his mind one sad and tragic event-the burial of his father, Sandor Zilah, who was shot in t

he hand of his son, and murmur in

e and defend t

s necessary to bury the Prince in a trench dug i

ght. Erect, at the head of the ditch, his fingers grasping the hand of Yanski Varhely, young Prince Andras gazed upon the earthy bed, where, in his hussar's uniform, lay Prince Sandor, his long blond moustache falling over hi

torch-flames, blown about by the north wind, the hero seemed at times to move again, and a wild desire came to Andras to leap down into the grave and snatch away the body. He was

whispered to the patriot, who

rs, appeared a band of Tzigani, who began to play the March of Rakoczy, the Hungarian Marseillaise, the stirring melody pealing forth in the night-air,

voice of the heroic music, recalling to the harassed contestants for liberty the great days of the revolts of the fatherland, the ol

f avengers, horsemen with floating pelisses and herons' plumes in their hats, who, erect in their saddles and with sabres drawn, struck, struck the frightened enemy, and recovered, foot by foot, the conquered territory. There was in this exalted march a sound of

sting of the master's whip falling upon their shoulders and tearing their sides and cheeks, their bodies twisted in painful, revolted spasms; the flesh trembled under the cord like the muscles of a horse beneath the spur; and, in the morbid exaltation of suffering, a sort of wild delirium took possession of them, their arms were waved in the air, their heads with hair dishevelled were thrown backward, and the captives, uttering a sound at once plaintive and menacing, danced, their dance, at first slow and melancholy, becomi

the snow-covered branches like a hurricane of victory. They were wandering musicians, who, the evening before, had been discovered in a neighboring village by some of Jellachich's Croats, and

ssars and the guns of the honveds discharged a salute over the grave. The earth and snow were shovelled in upon th

a young girl, the only woman of the tribe, who wept with mo

pt so bitterly, when he, th

," she replied, in answer to his question, "and he died be

ooked at

tali

akes of Tatra, sewn up i

l carbuncle in the world lies hidden, a carbuncle which would sparkle like the sun, if it could be discovered, and which is guarded by frogs with diamond eyes and with lumps of

ive my father," he said. "I w

e Tzigana. She extended to the young Prince the little bag of lea

here will be one Zilah whom the balls of the

th opals, which clasped his fur pelisse, and handed it to the gypsy

bring me this jewel, and you and yours come to the castle of the Zilah

bout the outposts. The Austrians had perhaps perceived the

torches!" crie

he branches, fell upon the troop of men, ready to die as their chief had died; and all disappeared vision, phantoms-the Tzigani silen

fell; and of all the moments of that romantic, picturesque war, the agonizing moment, the wild scene of the burial of his father, was most vivid in his mem