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