ground floor of the house in which the French colonel was lodged. The door of their temporary prison opened on a large corridor, then used as a guardroom, and the small unglazed aperture which gave light and air to the apartment, was traversed by three massive iron bars, placed parallel to each other, and firmly riveted into the stone wall. For additional security, and to preclude all possibility of escape, a sentry was placed in a sort of garden on which the window looked out.

The young officer who had been taken at the same time as Marquinez, weary with the day's exertions, soon fell asleep in one of the three or four rickety chairs which composed nearly the whole furniture of the room. His chief did not seem inclined to follow his example, but paced up and down, apparently wrapt in thought. His monotonous promenade had lasted nearly an hour, when he thought he heard his name pronounced. He started and listened, but no sound reached his ears save the measured step of the sentinel under his window, and the burden of an old French chanson à boire, which one of the men on guard was trolling out, with a voice more remarkable for power than melody. Marquinez threw himself into a chair, and attributing to an excited imagination the words which he had fancied he heard, appeared disposed to imitate his aide-de-camp, who was forgetting in sleep the dangers of his position, and the probable death that awaited him. The eyes of the captive guerilla were beginning to close, and his head to sink upon his breast, when the same voice as before broke the silence. 66 Marquinez!" was repeated in a loud whisper. The word was accompanied by a noise such as is produced by a slight blow of iron against iron. This time it was no delusion of a heated brain. Marquinez rushed to the window, and looked out as well as the grating would permit. All was still. The night was raw and wintry, and it was only at rare intervals that the watery rays of the moon obtained a passage through some break in the heavy mantle of clouds which covered the sky. The infantry soldier on sentry had reached the limit of his walk, and was turning to retrace his steps. When he arrived under the window, he allowed the bayonet on the end of his musket to

fall lightly against the bars through which Marquinez was looking, and in a voice which seemed familiar to the ears of the latter, he asked in Spanish, "Estas solo? Are you alone?" "Villaverde is with me, and asleep," was the reply.

"My bayonet is unfixed. Take it, and force the grating."

Marquinez seized the proffered weapon, which was only stuck on the end of the ramrod, and using the greatest possible care to avoid noise, he began to pick out the cement and the small iron wedges by which the bars were fastened into the wall. It was necessary to take out all the three bars, for otherwise the opening would be too small to allow the body of a man to pass; and with no better tool than a bayonet, the task was not an easy one. At the end of half an hour, however, two of the bars had given way, and the prisoner had begun to work at the third, when the sentry, who, during this time had continued his walk without appearing to pay any attention to what was going on in the prison, rapidly approached the window, and, in the low hurried tone in which he had before spoken, exclaimed

"The relief is at hand; hasten, or all is lost!" At the same moment Marquinez heard in the distance the qui vive of a French soldier challenging the guard which was relieving the various sentries placed round the temporary quarters of the troops.

It is no disparagement to the often proved courage of Marquinez, to say that in this agitating moment his heart beat with unusual quickness, whilst big drops of perspiration covered his forehead. His hand, however, lost none of its steadiness, and he plied his bayonet with redoubled vigour, but with less caution than before. Fragments of stone flew from the wall as he struck and delved with desperate violence. He fixed the sharp end of his weapon under the bar, and prizing as with a lever, endeavoured to force it out, when the bayonet, already bent by the unusual purpose to which it was applied, broke off short, and the point remained in the wall. At the same instant Villaverde, awakened by the noise, which had fortunately not reached the ears of the soldiers in the guard-room, stood by the side of his chief, and in an instant comprehended their position. Our two gue

rillas seized the iron bar, which was all that intervened between them and liberty-between an untimely death and a life of freedom and enjoyment. They tugged and wrenched at the fatal obstacle, which shook but would not give way; the heavy tread of the Frenchmen had become audible, when, by an almost superhuman effort, the iron was torn from its place, and with the violence of the shock the two men reeled back into the centre of the room. Instantly recovering themselves, they darted through the window, and stood before their deliverer, who threw down his musket, and tossing off his shako, a profusion of dark ringlets fell upon his shoulders, and Marquinez recognised with astonishment the handsome features of La Collegiala. She was pale as death, but had lost none of her presence of mind. "Por aqui!" cried she, and as the relief turned the angle of the house, and entered the garden, the three fugitives bounded over a low fence, and disappeared in the obscurity. A moment afterwards, the guard, surprised at not being challenged by the man whom they were approaching to relieve, halted under the window, expecting to find that sleep had overtaken the negligent sentry. No sentry was there, but at a few paces distant, a dead soldier, stripped of his greatcoat and shako, was lying with his face against the ground. The long rank grass on which he was extended was wet with blood. He had received a stab in the back which had pierced through to his heart.

In less than an hour after Marquinez was carried off by the French, La Collegiala had set out with a squadron in order to rescue him. This force, which included every man in the cantonment, was deemed sufficient, the peasant having reported the captors as not exceeding fifty in number. La Collegiala made sure of overtaking them before they reached Valladolid, to which city, from the road they had taken, she had no doubt they would proceed. After four or five hours' hard riding, the Spaniards had gained considerably on those they were in pursuit of, when they met with some muleteers, who informed them that they were not above ten minutes in rear of the French, but that the latter must have already joined the main body, whose advanced posts were about a mile off. This was a crushing blow to the hopes of La Collegiala. A moment's reflection, how

ever, was sufficient for her to take a resolution. She struck off the road, and after a few minutes' march across the country, halted, and formed up the squadron in a ploughed field. Then, stripping off her richly-furred pelisse and embroidered forage-cap, she replaced them by a coarse woollen jacket and felt hat, which she had procured from one of the muleteers. Favoured by the darkness of the night, she passed unobserved through the French pickets, and, attracted by the lights in the windows of the guard-room and of the colonel's quarters, she directed her steps to the very garden on which Marquinez's prison looked out. Concealed amongst some shrubs, she heard the orders given the sentry; and convinced that the prisoner whom he was directed to guard could be no other than Marquinez himself, she immediately formed a plan for his rescue, the partial success of which we have already seen.

The fugitives were not fifty yards from the village when they heard the French drums beat to arms. The troops turned out in an instant; a body of cavalry was sent to patrol the road, whilst parties of infantry hastened in all directions to endeavour to intercept the flight of the prisoners. Amidst the din and confusion, the voice of the French colonel might be heard, exciting his men by the promise of large rewards for the recapture of the notable partizan who had thus eluded his vigilance. Meantime, Marquinez and his aide-de-camp, guided by La Collegiala, laboured through the heavy ground; now falling into ditches,now stumbling over stumps of trees and other objects which their haste and the darkness prevented them from seeing. They fortunately passed the pickets before the intelligence of their escape had reached those advanced posts, the officers in command of which, hearing the drums beat to arms, and not knowing the nature of the alarm, kept their men together, instead of extending them right and left, which would probably have ensured the taking of the three Spaniards. At length, covered with mud and panting for breath, Marquinez and his companion reached the squadron, which was still formed up in the field where La Collegiala had left it. Two men dismounted; Marquinez and Villaverde sprang into their saddles, and the little party of hussars moved

off across the country in good order, and as fast as the heavy ground would permit. At the same instant they heard the clatter of the horses' hoofs of the French dragoons as they gallopped along the road, which ran about half musket-shot to the left of their own line of march. This, how ever, caused no uneasiness to Marquinez, who knew that the enemy's cavalry, unacquainted with the country, would not venture to leave the road, and he was sure of being able to keep well ahead of the infantry, who, in their turn, could not prudently advance too far from the main body. He reckoned, therefore, of being soon out of reach of the enemy, when the march of the Spaniards was suddenly arrested by a broad and deep watercourse, with high and perpendicular banks. In vain did they ride up and down, and lose some minutes in endeavouring to find a place at which to pass this new obstacle to their progress. The French infantry were approaching; the torches which they carried showing like so many crimson spots through the thick mist arising from the wet and marshy ground. Already the officers might be heard directing the search, and giving orders to their men. The only remaining chance was to return to the highroad before they were perceived by the infantry, and trust to a bold charge to break through the dragoons, which were in their front. The road was soon gained, and the hussars crossed the wooden bridge which was there thrown over the water-course, and which gave out a hollow sound under their horses' feet. The infantry heard the noise, but paid no attention to it, taking the Spaniards for another patrol sent out from the village. The same mistake was made by the dragoons, whom Marquinez overtook a few hundred yards further, in a wide part of the road. The officer in command had slackened his pace when he heard other cavalry approaching, thinking it might probably bring some order; but not for a moment supposing that an enemy had got between him and the headquarters he had so recently left. He was awakened from his security by the voice of Marquinez. "A ellos!" shouted the guerilla, and his men rushed sabre in hand upon the French, who, taken by surprise, were thrown one upon the other, and a dozen of them cut off their horses

before they had made the slightest resistance. A panic seized the remainder, who, being prevented by the darkness from distinguishing the number of their opponents, imagined themselves betrayed, and surrounded by a very superior force. The greater part leaped their horses over the hedges and low stone walls on either side of the road, and fled in every direction. Some few threw down their arms, and begged for quarter; but the guerillas were not in a merciful mood, and prisoners would have been an incumbrance on the long march they had before them. The pursued became in their turn the pursuers, and Marquinez had to exert his authority to prevent his soldiers from dispersing in chase of the runaways, a chase that would probably have led some of them into the middle of the French infantry.

Marquinez reached his cantonments at daybreak, and at the same hour the French commenced their march back to Valladolid, not a little crestfallen at the events of the night.

A few days after the incident we have related, the approach of spring enabled Marquinez to take the field. After one of the first skirmishes shared in by his troops, two or three men deserted to him from the French, and by their own desire were incorporated into a squadron of hussars. One of these men, a German, made himself particularly remarked by his smart and soldierly bearing, and by his hatred of the French, whom he constantly execrated, declaring that his sincerest wish was to revenge on them some part of the ill treatment he had received at their hands. Effectively, in one or two affairs, he displayed so much courage and blood-thirstiness that he attracted the notice of Marquinez, who attached him to his person as an orderly. The zeal of the deserter redoubled, and he exhibited that boundless devotion to his general so naturally felt by every brave soldier for an indulgent master and gallant chief.

It was some months later that the hussars of Marquinez, being in the neighbourhood of Palencia, their leader had occasion to visit that town, and he set out, attended only by his German orderly. At a certain distance from the above-named place, and when the road, running between two hills, is shaded by a row of large beech-trees, the travellers came to one

of those ancient fountains, not uncommon in Spain, and which seem to have been erected with the double object of administering to the thirst of the wayfarer, and of inviting him to solicit, by prayer, a blessing on his journey. On the upper part of a mossy and time-worn slab of grey stone, placed perpendicularly against the rocky bank which bordered the road, was rudely sculptured in relievo a representation of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus in her arms. From a broken wooden spout, which protruded from the same stone at about the height of a man from the ground, gushed forth a stream of water of crystal clearness, which fell bubbling and sparkling into a granite trough below, while the vicinity of the fountain had encouraged the growth of a profusion of hedge flowers, which decked the banks and sides of the road, and perfumed the air with their wild and delicious fragrance.

At this cool and pleasant spot-a sort of oasis on the hot sandy road along which he had been riding Marquinez drew rein, and loosening his horse's breastplate, allowed the animal to plunge his mouth and nostrils in the trough. Whilst his charger was drinking-an operation rendered somewhat difficult by his large and severe bit-the orderly continued to move forward, until he had greatly diminished the distance usually kept between an officer and his attendant. When he arrived within a couple of paces of the fountain, he silently drew a pistol from his holster, took a deliberate aim at the head of Marquinez, and pulled the trigger. The bullet split the skull of the unfortunate Spaniard, who first fell forward on his horse's neck, and then rolled to the ground, striking in his fall against the stone basin, which was sprinkled with his blood. The assassin sprang from his saddle, and stood over his victim with a sharp short dagger in his band. He had no occasion to use it. The teeth of the guerilla chieftain were set firmly against each other, and a slight froth stood upon his lips. The independence of Spain had lost one of its most gallant defenders.

When the news of this cowardly deed reached Marquinez's comrades, the latter did not hesitate to attribute it to the French general Boyer, from whose column the German had de

serted. It would be unjust, however, to lay the instigation of so foul a murder at the door of a brave officer without some better proof than mere suspicions. One thing is certain-that when the murderer, after some hairbreadth escapes, succeeded in rejoining the French, he received an officer's commission, as a reward for having rid them of so troublesome and active

an enemy.

Shortly after Marquinez's death, La Collegiala, with thirty or forty men, deserted to Valladolid, then held by the French. Those who knew her best, were unable to discover or imagine any possible reason for so extraordinary an act. Some few, indeed, supposed that she had taken this step as the only means by which she could hope to find an opportunity of revenging the death of her lover; and they predicted that many days would not elapse ere La Collegiala would return to the Spanish lines with the blood of Marquinez's assassin on her knife blade. If this supposition was the correct one, if such was the motive which induced her to abandon the cause of her country, she was unable to accomplish her design; for, a few days after her desertion, the order came from Napoleon to send back to France all the foreign troops in the French service, for the purpose of their being disbanded. Italians, Poles, and Germans, were all sent across the frontier, and with them marched the murderer of Marquinez.

La Collegiala continued with the French, and commanded, with the rank of captain, a band of about a hundred irregular cavalry, composed of the men who had deserted with her, and of others who subsequently came over. On the evacuation of Spain by the French troops, which occurred soon afterwards, she accompanied them, and remained in France till an amnesty was published, of which she took advantage, and returned to her own country. Bidding adieu to her masculine dress and habits, she became exceedingly devout, and gave up the whole of her time to religious exercises and the education of her children -a more praiseworthy than poetical termination to the career of the adventurous amazon who had shared the hardships and perils of Marquinez the guerilla.

THERE is no reader who has not heard of Solon's apologetic distinction between the actual system of laws, framed by himself for the Athenian people, under his personal knowledge of the Athenian temper, and that better system which he would have framed in a case where either the docility of the national character had been greater, or the temptations to insubordination had been less. Some thing of the same distinction must be taken on behalf of Plato, between the ideal form of Civil Polity which he contemplated in the ten books of his Republic, and the practical form which he contemplated in the thirteen books of his Legislative System.* In the former work he supposes himself to be instituting an independent state, on such principles as were philosophically best; in the latter, upon the assumption that what might be the best as an abstraction, was not always the best as adapted to a perverse human nature, nor under ordinary circumstances the most likely to be durable. He professes to make a comproImise between his sense of duty as a philosopher, and his sense of expedience as a man of the world. Like Solon, he quits the normal for the attainable; and from the ideal man, flexible to all the purposes of a haughty philosophy, he descends in his subsequent speculations to the refractory Athenian as he really existed in the generation of Pericles. And this fact gives a great value to the more abstract work; since no inferences against Greek sentiment or Greek principles could have been drawn from a work applying itself to Grecian habits as he found them, which it would not be easy to evade. "This," it would have been said, "is not what Plato approved-but what Plato conceived to be the best compromise with the difficulties of the case under the given civilization." Now, on the contrary, we have Plato's view of absolute optimism, the true maximum

perfectionis for social man, in a condition openly assumed to be modelled after a philosopher's ideal. There is no work, therefore, from which profounder draughts can be derived of human frailty and degradation, under its highest intellectual expansion, previously to the rise of Christianity. Just one century dated from the birth of Plato, which, by the most plausible chronology, very little preceded the death of Pericles, the great Macedonian expedition under Alexander was proceeding against Persia. By that time the bloom of Greek civility had suffered. That war, taken in connexion with the bloody feuds that succeeded it amongst the great captains of Alexander, gave a shock to the civilization of Greece; so that upon the whole, until the dawn of the Christian era, more than four centuries later, it would not be possible to fix on any epoch more illustrative of Greek intellect, or Greek refinement, than precisely that youth of Plato, which united itself by immediate consecutive succession to the most brilliant section in the administration of Pericles. It was, in fact, throughout the course of the Peloponnesian war-the one sole war that divided the whole household of Greece against itself, giving motive to efforts, and dignity to personal competitionscontemporary with Xenophon and the younger Cyrus, during the manhood of Alcibiades, and the declining years of Socrates-amongst such coevals and such circumstances of war and revolutionary truce-that Plato passed his fervent youth. The bright sunset of Pericles still burned in the Athenian heavens; the gorgeous tragedy and the luxuriant comedy, so recently created, were now in full possession of the Athenian stage; the city was yet fresh from the hands of its creatorsPericles and Phidias; the fine arts were towering into their meridian altitude; and about the period when Plato might be considered an adult