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

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.
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ORIGINAL POETRY.
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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! For life's sweet, sad, illusive dream Fruition, though in Heaven afar-- "A silver lining" hath the cloud Through dark and stormiest night, And there are eyes to pierce the shroud And see the hidden light.
Thou movest side by side with Jove, And, 'tis a quaint conceit, perchance-- Thou seem'st in humid light to move As tears concealed thy burning glance-- Such Virgil saw thee, when thine eyes, More lovely through their glow,[2] Won from the Thunderer