celebrated his new happiness in songs of delight; but even in the whirlwind of his passionate love his country was never forgotten. His patriotism found new elements in his domestic felicity-" wife and sword" were linked together in all his thoughts. The voice of love was to strengthen the claims of The sympathy, the encouragepatriotism. ment of the woman was to give new ardour to the man. His Julia was not insensible to the glory of being the chosen one of such an eloquent lover. She was not without poetical enthusiasm; and the publication of some of her letters gave evidence of her impassioned feelings.

The year 1848 brought with it the culmination of Magyar abhorrence of the Austrian yoke. If anything be calculated to intensify hatred against a ruling power, it is when and where, from its own weakness or unpopularity, it calls in the aid of foreign sovereigns or foreign soldiery to put down the spirit of discontent. To this unhappy condition Austria has been frequently reduced-indeed, the very foundation of her policy has been to wield one against another the prejudices and the nationalities of the many tribes and tongues which comprise the heterogeneous empire which bore the Austrian name. Nemesis has indeed visited the presumptuous impertinence of Metternich, who proclaimed Italy to be merely a geographical designation. Italy, which has gathered into one fold all the Italian races, and is infusing into all a spirit of Italianism, which will absorb and amalgamate in good time Lombardian, Piedmontese, Tuscan, Roman, and Sicilian feelings under the genial and cementing influence of a common language, a mutual interest, and an united policy. It is Austria, not Italy, that has become only a geographical and historical name-the separate parts are undergoing a process of alienation. Despotism in days like ours can only provide a temporary cement, which will not keep the rugged fragments together when the cement is weakened by the action of time, and the masses are shaken by the elements of revolution. If ever there seemed a moment for Austrian exaltation, it was in 1849, when, thanks to Muscovite mercenaries, the Magyar liberties were overthrown and overwhelmed. Less than the fifth of a century has passed, and Austria is the suppliant for conditions, and Hungary the determining judge. Austria will raise the cry of distress, and stretch out the supplicating hand in vain. She has been building upon the sand: the rains are falling,

Austrian policy towards Hungary found fit expression in the ferocious language of Cardinal Kolonek, "Faciam Hungariam captivam, postea mendicam, deinde CatholiWe will make Hungary a slave, next a beggar, and

cam.

then Catholic.

very penetrating rains, the winds are blowing, and very tempestuous winds they are.

It is difficult to select from the multitudinous lyrics poured out by Petöfi in those days of passion. Their history may be said to have been written in,

Flashing swords and scorching words, Scorching words and flashing swords. Impetuous excitement takes every form of fierce expression. Was ever a monarch addressed in language more bitterly wrathful, more scathingly insulting than those which Petöfi flung at the Emperor of Germany, the Hungarian king?

THE KING AND HIS FAITHFUL SERVANT.

Lo! he sits proudly on his throne,

The throne so totteringly that stands, And there the valets of his own

Crouch at his feet and lick his hands.

That tottering throne, it shakes-it shakes; Is it an earthquake? Earthquake! No. It is the popular storm that makes

That throne of tinsel tremble so.

As the dammed river flowing o'er

Its banks inundates vales and plains, The people will be bound no more,

But turn to swords their ancient chains. And while the throne in ruin falls, The crouching flatterers all are gone, Abandoned are the royal halls

By all, except the king,—and one.

Who is that one? Inquire, and guess,

Who can that silent spectre be? With pale white cheeks-with bloody dress,His hand is Death! the hangman he!

"By all deserted?" said the king;

"I look around, we are but two; Thou only dost thy service bring,

Thou midst the faithless only true." "Yes! I am here, but am not thine!

Time other occupation brings; For even a hangman will decline

To be the tool of tottering kings.

"Know those that stand round royal shrines Are shadows in the light of day, Seen while the sun of favour shines, And when it sinks they pass away. "I'll not desert thee yet,-indeed, My daily bread depends on thee; I'll not desert thee in the need

I have of thee as thou of me."

He appealed emphatically to the kindred races of Transylvania to unite in a common purpose. Their language is the same, their grievances the same, their early history blended with that of Hungary, and the consumma

TO ERDELY. (TRANSYLVANIA.)

The rustling of the autumn breeze Shakes down the dry leaves from the trees, Which trembling dance upon the ground. Be still, thou noisy breeze! I speak,Still as a woman's accents weak, Are still when bursts the thunder-sound.

O nations in two nations riven!
Hot words from my hot heart I bring,
And fling as the volcanos fling

Their fiery lava up to heaven.

What makes that heart so hot? I see
Two countries for one people. Why
Should Magyar land and Erdely
Divided and dissentient be?
It makes my heart a desert rude,
With tigers in its solitude,-
Tigers of rage with bloody eyes,
That glare upon the reveries

Which fill my vacant soul at night.
What tempted us to blot the words,—
The Aurea Bulla of our rights,

Won by our fathers with their swords,

And steeped in their own blood? But time
Hath severed us, and sand and slime
Cover the charter won of old
By those heroic fathers bold.

And we were crushed in dust; and there
We call on God in our despair,-

He hears not slaves. Why should he hear?

The slave who forges his own chain
May wear it-and a slave remain !
O had we been cemented one,
Our glory through the world had shone;
In freedom's temple we should be
In fellow-worship with the free.
O had we been cemented one

Our eyes had not been filled with tears
When turning o'er the chroniclers
Of what we did, and left undone.
A grain of sand that stands alone,
A zephyr or a breath may take;
But gathered sand a rock will make,
Which tempests will assail in vain.
Remember this, all Magyar men!
Time moves with slow and steady tread,
And in its silence leaves the sand

At rest; but when the whirlwind wakes,
The pillars of the earth it shakes,-
Scatters the atoms o'er the land,-
Scatters as we are scattered.
Up, then up, Magyars, to the strife!
Hail! glorious day of destiny.

Hail! day of death-hail! day of life.
Stand, Magyars, stand, and hand and hand,
Giants determined to be free.

Our hands, our hearts in full communion,
Who shall withstand that sacred union?
He that cements it shall receive
What love and gratitude can give.
He that repels it, let him bear
The maledictions which the slaves
We call our sons, upon our graves
Shall fling,-for ever festering there.

various peoples dependent upon Austria whom she led against the Magyars, reminding them of the debts due to the ancient heroes of Hungary, and threatening them with future vengeance for their servility to the call of the tyrants and their abandonment of the common cause of freedom, which to all sections of the empire should have been equally dear.

LIFE OR DEATH.

There raged a fearful tempest far
From Karpath high to Duna low;
There stood the lonely Magyar,

With streaming hair and haggard brow.

And were I not a Magyar born

I'd share my destiny with one

So all-abandoned, so forlorn,

So helpless, worn, and woe-begone.

Poor orphaned people, thus bereft,

How hast thou sinned, that thou should'st be By deities and demons left

To ignominious misery!

The sacrilegious hands that laid

Their axes to the Magyar tree,

Were those who 'neath its sacred shade For ages found security.

Ye are our foes-ungrateful foes! Wallach! Croatian! Saxon! Serb! Who taught you, in your time of woes, The Turk and Tartar how to curb?

You shared our bliss when we were blest-
We left you not to weep alone;
The weight that on your shoulders prest
We bore as if it were our own.

And this is our reward-a king!
One of the perjured says "obey!"
And on our bleeding hearts you spring,
As springs a vulture on his prey!

But know, though you are vultures, we
Are not dead corpses; and our eyes,
When dawns the day of liberty,
Shall see your red blood tinge the skies.

And if it must be so, come on!

No stranger shall invade our plains, While but a single Magyar's son

To shield the Magyar soil remains.

No peace! no parley! treachery rends
The old alliances; and those

Who might have found us faithful friends,
Shall find us unforgiving foes.

Then arm thee! arm thee, Magyar !

And overwhelm th' invading hordes !

Ours is a holy, holy war,

And ours are conquering, conquering swords.

Look at the deeds our fathers wrought,

Read of their history every line;

Shall we who have with lions fought,

Shall we shall we succumb to swine!

Some of the principal actors in the events in the scenes of 1848 and 1849, have passed away. Among them, Dembenski, who, when the Magyars had to encounter the Austrians alone had often been the conqueror on the battle-field. Bem, whose successes in Transylvania have something in them more than romantic, and who died in Syria, where he had joined the Ottoman army, and most remarkable of all, our young hero-poet, who had sung the praises and has immortalised the names of both.

In the battle of Segezvar, fought upon the 29th of July, 1849, immense corps of Russians, among them a large body of Cossack cavalry, surrounded and overwhelmed, after a desperate resistance, a small body of Magyar soldiers commanded by Bem, who was severely wounded and left on the field for dead. Whether Petöfi was crushed under the hoofs of the Muscovite horses and flung into a great pit which received the corpses of the undis

tinguished dead, or whether he escaped to perish in the wild depths of the Carpathian mountains, is not known, and never will be known. In all probability he met with the fate which he so ardently desired in these burning lines:

Where every fettered race tired with their chains,
Muster their ranks and seek the battle plains;
And with red flushes the red flag unfold,
The sacred signal there inscribed in gold-
"For the world's liberty!"

And, far and wide, the summons to be free
Fills east and west,-and to the glorious fight
Heroes press forward, battling for the right:
There will I die!

CHAPTER VIII.-LUCY HAS TWO ADMIRERS AND AN OVERTHROW.

S a matter of fact Mrs. Frankland was not anxious that Edward should marry. She was not averse to marriage as an institution; but she liked to reign at Hever Court. Mrs. Frankland was frequently spoken of as an elegant person. In days gone by she had been a beauty. But she was frivolous and weak-minded, and the establishment of a younger Mrs. Frankland I would have been a deathblow to her happiness. She never admitted this even to herself. She argued that Edward ought to marry, and that she would wish him to marry-if he chose rightly. She had observed his preference for Lucy Dunman, and convinced herself that he might do better. And being thus convinced, she lost no opportunity of impressing her opinion upon her

son.

Mrs. Frankland felt that Edward had made this preference so obvious at the ball, that there was no time to lose if she wished to stop a proposal from him to Lucy.

But she had had no suitable opportunity for approaching the subject for some time afterwards, until one day when her son lounged into the drawing-room after luncheon. He had been shooting during the morning, and seemed wearied. Mrs. Frankland.

66

Perhaps this encouraged

Edward, dear," she began; "have you been over to Dropton since the ball?

"No, mother," he replied, lazily, without lowering the newspaper he was reading from before his eyes.

"I really think you should do so." "For heaven's sake, why, mother?" asked Edward, testily; "I am not so very fond of Nantwich."

"Your inattention to Ethel Morley was so -so unlike yourself."

"I'm sure it was quite unintentional," said Edward, twirling his moustache, with a look of vexation.

It

"But the amende is not the less due. should not have been owing to such a sweet girl as Ethel." There was a just sufficient tone of reproach in Mrs. Frankland's remark to produce the desired feeling of shame in Edward, who began to feel quite angry with himself for a rudeness which he was previously ignorant he had committed.

"You don't think I was really rude, mother ?"

"Well, dear, you might have given less evidence of your preference for Lucy; it would have been better taste, I think."

Edward reddened, but fortunately for him his back was towards his mother.

"Ethel is a very handsome girl, and all that, but she's rather too much of a fine lady for me."

"He will be a very fortunate man who marries her."

"I don't deny it, mother. He'll have a handsome wife, and I suppose a handsome dot with her, voilà tout."

"And are you in a position to despise those advantages?"

"Not exactly; but she's incapable of love."

"Stuff! No woman is incapable of love." "Well then, mother, she's incapable of loving a second-rate commoner like myself." "You are too modest. A Frankland of Hever might easily deserve a peerage."

"Baron Frankland of Hever! laughed Edward. "Really, mother, I'd rather not."

"It won't be thrown at you," replied Mrs. Frankland, peevishly. "I must say, however, that I think you don't appreciate Ethel Morley. Apart from their difference in social position, I don't think Lucy is to be compared with her. She has no style, and Ethel is far more lovely."

"Mother!"

"Well, dear, I cannot for the life of me see what you find to admire in Lucy Dunman."

"You don't know her, or you would not say so."

"And then her mother is such an odious, intriguing person!"

"She did not choose her mother."

"There is that disgraceful affair hanging over them, though Lady Dunman does shut the closet so tightly on the family skeleton."

No. 65.

"And have we no family scandal?" demanded Edward, impatiently. "If Lucy had a scapegrace brother, is that more shameful than Will Campbell's? But forgive me, mother; I only meant that we could not afford to throw stones."

Mrs. Frankland said no more. But she felt she had not gained anything by her remonstrance. Indeed, she perceived that her son's avowal-for it amounted to that-of his love for Lucy would make him bolder in his suit. But she trusted something would intervene to turn the course of his love.

A few minutes afterwards Lady Dunman and Lucy were announced. Mrs. Frankland could not but regard this inopportune visit, as she thought it, a bad omen for her hopes.

While the two elder ladies talked together, Edward and Lucy strayed to a window.

"I feared our horses would have run away just now," said Lucy. "It was quite as much as Rayner could do to hold them."

"I can't be angry with them for bringing you quickly," replied Edward. I hope they will behave well in returning."

"How we shall manage with them in London I don't know. We are going to join papa there next week."

"And Bingwell endures a total eclipse of its sun."

"I thought the sun was masculine." "Well, I mean it will seem very dark when you are gone."

Lucy blushed. Perhaps she felt conscious of the fact that nothing but the presence of the mammas restrained Edward from a more definite expression of his feelings.

"Shall we

"The sun is certainly on us now," said Lucy, hiding her embarrassment. leave this window?"

Edward was not very willing to move. "But see, mamma is going."

"I was wishing I was a lotos-eater or something, in a land where it was always afternoon.'

"We must take it as it comes, must we not?" And Lucy smiled sweetly, lifting her eyes and looking frankly in his face as she held out her hand.

"Must we?" asked Edward, with earnest but subdued emphasis, as he took and held her hand. 66 May we not choose for our

selves ?"

But Mrs. Frankland interposed in time to save Lucy from the necessity of reply, and also to witness the blush which Edward's question and his rather prolonged hold of her hand had called to Lucy's cheek.

"I was asking Lady Dunman, Lucy," she said, "if you would like to have our carriage, as your horses are restive ?"

But neither Lucy nor her mother would hear of this, and entered their carriage, which was open, assuring Edward that the horses would certainly go quietly homewards.

These hopes were, however, to be disappointed. The horses were trotting briskly through a narrow lane, hedged by thick underwoods, when the sudden report of a gun, fired close by, startled them into a full gallop, a very few strides of which assured Rayner that they were no longer under his control.

At the same moment Will Campbell, who had fired the gun, hearing a scream from Lady Dunman, jumped from the hedge, and stood in the roadway watching the carriage. Within two hundred yards of where he stood, at the junction of another lane, lay a heap of stones for the repair of the road.

The horses flew along towards this point, the carriage swaying from side to side in a most terrifying manner. Their way homewards lay round the corner.

"By

I thought they would," muttered Will, as he commenced running towards the point.

The horses, making an attempt to round the corner, had drawn the wheels of the carriage, on the side on which Lucy was sitting, over the heap of stones. The coachman clung to his seat, and Lady Dunman lay huddled up in the hood, but Lucy was thrown out upon the road and lay there motionless. When Will came up to where she was lying the carriage had passed out of sight.

He felt a momentary impulse to run away, fearing that the accident would be attributed to himself. His second thought was inspired by Lucy's beauty. He lifted her on to the grass by the side of the road, and dipping his hatful of water from a brook, began to bathe her face.

"She can't be dead," he said to himself, "there'd be blood somewhere if she was dead." The exquisite refinement of her features seemed even more apparent in their paleness. Her hat had fallen off, and her rich brown hair lay somewhat disordered about her head. Will felt awed by her loveliness, with a deepening anxiety for her recovery, and so absorbed did he become in this that he was quite forgetful of himself.

At length to his delight Lucy opened her eyes and looked wonderingly at him. He was beginning to make some explanation or apology, when they closed as she fainted again.

Then he took her up in his strong arms, and laying her head gently over his shoulder, walked at a quick pace towards her home.

He could feel her heart beating against his own, his arm was round her, and his imagination rioting in the recollection of her delicate