king
Garibaldi's dashing little band for a large force, they made little
resistance, but such as were not killed in the first charge, fled or
surrendered. After sending his prisoners to one of his secret mountain
strongholds, Garibaldi despatched a trooper with Giuseppe to the
olive-grove, whore Lucia had been left alone. They found her safe,
quietly sleeping, with her sweet little face upturned in the soft
moonlight. The trooper took her up before him, on his strong, black
horse, and the three returned to Garibaldi's camp.

Giuseppe and his little sister remained with the brave mountain men for
several weeks. The little girl became a great pet with the rough but
kindly soldiers, and many a night she sat with them beside the
camp-fire, sometimes on Garibaldi's knee, and sung sweet, wild songs,
while Giuseppe played on his pipes, and the funny little marionettes
danced right merrily.

But at last, General Garibaldi found for the good little girl a home
with a kind lady, who promised to bring her up as her own child. That
home was in a pretty villa, on the lovely shore of Lake Como. Giuseppe
remained with Garibaldi, and became a soldier.

After the Austrians had been driven from Milan, he entered that city in
the suite of his beloved general. One day, he went to the spot just
outside the walls, where a few years before his poor father was shot.
He picked a wild poppy, and put it in his bosom, thinking that it might
be it had received its rich red color from the life-blood of that brave
father. Then, as he looked over the beautiful city, and saw waving
from every public building the banner of the gallant King of Sardinia,
instead of the ugly flag of Austria, he thanked God for Victor Emanuel,
Garibaldi, and liberty.

A CHARADE.

My _first_ we wish our dear ones' lives to be,
And all the joys and loves that Hope discloses,
And fairy-tales, and picnics by the sea,
Purses, and golden curls, and times of roses,
And lashes dark, to shade a beauty's glances,
And rides, and sails, and pantomimes, and dances.

My _second_ is the place where thousands meet,
Like ships at sea, who never meet again,--
Fair maids, and soldiers brave, and children sweet,
And ruddy boys, and silver-haired old men;
The surging mob, the monks' procession holy,
Gay bridal trains, and funerals moving slowly.

My _whole_, he was a Southern leader brave,
Whose flaming sword to Richmond barred