ments of his opponent; and, in order that the question might be settled without further delay, he hurled the table which had served him as a rostrum at the orator, and quickly caused him to disappear, amidst the universal applause of the assembly. When the celebrated Szécheny, who was the best swimmer in Hungary, was to cross the wide and rushing Danube at Pesth, there were always as many persons on the quays to witness this astonishing feat as there were in the tribune to listen to him when he delivered those energetic speeches which brought on the revolutionary movement in Hungary. But the same observation may be made with regard to Greece and Rome; both produced the finest statesmen and orators, as well as the most skilful charioteers, and men who excelled in the public games.

All the exercises which give strength, suppleness, and address to the body, and at the same time increase the energy of the mind, formed part of the young Palatine's education. At the age when we scarcely dream of putting our children upon a wooden horse, the Prince mounted a little Jongre, a race of horses peculiar to the country, and followed his father in all his great hunts at full speed. The horse, and the clever and graceful management of the noble animal is a favourite passion among the Hungarians; they seem as if they had been born on horseback, so naturally and easily do they ride. Before they are fifteen, they go into the vast pustary (the pastures are so called which lie between the Danube and the Theiss), and choose the horse which most pleases their fancy; from this time they are upon an average five or six hours a-day on horseback, either hunting, travelling, or practising in the riding-school. Europe acknowledges the unrivalled superiority of the Hungarians in this exercise, by giving the name of huzar (Hungarian for horseman) to their finest regiment of horse soldiers. The national weapon is a curved sword; thus armed, the huzars go through a succession of rapid evolutions and sudden charges, and are able to halt in a moment with the greatest precision, and in the most perfect order. The huzar is, in short, the national type of the Hungarian of all classes; there is not a peasant who will not gladly quit his home to enlist in a regiment of huzars. Even in the midst of a village fête, if the sound of the drum is heard for the muster of recruits, a number of young men will immediately flock to the spot, and can be very readily induced to sign the engagement; their sweethearts are among the first to persuade them to enrol their names.

Archduke Stephen passed his youth in that vigorous and united discipline of the mind and body which makes a man worthy to be so called. At two-and-twenty, when he was tolerably initiated in state affairs, and prepared under the watchful eye of his father for his future position, the Austrian government suddenly urged the necessity of his taking up his residence at Prague, as Viceroy of Bohemia. Perhaps they already began to appreciate his talents, or perceived the dangers of a separation which this quasi royalty continued for more than half a century in the younger branch of the reigning family, might possibly at length produce. The young Archduke appeared to accept this brilliant position which might have thoroughly satisfied the ambition of one less devoted to his country more from obedience than pleasure. He dreaded to lose, in this new field of action, the affection and popularity he had hitherto been so successful in gaining. The administration of the Archduke Stephen was as enlightened as that of his father, and as paternal as that of the Emperor Francis. In a very

little while he succeeded in gaining three most important things, the love of the people, the confidence of the cabinet of Vienna, and the respect of that proud and ancient nobility of Bohemia, who have not forgotten that their forefathers were once the equals of the German Emperors. Under his prudent and liberal administration, everything appeared to be restored to life and order, and Bohemia soon rose to a degree of prosperity which it had never known since its re-union.

About this time the Emperor Nicholas became anxious that a marriage should take place between his daughter, the Princess Olga, and the young Archduke. This he desired, not merely in a political point of view, that he might, through his connection with Prince Stephen extend his influence to the very heart of the Austrian empire; but the tenderest feelings of a father had prompted him to make this choice. The Emperor had seen enough of the young Archduke at Vienna to appreciate his worth, and to perceive that no one was more calculated to assure the happiness of the dearest of his daughters. His advances were, however, discouraged; but in declining the match the Prince required all his judgment and self control, for the beauty of the Princess equalled the brilliancy of the alliance. The Archduke was scarcely fiveand-twenty, and at this age it is commonly more easy for a man to sacrifice his life for his country than to renounce his passion. He, however, resolutely fulfilled this duty, upon the performance of which depended the safety and interests of the monarchy. The Princess Olga was afterwards united to the royal family of Wurtemburg.

The judicious government of the Archduke in Bohemia, and its immense popularity, at once pointed him out as the most fitting successor of his father. The Austrian cabinet therefore joined themselves to this general motion, which they would have been utterly unable to suppress. Prince Stephen was elected Palatine at the end of last year (November 1847), with the unanimous approbation of the Diet: only fifty years before his father had been similarly chosen, and the nomination of the new Palatine forcibly brought to mind that glorious succession. When birth is united to the highest qualities of the heart and head, to that firmness of character and intelligence which marks out a man as adapted for command and the exercise of influence, it furnishes him with a power which not even genius can bestow. Thus the youth, rank, and personal merits of the young Palatine are the gifts with which heaven has crowned him, for the accomplishment of the great work which is yet before him. The revolution which occurred in Vienna last March, while it precipitated a similar movement in Hungary and rendered certain the independence of that country, served only to heighten the popularity of the Archduke. But the second revolution, which has just taken place in Vienna, may cause a sudden change in the feelings of the Hungarians; it is the government of Vienna which they support with impatience, not the authority of the Emperor. The safety of the Austrian monarchy is more threatened than it was in the time of Maria Theresa, but who knows whether this excitable and generous people may not again rescue it? Amidst all our conjectures, however, social order still remains to be restored to Hungary; the revolution of last March has at present only convulsed the country, and served to disclose the necessity of fresh reforms.

HOW I GOT AWAY FROM PARIS AFTER THE

REBELLION IN JUNE.

BY ALBERT SMITH.

"IF you please, sir, you cannot have your passport, unless you go yourself to the Prefecture of Police."

This was the speech of the commissionaire of the Hotel de la Michodiére, in the street of that ilk, off the Boulevart des Italiens, on his return from an expedition to the prefecture. I had been in Paris for one of our newspapers from the 26th of June last,-the Tuesday after the terrible 24th, and this was the Friday following. All my mission was fulfilled, and there was little inducement to remain an hour longer than was necessary. The city was in a state of siege; every place of amusement was closed; people were shot dead at noonday in the public streets, from courts and windows; and the eye was as wearied with the constant view of soldiers, National Guards, Mobiles, Marines, and insurgent prisoners, as the ear was with the ceaseless riot of rappels, générales, rétraites, and all those other infernal performances upon the drums which the French are so particularly attached

to.

"Very well,” I replied; "then I will go myself to-morrow morning, so that I can get off by the twelve o'clock train to Boulogne."

"You must go early, sir," said the man, " for there is a large crowd of ouvriers waiting to have their passports signed. The bureau opens at ten."

The next morning I got up at eight, and reached the Quai des Orfévres about nine, when I was stopped by the bayonet of a Garde Mobile, at the end of the little street which goes down to the gate of the prefecture, and told I could not pass without a permission fromsome one or other-I forget who, for I had never heard the name. Just then the cordon of guards divided, to allow a cart-load of prisoners to enter the court-yard. Some workmen pushed after, and I was carried through with them, up to the gates.

The scene was certainly very striking. The court was filled with troops, who appeared to have bivouacked in it during the night, and arms piled up all about. All was clatter and motion-ordering, joking, and that confused, simultaneous, ultra-energetic, angry talking, which any party of Frenchmen, more than three in number, are certain to get up. Heavily-armed cavalry rode in and out with despatches, knocking down the stands of guns, treading on the soldier's toes, or breasting their way through the ranks. Every ten minutes fresh hauls of prisoners were brought up,-caught in the precincts of Belleville or the cellars of the Faubourg St. Antoine, scowling, ill-looking hounds, and very like what some of the dirty foreigners who haunt the cheap hells and cook-shops about Leicester Square would be in caps and blouses. These were conveyed in omnibuses, vans, carts, hack carriages, and, indeed, any vehicles coming first to hand, which, having disgorged them into the crowded vaults of the Conciergerie, were driven out again, amidst renewed jostling, cheering, and swearing.

At the door of the passport-office was a mob of two or three hundred persons, late artisans of the Ateliers Nationaux, waiting their turn to go in, two and two, as they would have done at a theatre. The loud

manner in which they shouted "A la queue!" and drove anybody to the end of their ranks who tried to get before them, was almost ferocious. Now and then a respectable individual or two, ushered in by a permission, provoked renewed displeasure.

"Violà!" they shouted; "the paletots are allowed to pass, whilst the blouses are kept waiting. Read the motto up there; 'Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!' A la queue les paletots!"

There was something absolutely frightful in their glaring eyes and flushed faces, as they uttered these republican sentiments. Their voices sounded as harshly as the falling knife of the guillotine. The phrase had very nearly the same meaning as "A la lanterne les aris

tocrates!"

An hour was passed in this unsavoury company, and I began to think the chance of the noon train was lost, when a bustling little man came out to examine the papers, and seeing me with an English passport, said I could go in at once, which I was glad enough to do, although it provoked volleys of abuse from the ouvriers. The same pompous old gentleman, whom we used to worry in my student days, sat at the end of the salle. I do not think he had ever moved since. The same mouldy men stamped and scribbled on the papers, and looked savage; the same polite clerk who speaks English for the benefit of our countrymen in the "Quartier St. Honoré" hotels, was at his post. Amidst the bouleversement of the revolution, which had upset thrones and changed constitutions, they had all kept their places. At the same time, the office is gloomy and secluded enough to prevent any external excitement from reaching its dingy penetralia.

The conversation that took place over the ledge of the Bureau des Passeports Etrangers, was as brief as it was disagreeable.

"I wish this passport signed for England, if you please, as soon as convenient; for I want to leave Paris by the twelve o'clock train, for Amiens."

"You cannot go, sir. The passport must remain here one day. In the present state of affairs the Prefect of Police has ordered this." "Must I stop till to-morrow, then?"

"To-morrow is Sunday, and the bureau is shut. You cannot have your passport until Monday."

I am not naturally of a bloodthirsty disposition. I do not suppose I shall ever be hung for murder; if I am, it will either be by mistake, or for having sought some excusable or inevitable vengeance. But I do believe that, at that moment, if a fiend had whispered to me that all the catacombs and carrières of Paris were filled with gunpowder, and that having lighted a very slow match, I might have retired to Montmartre to watch the effects, and seen Cavaignac, Lamartine, Emile de Girardin, Hyacinthe Martin, Lamoricière, and all the other notabilities, make "an ascent with fireworks" -if this had been held out, I repeat, I do believe I should have wavered in rejecting the offer. It was beyond an annoyance. I was most anxious to get back to London. I had executed all my commissions, paid my hotel bill, to save time, and packed up all my things. I had two pressing engagements at Boulogne; one to a party to the Vallée du Nacre for the next day, and the other on the pier-no matter what about-on Monday, at noon; and the chances were that even at that very hour I might still be in Paris.

I have been out of temper several times in my life. I have been

bottled between two people I disliked at a heavy dinner; or thrown over by some girl for the first polka after supper, at a ball. I have had a play very nearly damned. I have missed trains by half a minute; and been obliged to accompany slow country friends to witness Mr. Such-a-one in Hamlet, when I might have had a stall to hear Grisi in Norma and Alboni in the scene from Betly. But I never recollect being so savage as upon this particular occasion. However, there was no help for it. If I had grumbled, I should possibly have been suspected of disaffection to the government, and arrested; if I had set the passport authorities at defiance perhaps I might have been shot. I knew that the passport of an English gentleman residing at Paris had been kept back because he had been 'denounced' as having been seen on the wrong side of a barricade ; and I began to think I might be detained also upon some similar anonymous accusation. I went moodily back to the hôtel, and got through the day by wandering about the Faubourg St. Antoine, and making some rude sketches of the principal objects of demolition, and heaps of chalk and rubbish that had been houses a week ago, quite rejoiced when it became dark enough to go plausibly to bed, and sleep as well as the wearing noise of the drums permitted one to do.

The next day was Sunday. I was awakened by the drums, hard at it again, coupled with the early practising of a large-bearded pianiste, who did nothing from daybreak to sunset but rumble up and down his keys, in a room looking into the steep deep quadrangle of the hôtel. It is bad enough, at any time, to hear a wild professor bang and scramble and scamper through an "Op." when the same application might have made him do something entertaining with cups and balls, or knives, plates, and tobacco-pipes; but here the hammering was perfectly intolerable, and drove me out once more to find distraction in the streets.

The entire city presented a sad aspect, compared with its usual Sunday appearance. There were few holiday-makers about. No trim grisettes picking their way across the gutters at the expense of showing their neat chaussure; no parties going outside the barriers on pleasureexcursions; nothing but soldiers, under which generic name I put all who appeared in arms. Soldiers in the streets and passages; soldiers in all the restaurateurs, cafés, and estaminets; soldiers in the shops and cabriolets; on the diligences, church-towers, and porticos. They swarmed on the Boulevards; they poured in ever-flowing legions down the Champs Elysées; they choked up the gardens of the Palais Royal (which will always be called so, let them insist upon christening it "National" as much as they please), and lined the quays, bridges, and terraces with their battalions. That day the number of soldiers in Paris was three hundred thousand!

Perhaps nothing looked so forlorn as those portions of the walls on which the amusements are affichés all together. The bills of the theatres were still up, but they all bore the date of the Friday on which the émeute commenced. Strange changes had taken place since that night. The Theatre Historique of M. Dumas was now an ambulance, for the wounded; and all the actresses of the Gaieté were nursing the Garde Mobile. Real soldiers and cavalry bivouacked on the stage hitherto appropriated to sham encounters; and the mortars which sent the gerbes and shells flying to explode in the air, on fête nights at the Chateau Rouge, had been planted on the barricades to fire bullets, nails, broken glass, and pebbles, against the troops.