The International Weekly Miscellany, Volume I. No. 9 | Page 9

back, and stroked his beard, saying,
'What brother?--no brother--I hussar--you jack-pudding.'

This expression is not to be mistaken for a brag. The Hungarian hussar
is no fanfaron like the French chasseur, but he is conscious of his own
powers, like a Grenadier of the Old Imperial Guard. The dolmany, the
csako, and the csizma, have grown to his body; they form his holyday
dress even when off duty--the national costume transferred into the
army; and as he is aware that this is not the case in other countries, the
foreign Hussar's dress is in his eyes a mere servant's livery; and
logically the man is not altogether wrong.
The Hussar, like the Magyars in general, is naturally good-tempered.
The finest man in the service, he is at the same time the most jovial
companion in the tavern, and will not sit by and empty his glass by
himself when a Bohemian or German comrade at his side has spent all
his money. There is only one biped under the sun who is in his eyes
more contemptible and hateful than any animal of marsh or forest. This
is the Banderial Hussar--that half-breed between Croat and Magyar,
that caricature of the true Hussar, who serves in the cavalry, as the
Croat in the infantry, of the Military Frontier. Never was an Hungarian
Hussar known to drink with a Banderial Hussar; never will he sit at the
same table: if he meets a snake he crushes it under foot--a wolf he will
hunt in the mountains--with a buffalo he will fight on the open
heath--with a miserable horse-stealer he will wrestle for a halter; but as
for the Banderial Hussar, he spits in his face wherever he meets him.
It was at Hatvan, or at Tapjo-Bicske, that Hungarian and Banderial
Hussars were for the first time in this war--the first time perhaps in the
recollection of man--opposed to one another in battle. If looks could
slay, there would have been no need of a conflict, for the eyes of the
Magyars shot death and contempt at their unworthy adversaries. The
signal of attack sounded; and at the same instant, as if seized by one
common thought, the Hungarian Hussars clattered their heavy sabres
back into the scabbard, and with a fearful imprecation, such as no
German tongue could echo, charged weaponless and at full speed their
mimic caricatures whom fate had thrown in their way. The shock was
so irresistible, that the poor Croats could make no use of their sabers
against the furious onset of their unarmed foe: they were beaten down
from their saddles with the fist, and dragged off their horses by their
dolmanys; those who could save themselves fled. The Hussars
disdained to pursue them; but they complained to their Colonel at

having been opposed to 'such a rabble.'--Schlesinger.
* * * * *

ORIGINAL POETRY.
* * * * *
A HOROSCOPE.
BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
"Quorum pars magna fui."
Oh! loveliest of the stars of Heaven, Thus did ye walk the crystal dome,
When to the earth a child was given, Within a love-lit, northern home;
Thus leading up the starry train, With aspect still benign, Ye move in
your fair orbs again As on that birth long syne.
Within her curtained room apart, The pale young mother faintly smiled;
While warmly to a father's heart With love and prayer was pressed the
child; And, softly to the lattice led, In whispers grandams show How
those presaging stars have shed Around the child a glow.
Born in the glowing summer prime, With planets thus conjoined in
space As if they watched the natal time, And came to bless the infant
face; Oh! there was gladness in that bower, And beauty in the sky; And
Hope and Love foretold a dower Of brightest destiny.
Unconscious child! that smiling lay Where love's fond eyes, and bright
stars gleamed, How long and toilsome grew the way O'er which those
brilliant orbs had beamed; How oft the faltering step drew back In
terror of the path, When giddy steep, and wildering track Seemed
fraught with only wrath!
How oft recoiled the woman foot, With tears that shamed the path she
trod. To find a canker at the root Of every hope, save that in God! And
long, oh! long, and weary long, Ere she had learned to feel That Love,
unselfish, deep, and strong, Repays its own wild zeal.
Bright Hesperus! who on the eyes Of Milton poured thy brightest ray!
Effulgent dweller of the skies, Take not from me thy light away-- I look
on thee, and I recall The dreams of by-gone years-- O'er many a hope I
lay the pall With its becoming tears;
Yet turn to thee with thy full beam, And bless thee, Oh love-giving star!