with his enemies-borrowing their money-embarrassing their counselssowing the seeds of discord and distrust among them, and feigning hostility to him, than to have all the aid that all the resources of the two kingdoms could possibly give him. And when this course of policy shall be played out, and the Western Powers, duped by their hopes and blinded by their fears, shall have been led on, until the embarrassment and ruin that follow in the track of war shall reach them, then from the signal at the fountain-head of Absolutism, the hollow disguise will be thrown off, and a million fresh and well-disciplined troops will be wheeled into line with the armies of Holy Russia, and backed by the unexhausted resources of Austria and Prussia, will be marching quick-step towards the setting-sun, at the very moment that sleepy diplomatists there will be dozing over some new plan to secure the cooperation of the German States.

But if the policy of Russia is so apparent, that of Austria and Prussia has been from the beginning equally clear:To stimulate the controversy, yet have no part in it, was their first great object, and if they were unable entirely to avoid it themselves, then to give it such a direction as would secure an ultimate triumph to Russia, the mighty cost of which should weaken her greatly, and at the same time enable them to claim that she owed it to them. These were great objects, to be attained only by boundless duplicity and perfidy, and they who undertook it were apt scholars in the school where such treacherous lessons are learned. That these have been and are their real springs of action, the facts abundantly prove.

The most careless observer could not fail to see that the protracted wars of Napoleon the First had operated with most severity upon the German States, while the long peace that had followed had developed the resources and increased the strength of England, France, and Russia so much more rapidly, that the day was not far distant when Austria and Prussia must be content to take rank as second-rate powers. If, therefore, they could stimulate this war between their great rivals, and avoid it themselves, diplomacy would have achieved one of its greatest triumphs, and they could look with all confidence to the fiendish ally they had invoked to exhaust the resources, crush the pro

sperity, and humble the power whose growth they feared. Most shrewdly have they played their game. Pretending in the first instance to side with Russia, they supported and sustained its emperor until he had committed himself too far to retreat with honor. When England and France, witnessing the firm attitude of the Czar, and shrinking from a war in which so little of principle was involved, seemed to waver in the support of the positions they had taken, Austria all at once had discovered that her interests and theirs were identical, and that it was hardly more that was wanting than the formalities of an alliance which already existed in fact. The statesmen of Western Europe had from the beginning been impressed with the belief, that Nicholas would not attempt, single-handed, to sustain a war in which all the other great powers were united against him. Fortified now by the supposed adhesion of the Central States, they regained the courage they had previously lost, and assumed again the dictatorial tone to which Austria well knew the Russian bear would never submit.

Thus the controversy began, yet Austria and Prussia were not quite ready to "let slip the dogs of war" themselves. They preferred to be spectators rather than participants in the costly and bloody game. Yet it was necessary that the show of negotiation should be kept up, and the eager anxiety of the belligerents rendered it by no means difficult for the shrewd old diplomatists that had learned their craft under Metternich, to play alternately upon their hopes and fears, and to find in the ever-changing phases of the negotiations abundant pretexts for the delays they desired. How the grim and significant smiles of contempt must have fitted over the iron visages of those old greybeards, as they played thus from mouth to mouth with the inexperienced imbecility that represented the one, and the timid old fogyism that guarded the honor of the other of their would-be allies.

Perhaps the whole history of diplomacy cannot furnish a greater triumph, or one followed by more momentous results. Had the diplomatists of France and England been equal to the emergency in which they were placed, they could not have failed to see that the real interests of the three Eastern powers were, as against them, necessarily identicalthat Austria and Prussia had nothing to

fear from Russia, but everything from then; that they could not take an active part in the war without actual ruin, but that so long as it only raged around them, it was protecting and enriching them; that as all governments are selfish, and absolute ones supremely so, it was at least possible that they were husbanding their resources and augmenting their armies only to be "in at the death," and that in the very nature of the case, it was utterly impossible that the tyrants whose aid they sought should not secretly sympathize with their relative, neighbor, and friend, or that they could, under any circumstances, really desire the success of their arms, or an alliance with them upon any terms. The great men who, half a century ago occupied their places, would have died with mortification and chagrin had they been guilty of half so great a blunder.

It has been frequently said, that it is as easy for Russia as for the Western powers to arouse Hungary and Italy. They who hazard such an opinion can hardly have reflected much upon it. Of all the governments of the earth claiming to be Christian, Russia has the least sympathy with any movement having for its object the amelioration of the condition of the people, and the most reason to fear the spread of democratic ideas among them. Unhesitating, abject obedience, is the keystone of all its power, and it cannot become the propagandist of liberal principles, or the fomentor of resistance to legitimate authority anywhere, without teaching its own people a lesson that would shake its throne. Its security has hitherto been in its ability to keep these great exciting elements at a distance, and Austria and Prussia have been the "cordon sanitaire" that has protected it from infection, and kept the political pestilence from its borders. When Hungary made its gallant struggle, the epidemic came too near, and it was the instinct of selfpreservation, not love for Austria, that brought the Cossacks to her aid. Russia could as well put arms and newspapers in the hands of her own serfs, as in those of the people of Hungary, and would do the one quite as willingly as the other.

But supposing this were not so, and that Russia should be insane enough to wish to pull down the only other supporters of absolutism, and to establish democratic governments in their stead: How is she to do it? Will Mazzini or

Kossuth take service under her auspices for such a purpose? Not only are they domiciled with her enemies, but they hate her with a hatred scarcely less than that they cherish for Austria itself.Even if they were willing to use any means that promised to advance the interests of their respective countries, they would not dare trust Russia. They know that the only hope of liberal principles in Europe is to be found in the land that has furnished them with an asvlum. Are they likely to form an alliance against her? They have learned too bitterly to forget whence came the power that crushed out their last hope. Would they now rally to its aid, knowing, at the same time, that it only desired to use them for its own purposes, and that when once in its power it would grind them to dust beneath its iron heel? No! Russia cannot, if she would, and would not, if she could, arouse again to action the slumbering volcanoes that in overwhelming the House of Hapsburgh, might bury her also in the ruin they would make. But England and France could set these elements in motion, and the danger to themselves would be more remote. Thus supported and supplied with the necessary arms and munitions of war, the oppressed of Italy and Hungary could be rallied to a contest, the result of which could not be doubtfulthat would secure the overthrow of the government of Austria-lead in all human probability to a grand fraternal union with the red republicanism, that whatever the form, would be the real government of France, and carry the spirit of democracy run mad not only over Poland, but following in the track of the Great Uncle, might give the Little Nephew an opportunity in Moscow itself, to wipe out from history the remembrance of that mighty Napoleonic blunder.

Thus, then, it follows, that Austria could not take part with Russia, and that Russia would not desire an ally that would bring her so much weakness instead of strength. As a barrier and a safeguard, she would be invaluable; but as a supporter, she would be a burden more grievous to be borne, than the loss of ten Bomarsunds, or twice ten Sebastopols.

Equally apparent is it, that Austria and Prussia cannot voluntary form an alliance with the Western Powers. So long as they remain neutral, the

business and commerce of the belligerents must pass into their hands; and in the general increase of wealth and prosperity, they will find ample means to defray the extraordinary expenses of defending that neutrality. But the moment they become parties to this controversy of others, and are "counted in " in this "free fight," not only must they share the general calamities that war imposes upon the other belligerents, but they become at once the battle-field where the great contest is to be fought out. Russia, France and England, would furnish men and money, but it would be Austria and Prussia that would supply the provinces to be laid waste, towns to be sacked, houses to be burned, homes to be made desolate, and people to be crushed and demoralized by the mad orgies of victorious troops, and all those other horrors that for ever follow in their track. With no one interest involved-no honor compromised-no passions aroused-the engagement of Austria and Prussia in such a conflict, would show a degree of weakness and folly only parallelled by that of the obtuse statesmen that still dream over their portfolios, and utter, in oracular sentences, their predictions through the press, and breathe out in diplomatic and congratulatory notes their earnest expectations, that Austria and Prussia, or either of them, will soon perfect an alliance with the enemies of Russia. It would be inviting desolation and ruin to make their homes within their borders, and they have no affection for, or sympathy with, their billing and cooing neighbors, that will lead them to make such measureless sacrifices on their account.

If other reasons were wanted why Austria and Prussia cannot be honest in any negotiations for such an alliance, they are to be found in their past history as connected with Russia-in the common interests of Absolutism-in a common hatred of Revolution-in the sagacity, long tried, that ever has taught them that by union alone can they exclude the enemy they most dread-in the similarity of institutions and character, and in the ties of blood that bind their reigning families together.

The shrewd observer, looking over the whole field calmly and dispassionately, can hardly doubt that the whole course of Austrian diplomacy has secretly been approved, if not dictated by Russia-It is too clear to be doubted, that the latter could receive no such aid

from the central powers, as would counterbalance the injury that she would suffer from the consequences of revolts in Italy, Hungary and Poland, and from opening her whole western frontier to attacks from which she is now protected, because the armies of her enemies can only reach her through neutral territory. The course of Austria in occupying the Danubian provinces, had the effect to throw a neutral army between the hostile camps, and enabled Russia to draw off for the Crimea a large part of the forces that otherwise would have been indispensable for the protection of the line of the Pruth, and interposed a perfect defence against attack from the only side on which it was to be feared-from Turkey-and yet, Austria smiled complacently as she moved on the army of occupation, and spoke in silvery tones as she turned towards the West; and my Lord Aberdeen--bless his easy, honest, soul!-took it all for an act of courtesy, and dreamed when he retired into his night-cap, of an alliance with Austria.

How much longer this game can be played successfully, depends entirely upon the extent of the stupidity and blindness of the Western Cabinets. Judged by the past, they must be considered illimitable, and their gullibility as bounded only by the wishes of their opponents. If they shall open their eyes in time, and cutting through the diplomatic meshes in which they are entangled, force decisive action, they will learn at last that Austria and Prussia never have sympathized with or intended to join them, and that they have been deluded and deceived from the day the controversy began. It is not impossible that Nicholas himself shall think that the new patients he has to deal with, are not yet sick" enough to enable him to give them the "coup-de-grace" with safety, and that rather than weaken his friends before he is ready to use them, he shall prefer to have them make a pretended alliance with his enemies. He will thus have bonds for the good conduct of Hungary and Poland, and the ineans of knowing as soon as they know it themselves, all that shall be worth his knowing, of their plans against him. In making such an alliance, England and France will be leaguing themselves with traitors and hypocrites, and will share the fate of those who choose such friends. Neither Austria or Prussia will join them for any purpose but to embarrass or betray them, and the Alliance will

last no longer than shall be for the interest of Russia. When the time shall come that requires it, pretexts will not be wanting for a peace that Austria and Prussia will think honorable, but that they cannot accept, and that will thus be made the means of turning against them the very weapons they had prepared for their enemies, and that may also array upon the other side, the moral sense of the world.

The future historian will find ample materials to enliven the monotony of his December 10, 1854.

pages, in the events of this unnatural and unnecessary war. Following it in all its details, he will record many bloody battles-many "glorious victories" but among them all, he will find none so thorough and astounding in their character, so damning to the fame of the vanquished, or so utterly without precedent and without excuse, as the uninterrupted succession of triumphs over the Western Cabinets, by Eastern Diplomacy.

MR

RS. SPARROWGRASS says that summer sketches should not come out in the winter. She thinks what was written in June is not fit to be read in December, and a paper made in July is out of season in January. "The one you are putting in your overcoat pocket, now,"

she 66 says, was written last August, and I know it." At first I was as much confused as if I had been caught in some flagrant act of impropriety, but I rallied a little, for a lucky thought struck me. "Mrs. Sparrowgrass,' said I, "I will put the August paper in print, now; but at the same time request them not to read it until warm weather." This

admirable and original piece of finesse pleased my wife highly. "That will do," she said, "but do not forget to tell them not to read it until then." So now, good reader, when you have reached this point, fold up the leaf, and do not open it until Sirius is in the noonday sky.

We begin to enjoy the clouds since we have moved out of town. The city sky is all strips and patches; but the sky of the country forms a very comfortable whole. Then, you have the horizon, of which you get but an imperfect idea if you live in a crooked street; and besides, you can see distant rain storms passing over far-off landscapes, and as the light-winged breeze comes sweeping up and you feel the approaching dampness, there is a freshness and fragrance in it which is not at all like the miasmatic exhalations of a great city. Then, when the rain does come it is not simply an inconvenience, as it always is in town,

but a real blessing, which even the stupid old cabbages know enough to enjoy. I think our musk-melons feel better now, as they lie there in sandy beds sucking the delicious fluid through their long vinous tubes. I think our Shaker corn, as he gives himself a rousing shake, and flings the big drops around him, does so with a species of boisterous joy, as if he could not have too much of it; and Monsieur Tomate, who is capering like Humpty Dumpty on the wall, is evidently in high feather, which is not the case with our forlorn rooster, who is but poorly protected under the old basket, yonder. The rain came from the southwest. We saw the clouds rolling up over the Palisades in round masses, with a movement like puffs of smoke rolling up from the guns of a frigate. It was a dead calm; not a pensile leaf twinkled; the flat expanse of the river was without a ripple. We saw the conglomerated volumes of snowwhite vapor ascending to the zenith, and below lay the Hudson, roughening in the now audibly approaching breeze. Meanwhile the sky grew ashy pale in the southwest, and the big clouds overhead were sometimes veined with lightning, which was reflected momently by the now darkening water. Just below us we heard the quick rattle of the rings as the wood sloops dropped and reefed their broad sails in anticipation of the squall. Everything around us reposed in a sort of supernatural twilight, the grass turned grey and old, the tree trunks changed to iron, the air seemed denser, sullener, sultrier. Then

a little breeze prattled through the chestnuts, and whitened the poplars. Then it subsided. Then the white cloud above appeared a tangle of dazzling light, and a sharp fusilade followed on the instant. Then Mrs. Sparrowgrass got frightened, and said she must go in, and as she said so, the wind pounced upon her and carried up her sunbonnet at least three hundred feet above the tide water. Then it slammed to every door in the house, prostrated my Lima beans, howled down the chimney, roared and whistled through the trees, tore the dust from the roads, and poured it through our open windows, hurried off the big gate, laid it on my pie-plant, and blew down my beehive, which liberated all my bees, who instantly settled upon our watch dog and stung him so that he ran away and did not return until the following Sunday.

Nevertheless, the scenery around was marvellously beautiful. South of us a grey rain-curtain was drawn across the river, shutting out everything beyond, except the spectral masts and spars of a schooner riding at anchor. The Palisades started up in the gloom as their precipitous masses were revealed by the flashes of unearthly light that played through the rolling clouds. The river before us, flecked with snow, stretched away to the north, where it lay partly in sunshine, under a blue sky, dappled with fleecy vapors. Inland, the trees were twisted in attitudes strikingly picturesque and novel; the scud flew before the blast like spray, and below it the swells and slopes of livid green had an aspect so unusual that it seemed as if I had been transported into a strange place-a far countrie. Our cottage, too, which I had planned and built, changed its tinted walls to stark, staring white, with window-panes black as ink. From room to room Mrs. Sparrowgrass flitted like a phantom, closing the sashes, and making all secure. Then the electric prattled overhead for a moment, and wound up with a roar like the explosion of a stone quarry. Then a big drop fell and rolled itself up in a globule of dust in the path; then another-another-another. Then I bethought me of my new straw hat, and retreated into the house, and thenit rained! Reader, did you ever see rain in the country? I hope you have; my pen is impotent; I cannot describe it. The storm hushed by degrees, and went off amid saffron flushes, and a glitter of hail. The western sky parted its

ashy curtains, and the rugged Palisades lay warm and beautiful under the evening sun. There it declines, amid melted topaz and rubies; and above it, on one side, stretching aloft from the rocky precipices high up in the azure, is a crescent of crimson and golden fragments of clouds! Once more in the sunlight, and now we will throw open all the windows and let in the cool air.

The splendor falls on castle walls,

And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract breaks in glory. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! Blow, bugle! answer echoes, dying, dying, dying! I have bought me a bugle. A bugle is a good thing to have in the country. The man of whom I bought it said it had an easy draught, so that a child could fill it. He asked me if I would try it. I told him I would prefer not, as my wind was not in order; but that when I got out in my boat, the instrument should be critically tested. When I reached home, I could scarcely finish my tea on account of the bugle. The bugle was a secret. I meant to surprise Mrs. Sparrowgrass. Play, I could not, but I would row off in the river, and blow a prolonged note softly; increasing it until it thrilled across the night like the dolorous trumpet of Roland at the rout of Roncevalles. I slipped away, took the hidden instrument from the bushes, handled the sculls, and soon put five hundred feet of brine between me and

the cottage. Then I unwrapped the brown paper, and lifted the copper clarion to my lips. I blew until I thought my head would burst, and could not raise a toot. I drew a long breath, expanded my lungs to the utmost, and blew my eyes almost out of their sockets, but nothing came of it, saving a harsh, brassy note, within the metallic labyrinth. Then I attempted the persuasive, and finally cajoled a faint rhythmic sound from it that would have been inaudible at pistol-shot distance. But this was encouraging--I had gotten the hang of it. Little by little I succeeded, and at last articulated a melancholy B flat, whereupon I looked over at the cottage. It was not there-the boat had drifted down stream, two miles at least; so I had to tug up against the tide until I nearly reached home, when I took the precaution of dropping an anchor to windward, and once more exalted my horn. Obstinacy is a Sparrowgrassic virtue. My upper-lip, under the