With a tender kiss on the lips of his heroic little sister, Giuseppe sprang away and soon disappeared over a ridge of the mountain. After some narrow escapes in pursuing his perilous path along precipices and over torrents, he reached Mancini in time not only to warn Garibaldi, but to allow him to march back through a deep ravine and intercept the Austrians. Taken by surprise, and in the dim evening light mistaking 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 the way;
'Mid smoke and shot, he saw his banners wave,
He rode victorious, joying in the fray.
Till fickle Fortune set the hero learning
'Tis a long lane, or street, that knows no turning.
Long-street.