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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.