mained pure; she was now being tried by pros
perity, which some sensible man says, wisely
and well, is the severer test of the two. So far, she
hid remained unchanged—keeping her heart as
spotless, and her disposition as untainted, as be
fore, - and preserving that sweet simplicity and
truthfulness which had characterised her when
a child.
Sau was much sought after, courted, and ad
mired ; and Morf iner De Vere was not the only
lover who knelt at her feet; others bowed there
more sincerely.
Enjoy these fleeting moments, Theresa, they
may lie swift-winged, and he followed by others
which drag on heavily. Yes; storms may como
and tempests arise, so “gather your rose-buds
while you may.”
CHAPTER VII.
Bending backward from her toil.
Lest her tears the silk might sou;
And in mid-nights. chill and murk.
Stitched her life into the work ;
Shaping from her bitter thought
Hearts’ ease and forget-me-not,
Satirising her despair
With the emblems woven there.
Lowell.
In a close, stifling room .filled with various
articles, whose uses are known only to milliners
and mantua-makers, after the lapse of a year
and a half we find our Theresa.
Her cheeks are pale, and her eyes are lustreless
from toil and long confinement: her beautiful
neck and arms are completely hidden from view
by a coarse, closely-fitting garment, which a ser
vant of the wealthy would scorn to wear. Yet,
she look-* beautiful even in that cdko dress,
and plain linen collar, for hers is tho beauty of
the soul, and needs no outward adornment.
And why this change ? Was she raised to
wealth and affluence only to fall back in the
slough of want ?
Yea; her's was a life of rapid vicissitudes;
and in the web of her destiny were woven
threads of many colors —the dark as yet predomi
nating.
At the close of that summer, spent in a whirl
of gaietv at springs and other fashionable sum
mer retreats, surrounded by admirers, sought
after by young ladies —immortalised as far as
would-be poets could make her immortal —and
published in the papers with great delicacy, “ as
the lovely and accomplished Miss. S., (adopted
daughter of Mrs. V.,)—at present our reigning
belle.” After all this, I say, Theresa returned
homo, glad to be there. Her prospects were
very brilliant; for, as yet unknown in her own
home, she was about to emerge, butterfly-like,
into society, as the wealthy and highly accom
plished daughter of Mrs. Vinton.
But human calculations are vain; a wiser
than ourselves metes out to each his portion.—
The good old lady died suddenly without a will,
and Theresa was left penniless. Where to turn,
she knew not. Once more she was cast on the
waves of tho world without a pilot to steer her
slender bark over its perilous shoals and
quicksands. The greedy relative of the deceas
ed woiAan gave her but little time to indulge in
weeping, before the order for “Forward! March!”
was given; and our young soldier was once
more called forth to the battle-field. She had re
posed for a long time in blissful security and
peaceful inactivity—had storod her mind with
the gems of knowledge—and was dreaming of a
happy brilliant future, when the beautiful castle,
which had towered high in air, fell suddenly, and
was transformed to dust and ashes.
Nettie Vinton—faithful Nettie! —waxed elo
quent, and pleaded earnestly that her friend
might share her home. But Nettie’s mother
was a mass of tinsel and paste, who would fain
pass for a diamond of aristocracy. She could
recognize no pearl unless it was embosomed in a
gaudy setting; so shereplied:
“You are crazy, Nettie, to dream of such a thing
—the idea is positively shocking ; why, the crea
ture shall never enter my doors. Because Mrs.
Vinton, with her foolish, old-fashioned notions of
equality, chose to adopt her, shall 1 admit the girl
to my family? Absurd! what claims has she
on our charity? Think of her parentage!
Why, her mother was a person I would blush to
mention; and she may inherit her mother's frail
ties, fofcatight I know. I never did want you to
associate with her; and hope my daughter will
remember her position, and ‘cut’ Theresa )
Stauuy, in future. You are not crying ? well
where on earth did you get your plebian ways?
must have inherited them from your father.—
The girl will do well enough; sho can take in
sewing, or turn milliner; good enough for her.
and too good, too, considering the stock from
whence she sprang. Hush your sobs. Nettie—
Major Lofcus will be here in five minutes; and
never mention that girl to me again.”
Miss Snipper, the milliner, who had employed
Theresa, was just what her name indicated.—
She was a still', prim, angular old maid, with too
cork-screw curls dangling on either side of her
face; and any quantity of rouge oa her bouy sallow
cheeks. Her dress was as precise as herself—
no fold of it was ever disarranged: and, woe to the
luckless one, who accidentally placed a foot or
chair upon it. Mercy was left out of her com
position ; and although nature abhors a vacuum,
she had left one in the place intended for Miss
Snipper’s heart. She had but two ideas in her
head—to display her “wares” to the best advan
tage; and to work her girls until exhausted na
ture could hold out no longer.
“Stop whispering, Miss Lee, it disturbs my
nerves.” “Doa’t sing, Miss Stancy, it interrupts
work—your tongue travels faster than your lin
gers." “What is that hidden under your apron,
Miss Ray ? a novel! give it to me, immediately.”
The unfortunate book was thrown in the stove ;
and Katy Ray’s heroine “left hanging by the eye
lids,” never to be extricated. Miss Snipper,
highly satisfied with herself, called through the
work-room into the store, thero to smirk and
smile on her sick customers, with disgusting
"toadyism;” and to give her poor ones haughty
nods and indifferent answers.
Theresa bent over her work—a feathery, be
ribboned, belaced bonnet, destined to deck the
lioad of some “Japonica” bud, crushing back her
tears, and travelling, inthought,to the city grave
yard, where her old friend slept, “so long, and
yet so sweetly.” She was aroused by the eu
’ trance of Nettie:
“ Well, darling, the wheel of fortune has
turned wrong-side up with you; but Nettie
does not forget you, and what is more, she never
will. Ma is out of town, (I wont say mama, it
sounds too silly;) and I am head house-keeper.
Come, spend tho night with me; and we will
live old times over again. I have orderea the
carriage on purpose.’
Miss Snipper, poked her long nose in at the
doorway: “mind, and have that bonnet ready
in half an hour, Miss Stancy; ah 1 are you there,
Miss Vinton ? Good morning; I have just re
ceived some fashionable dress-bonnets, also
some coquettish little hats; and here is one that
would suit your rich, satiny complexion wonder
fully.”
Nettie, ever eager for finery, for she was sad
ly extravagant, tried on the bonnet, liked it,
threw a hat coquettishly over her curls, liked
that too: and, as she was her own treasurer, pur
chased both immediately.
“ Now do, Miss Snipper, let Theresa off this
afternoon; the poor child needs air and exercise,
and I want to give her a drive in the country.”
Nettie had a childish, pleading look, and a
winning way about her, that not even a Miss
Snipper could resist; moreover, she belonged to
one of tiio “first families” in . threw away her
money like a queen; and it wa3 necessary to
court her patronage.
“ Certainly, Miss Vinton, I am quite willing
that Theresa should go with you. Get your
bonnet, dear, but remember to be here by six in
the morning.”
“The old hypocrite!’’ muttered Nettie, as they
seated themselves in the carriage. “ I always
distrust people who call mo dear. Now, let’s
drive home, still-mouth—l want you to change
your toilette. I have a beautiful new dress that
I never wore because of a whim; and it will
fit you exactly. Now, don’t say a word, you
proud little body; if you do, 111 box your ears—
there now!”
So Theresa, becomingly arrayed, her natural j
loveliness enhanced by the becoming dress with
which Nettie had presented her, drove out with
her old friend past the environs of the city, into |
the beautiful open country. The ride was ex- j
hilirating; and Theresa, who had been pent up J
in a close room, over a stifling stove, felt like a j
freed bird. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks
burned, and she was almost beautiful. Theresa
had a fair pale face, faultlessly regular features,
mouth like a ripe pomegranate, dark wavy hair,
and dove-like eyes. Nettie was a wiry little j
creature, all nerve, full of vitality, with spirits
sparkling up, and brimming over like champagne.
Her features were by no means regular; the
little roguish mouth had away of curling up at
the corner; and little short crispy curls danced
all around her forehead. Yet, when her clear
dark face was lit up witli animation, a prettier
maiden than Nettie could not be found. She
was an arrant little coquette, and generally kept
three admirers dangling at her apron-string; and
if staid sensible persons did shake their heads
at her “wild ways, ” a host of people were ready
to say: “ Any tliiug is pardonable in our Nettie.”
[to be continued.]
i i»» —-———
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
AN ESSAY
On the efficiency of small military forces — suggest
ed by the position of Sardinia at the opening of
the actual war in Italy.
BY J. HENRY DMOCHOWSKI SAUNDERS.
Great things have for the most part been effected
by comparatively small forces. Since the histori
cal times began, we see that small but well disc p
lined forces were always victorious and more effi
cient than large ones, particularly whenever they
were animated by some high idea or duty, as
love of country, liberty, or religious zeal.
So we see the small bands of the Greek Re
public resist victoriously the innumerable ar
mies of the Persian despots. We see the great
Alexander undertaking, with thirty thousand
men, the conquest of the greatest empire then
known, win battles over armies far outnumber
ing his own, and effect the total conquest of Per
sia. Iu the middle ages, we see the superior
bravery and spirit of the Swiss mountaineers
win at Morgarten, and on many other fields of
battle, against the greatly superior forces of tho
Arcli-dukes of Austria, and of the still mightier
forces of the Duke of Burgundy.
In the beginning of the twelfth century, we
see a handful of men, led by some Polish and
Silesian princes, take the field at Liegnilz,
against the innumerable hordes of Tartars, led
by a Lieutenant of Tamerlane— Batu-Khan,
threatening to conquer Europe. They perish
ed ; all but the victorious Tartar dared not. after
so bloody a day, invade Germany, and returned
to Russia.
The battles of Hastings and Cressy wereavon
by comparatively small forces of the invaning
Normans and Anglo-Saxons. Tho small, but
well trained bands in the Hussite wars in Bo
hemia (1419-1428,) destroyed enormous armies
of German Crusaders, led against them by tho
Emperor and the Pope.
The king of Poland. Sobieski, (John III.) who
broke down the Turkish power, and fought innu-*
merable battles with them, never had an army
exceeding ten or twelve thousand men, against
the Turkish armies of seventy or one hundred
thousand. With scarcely thirty thousand men,
ho undertook the rescue of Vienna, (1083) then
besieged by a Turkish army under Kara-Mus
tapha.the Grand Vizier, exceeding three hundred
and fifty thousand men, saved Christianity, and
Vienna itself —Vienna, that, scarcely ninety
years after, was the first to dismember Poland 1
Charles XII.. of Sweden, scarcely eighteen
years old, with a force of hardly twenty thou
sand men, beat the combined forces of Danes,
Russians, Poles, and Germans, and won mauy
bloody battles. »
In modern history, we see the great Frederick
starting with a small, but well trained force,
against a coalition of Austria, Russia, France,
and Sweden, and after a struggle prolonged
for seven years, and wonders of military skill,
and many bloody battles—after having been
many times at the brink of perdition, succeeding
in forming a first rank power.
“To saye the State,” he used to say, “ I dare
the impossible,” and he won the buttle of life
—for him a defeat was death ; for his troops
and generals wero animated with the same spirit
as himself, aided by his inexorable discipline,
and a genius far superior to his epoch, enabled
him to introduce such combinations in his stra
tegic plans and tactics, that he proved by far
superior to all the generals who fought against
him.
On the eve of the battle of Zomdoft' against
the Russians—he said in his order of the day
“The number and position of the enemy are not
questions to be thought of. We must beat them,
or all of us find our graves before their batteries;”
and then : “The regiment of calvary that
shall not instantly charge when ordered, shall
be dismounted and sent into garrisons. The bat
talion that shall but falter shall lose its colors
and its swords. Now, farewell friends; soon we
shall have vanquished, or see each other no
more.”
And the great genius of war of modern times
was never so great, as when from the top of
the Alps he showed, to his ragged, hungry, and
miserable soldiers, numbering scarcely thirty
live thousand efficient men, the plains of Italy,
(1796-1797,) and by a series of victories de
stroyed three Austro-Sardinian armies, and con
quered northern Italy, in one campaign ; and
then, in 1814, during the cent jours, when,
witli small and harrassed troops, he made won
derful and powerful thrusts at the armies of all
Europe in coalition. Waterloo "'as a great
triumph, quite achieved, (as we all know,) but
for the treacherous negligence of one of his geu
nerals.
In the whole American Revolutionary War,
what were the American forces compared to the
British, well trained, well armed troops? At
New Orleans, did numbers conquer?
The General, Cassimir Pulaski, held, during
five years (1768-1773) in check tho whole Rus
sian army in Poland, and had rearely a force ex
ceeding five hundred horse. lie beat the four
fold, tenfold forces of Russians in many in
stances; defeuded poorly fortified places against
enormously superior forces of tho enemy, and
yielded only to the coalition of the three iuvad
ing powers against Poland. France, during the
first Revolution, assailed by the whole coalition
of Europe, met nineteen armies of tho enemy,
and beat them all 1
In the lust Polisli insurrection of 1830-31, the
small Kingdom of Poland, numbering scarcely
three millions of inhabitants, with forty-five
thousand men kept in check the whole power of
Russia, during ten months. At the first battle
at Grochoiv (three miles from Warsaw), the Po
lish army, of about forty-five thousand, had two
hundred and fifty thousand Russians to fight
against, and thrice their own number of cannons.
The Russians did not have Warsaw —were beat
en in many pitched battles —and_ but for the
nullity of their government, and the stupidity of
their commanders, the Poles would not have
been beaten by superior forces. They yielded
only from exhaustion, seeing themselves sold and
betrayed by the whole world, though they had
the whole world's sympathies with them.
At last, in the Hungarian war, raw. undiscip- ,
lined troops routed, in many battles, the Austr -
an troops; and but for Russian help, Austria
would have been a corpse. The brave General
Bern, when he set out to conquer Transylvania,
had but five thousand ragged troops, badly arm
ed and imperfectly organized. He used to say:
“ I want obedience aud courage—do not care
about numbers; those of you who do not feel
courage in your hearts, may go home;” and in
two months he created an army, beat the Aus
trians and Russians (thirty thousand strong),
and sent troops to Hungary—having conquered
all Transylvania.
So we could find innumerable facts, leading
to the conclusion that the King of Sardinia, with
his forces, numbering about one hundred and
twenty thousand well disciplined and well
trained troops, would be a match for the Aus
trian forces, were he alone. With a warlike
population of about five millions, he could easily
double his army; and, seconded by the admira
ble position of his country, and by so many
swelling rivers and ridges of mountains —second-
ed not only by the energetic sympathies of his
people, but of the whole twenty-five millions of
Italians throughout the peninsula.
The Austrian army is a motley Collection of
different races, composed altogether from peo
ples unwilling to serve, officered mostly by Ger
mans, whose language most of them do not un
derstand —animated by no idea but that of fidel
ity to their Kaiser, which, in most cases, as with
the Lombards, Poles, aud Hungarians, is less
than questionable; their Italian troops being
unreliable, and garrisoned in Gallicia, or in the
centre of Germany; and last, but not least, dur
ing the many trials that Austria has had to pass
through in these later times, she has not shown
a siugle general of decided ability—Hungary
having shown many of very high ability, as
(Jeorgey, Kiajika, and many others. The octo
genarian, Radetzky, was the only champion of de
crepit Austria. All the Austrian generals
were beaten by the raw recruits aud young gen
erals of Hungary; they were only good to do
the hangmans duty, after the Hungarians had,
by capitulation, surrendered their arms to the
Russians; witness Uaynau, and others.
At the same time, the Sardinian troops are
not only homogeneous—composed of a warlike,
patriotic race, officered by their own country
men aud generals, trained in hard-lought strug
gles in Italy and the Crimea—where they proved
ed very efficient —but they are animated by the
most noble sentiment—love of country; by the
most generous conviction that they are the cham
pions of the independence of twenty-five millions
of Italian people; backed by the sympathies of
their whole laud, and, we dare say, of ail frie
meu in the world. They have, too, at their head
a man. who, though a King, has proved to be a
man oj his woid aud oj honor —who gave volun-
I tarily to his people a lioertd Constitution, and
\ kept it faithful y —developing it in the most lib
j eral direction; and they are seconded by the
most able aud patriotic Minister Europe can boast
! of— Count favour —who is now the happiest
man in the world—being the champion of the
liberty of twenty-five millions of his countrymen,
panting to be free. In 1845—49, he made proof
of uncommon ability, and extraordinary personal
courage—he is known and cherished by his army;
and finally, ho is backed by the whole force of
the French Empire. While, on the other side, the
Emperor of Austria is but a big boy— a complete
nuUdy —being entirely under the control of h s
mother, the Arch-duchess Sophia, in old pro
fligate woman, wdio is directed and controlled
by that skeleton of a past century, Meiternich, and
a younger statesman of the same pattern, Count
Fiquelmont. During ten y ears of his leign he has
not shown a single act of clemency, generosity,
gOiduess, loyalty, truth. He availed himself of
tne first opportunity to destroy a Constitution
sworn to by his ancestors, but not by himself.
The victory having been won for him by Russiu,
he used his power to hang and shoot the Hun
garian generals who had capitulated ; to till the
prisous; and to force into regiments all the youth
of the universities and schools. During his reign,
he lias doubled taxes, extorted money by all pos
sible means of ill-faith and open robbery—us may
be proved easily by thousands of facts.
We conclude, then, that the Sardinian troops
aro a match for the whole Austrian army; and
that they have, in our conviction, all the chances
in their favor, if they were even alone. The
French alliance, and the eventuality of a Hun
garian movement, or of a republican out-break
in Vienna, make their chances hopelessly over
whelming against Austria.
—
Character. —Have you ever noticed a man
building a house? Os course, you have. One
brick at a time, and a pieie of moi tar, and tin n
another, and another, and so the woik goes on;
but did it ever occur to you that you are forming
your future character, just us the mason builds
his liou.-e? You never thought of it; but it is
true. Every word, and every act, of your lde
lays a little piece on the structure of what you
will be, when grown.
Now, most children think they will be very
clever when they get grown. Then, they think,
it will be of some use to try, when their actions
will be of more importance; but now, they may
indulge themselves, and be a little lazy or ill
tempered, if they like it, und it will make no
great difference. But, my little friends, you are
mistaken iu this. The habits you form now, will
mark your character through life.
Suppose you bend that little tender twig?—
Think you it will get straight as it grows- older?
No; a hundred years hence, it will be a crooked
tree, ifitliveso long. Suppose the mas-on should
lay the foundation of his house with straw,
thinking it time enough to put on brick when
the building gets up where people can see it?—
You would pronounce him a silly man.
But he would not be acting more silly than
you, if you neglect your studies; indulge in un
kind feelings: disobey your parents ; or treat with
disrespect the old and afllicted ; and still hope to
be good when you are grown. Do not trust :o
it, little boy; lor those who disregard little du
ties'will neglect largo ones. A lazy, fibbing
truant never yet made a great man. Wasbit g
ton and Franklin were not such boys. You
would like to know what kind of boys they were?
Well I will tell you some time.
Temperance Crusader.
The clock at Westminster, England, has cost
the nation one hundred and ten million dollars.
Punch says it is a strong cgamplitication of the
homely truth, “ Time is money.”
Bad temper is .more frequently the result of
unhappy circumstances than of unhappy organi
zation.