invasion of his country. Discontent was open. It was ripening to

something worse for Leopold than an Austrian invasion.

Presently a sergeant of the Royal Horse Guards cantered down the

street from the palace. He stopped here and there, and, dismounting,

tacked placards in conspicuous places. At the notice, and in each

instance cheers and shouting followed the sergeant as he rode on to

the next stop.

Now, at each point men and women were gathered, eagerly awaiting an

explanation of the jubilation farther up the street. Those whom the

sergeant passed called to him for an explanation, and not receiving

it, followed in a quickly growing mob that filled Margaretha Street

from wall to wall. When he dismounted he had almost to fight his way

to the post or door upon which he was to tack the next placard. The

crowd surged about him in its anxiety to read what the placard bore,

and then, between the cheering and yelling, those in the front

passed back to the crowd the tidings that filled them with so great

rejoicing.

"Leopold has declared war on Austria!" "The king calls for

volunteers!" "Long live the king!"

The battle of Lustadt has passed into history. Outside of the

little kingdom of Lutha it received but passing notice by the world

at large, whose attention was riveted upon the great conflicts along

the banks of the Meuse, the Marne, and the Aisne. But in Lutha! Ah,

it will be told and retold, handed down from mouth to mouth and from

generation to generation to the end of time.

How the cavalry that the king sent north toward Blentz met the

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