midst of them. That apparition is
supposed at first to be a holiday joke of Christmas
time. The ladies scream delightedly, and
the gentlemen laugh and whisper consolation.
Nothing can be pleasanter; for no one has
recognised in the long figure habited in a
scanty dressing-gown and dingy drawers, the
august person of the Austrian ensign. He
soon enlightens them.

"What is the meaning of all this noise?"
he thunders, in a terrible voice. " Did I not
send you a message to be quiet? Is this a
pothouse, where you can ask whom you please,
or is it my quarters? Put out the lights
and send home these people. I cannot go to
sleep for their racketty doings."

"Hark ye, sir! " answers the host, now put
on his metal. " I and my family have borne
a good deal from you, but we cannot bear
this. I beg that you will retire at once to
your own room."

"So you will have it, then," says the
Austrian ensign, growing much irritated.
"Understand, therefore, that I place you all
under arrest as rioters." Then he
disappears, and, summoning his soldiers, they
surround the house, and he absolutely does
imprison the new year's party. He is a man
of his word.

Now, among the guests is an aide-de-
camp of the hospodar, or prince, of this
unhappy country. He is required to be on
duty at a certain hour, and when he sees that
the house is surrounded he grows seriously
alarmed. All the doors are guarded, but
there is still a window through which he
might escape. He squeezes through it, and
luckily makes good his exit, leaving the rest
of the company in confinement.

He tells the prince of what has happened,
and in a few days there is a rumour,
that the Austrian ensign has been placed
under arrest also; but nobody believes it;
and all idea of his serious punishment for so
strange a freak is, of course, out of the question.
It is said, however, to have been a sad
and singular sight enough to see the guests
file out in the morning when the guards
were removed.They were in their ball-
dresses, and their carriages had been sent
away. They had to wade through the mud,
cheerless and wretched.

"And so, Colonel, are these things to be
continued? The feeling of the Wallachians is
very much exasperated about them," said a
person, to an Austrian officer high in
command, while conversing on this and some
similar events.

"What will you have? " was the reply.
"It is the same in Italy. Scarcely a night
passes without some riot or murder. It must
always be the same where there is an army
of occupation. At Clausenberg last year,
too, a thing occurred precisely similar to that
we are now discussing. Some of the natives
gave an insolent ball, to which they did not
ask our officers, and the consequence was that
we stopped their balls altogether. Why, balls,
sir, are as bad as clubs. They are often
dangerous assemblies of people disaffected to the
government. If not, why exclude us?"

"Ah, indeed! Then there are to be no
more balls at Bucharest, perhaps?"

"Very likely not."

And there have been none.

BEFORE SEBASTOPOL.

TRUE hearts, true hearts! with courage all undaunted,
Well tried, well proved, on many a battle field,
A courage well sustained, and justly vaunted,
Versed in all tactics,—save the art to yield.

It is a harder conflict ye are bearing,
A bitt'rer struggle now ye undergo,
Than any outer act of gallant daring,
Or combat, howe'er deadly, with the foe.

The winter in inhospitable regions,
The toil by day, the ceaseless watch by night,
Rain, frost and cold advance resistless legions,
Worse to encounter than the sorest fight.

Sickness and Death, their mournful harvest reaping,
Sweep day by day through each diminished line,
Like silent river floods, that onward creeping
Their fragile barriers daily undermine.

The hope deferred, the long enforced inaction,
Warm hearts at home, and yet all help so far,—
Proving how world-old rules and party faction
Can add new horrors to the curse of war.

What in comparison were deadliest meeting,
Though the dark angel hovered in the van?
Ask the heroic hearts so bravely beating
On Alma's heights or plains of Inkermann.

True hearts, true hearts! with courage all unswerving,
Be this proud record added to your fame:
Of the whole nation warmest praise deserving,
Ye add new glory to old England's name!

To bear such hardships nobly uncomplaining,
To keep through all the lamp of hope alive,
As e'en the slightest murmuring tone disdaining,
To your last breath to suffer and to strive.

Out of the earth our brethren's blood is crying
To One not heedless when such claimants sue,
And a roused nation's earnest heart replying,
Goes forth, devoted men, and bleeds with you.

CONVICTS, ENGLISH AND FRENCH.

ONE of the grandest judicial mysteries—
one of the most puzzlingly sealed books in.
the Radcliffian library in Themis's castle of
Udolpho is, what becomes of a man after he has.
been sentenced to be transported? The judge
on the bench—it is no disrespect to him to say
it—knows no more than the wig he wears
what will be the after fate of the delinquent
upon whom he has just passed judgment.
The prisoner, honest man, is equally ignorant
of his future. He knows quite enough