Such was that of Alett.  She was the only daughter of a distinguished general, whose name was the terror of all the foes, and the confidence of all the friends, of Italy-his eldest daughter; and with love approaching idolatry he cherished her.  She was his confidant.  In the privacy of her faithful heart he treasured all his plans and purposes.  Of late, the peaceful security in which the nation dwelt gave him the opportunity of remaining at home, where, in the companionship of a wife he fondly loved, children he almost idolized, and friends whose friendship was not fictitious, he found that joy and comfort which the camp could never impart.

Alett was ever in the presence of her father, or the young man whose apostrophe to peace we have just given.

Rubineau was not the descendant of a noble family, in the worldly acceptation of the term.  It was noble, indeed, but not in deeds of war or martial prowess.  Its nobleness consisted in the steady perseverance in well-doing, and a strict attachment to what conscience dictated as right opinions.  The general loved him for the inheritance he possessed in such traits of character, and the love which existed between his daughter and the son of a plebeian was countenanced under such considerations, with one proviso; which was, that, being presented with a commission, he should accept it, and hold himself in readiness to leave home and friends when duty should call him to the field of battle.

We have introduced the two standing on a beautiful eminence, in the rear of the general’s sumptuous mansion.

The sun was about going down, and its long, golden rays streamed over hill and dale, palace and cot, clothing all in a voluptuous flow of rich light.

They had stood for several moments in silence, gazing at the quiet and beautiful scene before them, when the musical voice of Rubineau broke forth in exclamations of delight at the blessings of peace.

Alett was not long in answering.  It was a theme on which she delighted to dwell.  Turning the gaze of her large, full eyes up towards those of Rubineau, she said,

“Even so it is.  Holy Peace!  It. is strange that men will love the trumpet’s blast, and the smoke and the heat of the conflict, better than its gentle scenes.  Peace, peace! blessings on thee, as thou givest blessings!”

Rubineau listened to the words of his Alett with a soul of admiration.  He gazed upon her with feelings he had never before felt, and which it was bliss for him to experience.

She, the daughter of an officer, brought up amid all the glare and glitter, show and blazonry, of military life,—­she, who had seen but one side of the great panorama of martial life,—­to speak thus in praise of peace, and disparagingly of the profession of her friends-it somewhat surprised the first speaker.

“It is true,” he replied; “but how uncertain is the continuance of the blessings we now enjoy!  To-morrow may sound the alarm which shall call me from your side to the strife and tumult of war.  Instead of your gentle words, I may hear the shouts of the infuriated soldiery, the cry of the wounded, and the sighs of the dying.”