T Fiercely the line they broke; Cannon right of them Cannon left of them- Laura. The description is fine the terrible picture is placed very distinctly before the eye, and we naturally sympathize with the gallant men, who thus, from a sense of duty and high emotions of courage, rushed to their doom. But still, there is another point of view consider the result-look at the field after the struggle is over. Go there, and read the true history of war. Merry. There is great justice in your views, Laura. War is at once sublime and revolting. There are two modes of viewing the theatre of war-the battlefield. One is to look at it in the mass, and regard only the great spectacle. Then it becomes grand, and fills the mind with great emotions. We only see the vast moving bodies-not as individuals but as armies, directed by great minds, contending for great objects, animated by lofty and heroic sentiments. But let us take another view; let us single out one man, and suppose him a father, a son, a brother; a being full of feelings,-of hope, love, friendship let us follow him. With his .companions, he rushes into the fight, and we soon see him fall to rise no more. His hopes are quenched, his existence extinguished for ever. And the news of his death will go home to his mother, and his sister, and his wife, and his children, and the mourning of their hearts will never be put off! Of those who go into the battle with him, side by side, one drops on the field, his leg torn off by a cannon shot; another loses an arm, another receives a bullet in some more vital part of the body. And there they lie, the dead, the wounded, and the dying, in one bloody bed together. The feet of horses pass over them: the earth around is ploughed up by raking grape-shot, or the more ponderous cannon ball. And here lie the poor creatures-the living even more wretched than the dead. Those are sleeping their last sleep-but thesethe wounded-some shrieking in agony, some delirious in the coming spasm of death, and others still, who cannot die, and who yet have no better hope than to have their shattered limbs amputated, and then to go forth, maimed, crippled, the image of God, in which they were created-despoiled, without hope and without remedy. And all this, which is but a feeble picture of the truth, is done to gratify the pride, the vanity, the ambition of kings. Thus, war viewed on the surface, so as to hide its realities, may seem sublime: but when we look closer, and read the history of war in the experience of individuals, it James. Yes, and hear that awful roar, like the sound of prolonged thunder. Ellen. And see that cloud of smoke, rolling up from the plain, toward the skies. Merry. I see it is now tinged with reddish light, the first break of day. James. But how still it is yonder, after that terrible broadside. Merry. Yes, but if I mistake not, you will soon hear it repeated. By the dawning light, I can see that the whole plain is alive with masses of men, moving toward the Russian forts. Here to the right are the French troops; to the left are the British. There-do you see that line of light, leaping along the Laura It is dreadful. whole front of the allied army? Hark | terrific struggle. Oh, it is wonde -what a fearful sound-as if it were the voice of an earthquake! James. And there it comes again! Ellen. Oh, it is so light now I can see the whole allied army. They are rushing in a body against the Russian forts. At the same time a thousand cannon seem to be pouring their shot upon the enemy. James. But why don't the Russians reply? They are as still as death! Merry. Wait a minute, and you will hear from them. There they go ! James. It is grand! Do you see they have sent their shot right into the thickest of the French army? Why they are scattered like chaff ! Merry. Yes, for a moment only. Do you see them?-the officers are rallying the men. They are again in good order. They advance! Laura. God of mercy! Can these things be permitted? What demons men are when their passions are once roused by the sight of blood! James. There come the English! I don't like them much, but still, I can't but feel a sort of pride in the red coats. How steady they go to their work. wish I was one of them! Merry. You see the French are attacking that great mass of batteries at the right, called the Malakoff fort. The English are attacking the Redan fort, here nearer and to the left. It is now one general battle. The whole field is covered with smoke! Ellen. Still, I can see, here and there, through the openings in the cloud, the It is sublime. I wish 1 James. among them! Merry. Which side would you take James. I really don't know which side: I should like to be in the thickest of it: it is so animating ! Laura. Oh, James, James, don't talk so you shock me beyond measure. Merry. Come, come, Laura: no quarrelling. James is a boy, and speaks and feels like a boy you are a girl, and speak and feel like a girl. But see the cloud of smoke is cleared away. The firing has ceased. The allies are in full retreat. Do you observe that officer carrying a white flag to the Russians ! Ellen. Yes-what is that for? Merry. He is going to ask for a suspension of hostilities, that the two armies may bury their dead. Let us go a little nearer, so that we can take a view of the battle-field. Open that valve, Seth: there-that will do! Now you find we are so close that we can see the poor fellows lying scattered all over the ground, as far as the eye. can reach. What a ghastly scene! See yonder-a whole heap of dead and dying men! And look here-directly beneath us-in the Russian forts! The whole line of entrenchments is reeking with blood. It is really too awful. Ellen. Oh, we are observed, Mr. Merry. One of those sharp-shooters is aiming his rifle at us! James. Yes, and there goes his bullet right through our balloon. Merry. It is too true. Steady there, The Seth. We shall all be taken prisoners! Seth-Peter! Steady! Why the gas | See, he orders the soldiers to stand is all rushing out. Draw that rope ready to receive us ! tight tighter! It is of no use! balloon is collapsing like a burst bladder! Dear me we are descending right into the Malakoff fort! Ellen. Well, I don't believe they'll hurt us. That Russian officer is smiling at us: see, he waves his hand ! Laura. That must be General Gortschakoff, the Russian commander. What a grand looking man! Merry. There's no help for it: there we go: down-down-down- ! Peter. This is a pretty pickle! The Telegraph-its Secret. Looking up in musing wonder, "Travel with the speed of lightning; 66 Always going, always coming, "And yet never interfering; "While we, sitting under, watching, "Cannot see them, cannot hear them,"Cannot draw their secret from them; "Cannot tell how 'tis they do it, "Cannot quite believe they do it, "Though we all the while do know it." "Should you ask me, Mike,"-that's Michael, "Should you ask," says Pat-that's Patrick, "How these silent wires above us "Talk, and write, and carry letters; "Carry news, and carry orders, "Though we cannot see nor hear them, "Sitting under, watching, listening. "Cannot see them, cannot hear them, "I should answer, I should tell you, "And they send, not papers through them, "But they send-these strange magicians "Through those passages so narrow, "Whispering spirits, living fairies, "Flying ever back and forward, "Message-bearing, hither, thither; "You, nor me, though watching, listening, "Och! indade," says Mike,-that's Michael, Then in anger, Pat-that's Patrick, "On his faith and on his conscience. HIRAM. Gipsies. ID you ever see a gipsy? If not, here is a family of them, encamped under a spreading tree, and employed in cooking their dinner. They seem to be hungry, and somewhat impatient. They are watching the pot, as it hangs from its tripod, over the blazing fire. One woman sits quietly at the root of the old tree, nursing her infant, and seeming in her care of that, to be less absorbed than the rest, in the preparations for dinner. There is a little girl just behind her. What is she doing? Is she playing bo-peep with the sleeping dog, or is she frightened or worried because the skillet has been upset, and some part of her dinner anything very good in the skillet, the dog would smell it, and be up at once for his share. I am afraid that child will get a whipping. I don't believe she deserves it. But gipsy parents are not always just to their children, any more than to other people. They are a wandering, lawless race, who have no settled home, but roam about the world, pitching their tents wherever they can find a chance to steal a temporary supply of food, or, perhaps, to draw a little money from the weakminded and superstitious, by fortunetelling. They sometimes steal children, and then compel them to steal for them, or sometimes to beg. These children are brought up in ignorance, and subjected to great hardships, being punished by the gipsies if they do not steal, and often taken and punished by the law when they do steal. They are greatly to be pitied. "The gipsies are clearly of Asiatic origin. They closely resemble the lowest caste in India, and it is highly probable that their ancestors came from the |