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men who solicit the means of having masses said for him-all contribute to lull, to distract his attention, and to prevent his thoughts from resting on the fate which attends him. If he turns his head to the right, the Franciscan at this side speaks to him of the infinite mercy of God. On the left, the other Franciscan is at his side to extol the powerful intercession of his patron, Saint Francis. He goes to execution, as a coward to battle, between two officers, who keep a close eye on him, and keep up his courage. He has not an interval of quiet, will the philosopher exclaim? So much the better. The incessant excitement which they keep up about him, prevents his giving himself up to his thoughts, which would inflict on him infinitely greater pain.

I now perceived the reason why the monks, and especially those of the mendicant orders, exercise such extraordinary influence over the minds of the lower orders. Nor should this excite the choler of the intolerant liberals; they are, in truth, the support and the consolation of these unfortunates, from their very birth to the last moment of their lives. What more frightful occupation, for instance, can be imagined, than that of associating oneself, for three days, with a wretched criminal who is about to be put to death? For my own part, I do think that, if I was so unfortunate as to have the prospect of hanging before me, I should be delighted to have two Franciscans to chat with in the interval.

The course which the procession took was very tortuous, for the purpose of passing through the widest and most public streets. I took with my guide a more direct road, by which I again crossed the criminal in his route. I remarked that in the interval of the time which had expired from his leaving the prison to his reaching the street where I saw him again, the height of his figure was considerably bent down. He sunk by degrees; his head fell upon his chest, just as if it were held up only by the skin of his neck. Meanwhile, his features betrayed no expression of fear. He kept his eyes fixed steadily on the image he held between his hands; and if for a moment he averted them from it, it

was but to turn them on the Franciscans, whom he seemed to listen to with deep interest.

I was about to have returned home then, but I was pressed to go on to the great square, to the house of a shopkeeper, from the balcony of which, I was told I could command a view of the execution; or if I wished to escape from the spectacle, it was in my power to do so by re-entering the adjoining apartment. I accordingly proceeded.

The square was far from being full. Even the stalls of the sellers of fruit and vegetables were not discomposed. It was quite easy for one to make his way in every direction. The gallows, surmounted by the arms of Arragon, was erected in front of an elegant edifice of Moorish architecture, the silk-exchange (la Lonja de Seda). The market-place is long; the houses, which surround them are small, though consisting of many stories high; and each tier of windows has its iron balcony. Looking at them from a distance, one would be disposed to take them for great cages. A considerable number of these balconies were wholly without spectators.

In the one where I was about to take my post, I found two young girls of about sixteen or eighteen, comfortably established on chairs, and fanning themselves with an easy, fashionable air. Both the one and the other were extremely pretty; and by their exceedingly neat dress of black silk, their satin shoes, and mantillas trimmed with lace, I concluded they were the daughters of at least some opulent citizen. I was confirmed in this opinion by observing that, although in speaking to each other they used the Valencian dialect, they, notwithstanding, understood and spoke the pure Spanish correctly.

In a corner of the square was placed a little chapel. This chapel and the gallows, which was not remote from it, were enclosed in a great hollow square formed by the royalist volunteers and the troops of the line.

The soldiers having opened their ranks to receive the procession, the criminal was taken down off the ass, and conducted to the front of the altar I have mentioned. The monks surrounded him, he threw himself on his

knees, and repeatedly kissed the steps of the altar. I could not tell what they were saying to him. In the meanwhile the hangman examined his rope, and his ladder; and having finished this survey, he approached the unfortunate man, who still continued prostrate, placed his hand upon his shoulder, and according to custom said, "brother, it is time."

All the monks, with the exception of one, now quitted him; and the hangman was, as it would seem, put in possession of his victim. In leading him towards the ladder, (or rather staircase of planks,) he took care, with his large hat, which he placed before his eyes, to hide from him the view of the gallows. But the criminal seemed to endeavour to push back the hat with his head, wishing, as it were, to show that he was not afraid to look the instrument of his punishment in the face.

Twelve o'clock struck when the hangman ascended the fatal ladder, dragging the criminal after him, who got up with some difficulty, because he went backwards. The ladder was wide, and had a balustrade but at one side. The monk was at the side next the balustrade, the hangman and the criminal went up at the other. The monk spoke continually, and using a great deal of gesture. When they had reached the top of the ladder, at the same instant that the executioner placed the rope round the neck of the sufferer with great adroitness, they told me that the monk made him repeat the credo. Then, raising his voice, he exclaimed-" my brethren, unite your prayers with those of this unhappy sinner." I heard a soft voice pronounce, at my side, with emotion, Amen. I turned round my head and saw one of my pretty little Valencians, with her colour a little heightened, and using her fan with rapidity. She was looking fixedly towards the gallows. I turned my eyes in the same direction-the monk was coming down the ladder, the criminal hung suspended in the air, the hangman was on his shoulders, and the assistant was dragging at his legs.

POSTSCRIPT.-I don't well know if your patriotism will suffer you to pardon my partiality for Spain. Since

we are upon the chapter of punishments, I must tell you that if I like their mode of conducting an execution better than ours; I am still disposed to give the preference to their galleys, rather than to those to which we send every year about twelve hundred rogues. Observe, I do not speak of the presidios of Africa, which I have not seen. At Toledo, Seville, Granada, Cadiz, I have seen a great number of galley-slaves (presidiarios) who have by no means a miserable life of it. They work either at making or repairing the roads. They were badly clad enough, but their countenances by no means gave indication of that gloomy despair which I have observed among our galley-slaves. They receive from great pots, with which they cook, a pachero exactly the same of that given to the soldiers who guard them, and they afterwards smoke a cigar in the shade. But what pleases me most of all, is, that the people here do not repulse them from them, as they do in France. The reason of this is a simple one; in France every one who is sent to the galleys has been a thief at least, if not worse. In Spain, on the contrary, very respectable people, at different periods, have been sentenced to pass their lives there, simply for having entertained opinions not conformable with those of the reigning powers. Although the number of these political victims has been but very small, it, nevertheless, is quite sufficient to make a difference in public estimation, as to the galley-slaves. It would be better we should fall into error in treating a rogue better than he deserved, than that we should put a slight on a man of honour. Accordingly, a man readily gives them light for their cigar, addressing them as,

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my friend, comrade;" and their guards do not make them feel as if they were men of an inferior race.

If this letter does not already appear to you enormously long, I will relate an occurrence of some time ago, which will enable you to understand what are the manners of the people towards the presidiarios.

As I was travelling from Granada on my way to Baylen, I overtook, on the road, a fine-looking man, who advanced with a good military step. He was followed by a little rough

haired dog.

His clothes were of a singular fashion, and different from those of the peasantry I had met. Notwithstanding that my horse was in a trot, he kept up with me without difficulty, and joined in conversation with me. We soon became capital friends. My guide addressed him respectfully, in the usual manner (Usted). They spoke to each other of a Mr. Such-a-one of Granada, governor of the presidio, whom they both knew. The hour of breakfast having arrived, we stopped at a house where we could get some wine. Our friend with the dog took from his knapsack a piece of salt fish, and offered it to me. I invited him to join his fare to mine, and we all three breakfasted together, with a good appetite. I must also confess to you, that we all drank out of the same bottle, by reason of there not being a glass within a league of us.

I inquired why he encumbered himself, on the road, with so young a dog. He told me, in reply, that the dog was the chief object of his journey, and that his commandant had sent him with him to Jaen, to deliver him to one of his friends there. Seeing that he was not in uniform, and hearing him speak of his commandant, I said to him-"you are then a miguelet?" (a sort of soldier from the Pyrenees,) "no--a presidiario." I was a little surprised.

"What, did you not observe his dress?" asked my guide.

The manner of this man, who was an honest muleteer, did not change after this discovery, in the slightest degree. He presented the bottle to me first, in my quality of caballero, then offered it to the galley-slavedrank after him, and, in fine, treated him with all the politeness which persons of their class use towards each other in Spain.

"And what sent you to the galleys?" I ventured to ask my fellow-traveller. "Oh, Sir, a misfortune I met with. I happened to have to do with the death of some fellows. (Fue por una desgracia. Me hallé en unas muertes.)" "How the devil was that ?"

"I'll tell you how it happened; I was a miguelet-I was one of a party of about twenty of my comrades, who escorted a convoy of presidiarios to Valencia. Upon the road there was

an attempt made by some of their friends to deliver them, and, at the same time, there was a simultaneous movement amongst our prisoners. Our captain was puzzled what to do. If the prisoners were to escape he was responsible for all the mischief that might accrue. He was obliged to decide, and gave us order to fire on the prisoners. We fired, and killed about fifteen, and afterwards repulsed their comrades; all this happened in the time of the famous constitution; when the French came back, and took that away, proceedings were taken against us, poor miguelets, because amongst the presidiarios whom we had killed there had been several royalist gentlemen (caballeros) that the constitutionalists had arrested. Our captain was dead, so they came upon us. Our time is, however, nearly out, and, as my commandant places confidence in me, because I conduct myself quietly, he sends me to Jaen to deliver this letter and this dog to the commandant of the presidio there."

My guide was a royalist, and it was evident that the galley-slave was a constitutionalist; nevertheless, they continued on perfectly good terms. When we again took to the road the little dog was so tired that the galleyslave was obliged to carry him on his back, wrapped up in his cloak. The conversation of this man amused me extremely; on his side, the cigars I gave him, and the breakfast he had shared with me, had so attached him to me that he offered to accompany me to Baylen. "The road is not quite safe" said he, "I shall get a musket at Jaen, from one of my friends, and, even if we meet half a dozen of brigands, they won't take to the value of a pocket-handkerchief from you."

"But," said I, "if you do not return to your presidio, you run the risque of an addition to your time-of a year, perhaps ?"

"Pooh! what matter? and sure you can give me a certificate to attest that I accompanied you. Besides, I could not feel comfortable if I allowed you to go that road alone."

I should have consented to his accompanying me, but that he got into a quarrel with my guide. The following was the cause of it :-after having kept up, nearly eight leagues, Spanish,

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NAPIER'S HISTORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR.*

COLONEL NAPIER's fourth volume of the History of the Peninsular War has made its appearance; and we may fairly congratulate the public upon the prospect of the speedy completion of decidedly the ablest military narrative in the language. The colonel possesses talents which peculiarly qualify him for the work in which he is engaged, and has been able to avail him self of information not accessible to many others. He was himself an eye-witness of many of the events which he has undertaken to record; and his powers of graphical delineation are such as make his readers almost eye-witnesses of them. Indeed it is our opinion, that military transactions, upon a large scale, can only be adequately narrated by a military man. To him alone can be accurately known their exact value and their relative importance. To the eye of an unprofessional observer many things may appear of great moment, by which, either in their immediate or remote results, the issue of the campaign might be very little affected; while, by things of apparently little moment, its entire character may have been determined. The ordinary reader is too apt to regard a military history as a romance, and to conceive, that all its interest consists in the brilliancy of the exploits which are detailed, and the traits of individual heroism that are exhibited. It is for the soldier alone to preserve an undazzled eye amid all this adventitious splendour, and to regard every event and every character only in their subserviency to the object sought to be attained by the general system of scientific combinations. Therefore it is, in our humble judgment, that the professional know

History of the War

ledge and the actual experience of a military man are almost, if not altogether, indispensable in such a work as that which Colonel Napier has undertaken, and the peculiar excellencies of which are clearly traceable, less to his craft as an author, than to his tact and his intelligence as a gallant soldier.

Indeed, in those parts of the work that are not strictly military, the colonel is not unfrequently liable to censure. His party prejudices are very strong, and an envenomed spirit is clearly observable in all his political animadversions. With him the amiable and gifted Perceval was a low and groveling bigot, and Canning a species of charletan, whose political caprioleries might furnish a farcical parody upon the graver and more dignified eccentricities of Don Quixotte. Now, we are not called upon to maintain that the measures of the former were as bold as they might have been; but if they were not, that was clearly not more ascribable to the character of the man than to the nature of the accursed Whig opposition against whom he had to contend in parliament, and who, if they had been actually employed by Buonaparte for the purpose of forwarding his views in Spain, could not have been more directly instrumental in enabling him to accomplish his nefarious object. And while we do admit that the policy of Mr. Canning was not regulated by all the foresight or all the prudence that might have been desired, we never can set down the chivalrous ardour with which he identified himself with the cause of Spain as amongst his heaviest political delinquencies, nor help regarding the generous courage with which he hurled defiance at a sordid and unprincipled opposition, backed

in the Peninsula and the South of France, from the year 1807 to the year 1814. By W. F. P. Napier, C. B., Colonel, H. P. 43d regiment, Member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Military Science. Vol. IV. 8vo. London: Boone, 1834.

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