nearly an hour, and when he's awake he does nothing but walk up and down the room, talking to hisself. Perhaps I'd better go up and tell him as you're come, sir, for he's summut startlish at times."

"No, no; I'll be my own messenger," and, accompanied by Markland, the old man rushed up to his son's apartments.

After knocking once or twice at the door, and receiving no answer, they tried to open it, but, to their surprise, found that it was bolted.

"Do not be alarmed, sir," said Markland to the trembling parent; "doubtless your son's asleep, and does not wish to be disturbed."

"True-true; I forgot that," replied the elder Raymond, grasping his companion fervently by the hand, in gratitude for his suggestion-"nevertheless, I cannot rest till I've ascertained the fact;" with which words he knocked more loudly than before, and called on his son by name, in a tone of voice, however, which was quite broken and disguised by agitation.

"Hark!" said he, listening with intense anxiety, "I hear a sound!"

"Yes," rejoined Markland," he is opening his bed-room door;" and, peeping through the keyhole, the chemist beheld Henry walk slowly towards the fireplace, which was right opposite the door.

Just as he reached it, he turned round, when the horrorstruck Markland perceived that his throat was bared, and that he held an open razor in his hand.

"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, starting back, "he's about to""What? Speak, man, speak, or I shall lose my senses."

The chemist made no reply, but thundered at the door with all his might.

"Henry, my son-my darling boy, let me in; pray, let me in-quick! 'Tis your father calls!"

A loud frantic laugh was the only reply.

Help, help-break open the door!" shouted the old man at the top of his voice; and joining his strength-the strength of desperation-to that of the chemist's, they at length succeeded in wrenching the crazy door off its hinges, and dashed into the room.

Alas! it was too late. The zied deed was done. Right in centre of the apartment stood the m niac-a ghastly spectacle!-with the blood pouring in a full tide from his yawning throat, and his red eye kindling like a coal! The instant he caught sight of the intruders, he glared on them like a demon, tossed his arms wildly above his head, and then fell forward his full length, stone-dead, at the feet of his father!

Thirty years had passed, when one day, in the early part of the London season, a clergyman of the Church of England (who was afterwards raised to the deanery of) discovered, while turning over some volumes on a book-stall in the Blackfriar's Road, a work, covered with dust, in boards, and with scarcely a leaf cut, entitled, "THE PLAYS OF SCHYLUS, translated by HENRY RAYMOND, Esq." Being an ardent lover of classical literature, he examined the book, which was quite new to him, with considerable curiosity, and was so much struck with the spirited and poetic manner in which the translation of some of the choruses was executed, that he made an instant purchase of the work; and finding, on a careful perusal, that it fully realized all his expectations, he made it the subject of an elaborate criticism in a well-known monthly review, to which, in common with the best scholars of the day, he occasion. ally contributed. This criticism excited, in no ordinary degree, the attention of the learned world, and numerous, but fruitless, were the enquiries made after the translator, whose volume thus, for the first time, sanctioned by the imprimatur of the cognoscenti, speedily ran through a second edition, while he himself slept unnoticed in his humble grave! Yes, the fame for which he had toiled in vain when living, was awarded to him when dead-the usual lot of genius ; for the Temple of Fame stands upon the grave, and death is the price that must be paid for the privilege of entrance. Gentle reader, the moral of my tale to quote the words of that great and good man, Walter Scott-is this: "Literature is a good staff, but a sorry crutch!"

DURING the late civil war in Spain, one of the means adopted by both parties for their mutual annoyance was the formation, or, more properly speaking, the permitting to be formed, of various "Cuerpos Francos" or Free Corps, the men belonging to which generally partook in pretty equal proportions of the character of brigands and of soldiers. There was, however, a difference in the composition and nature of these bands, according as they belonged to the one or to the other of the two parties who for seven years made Spain the arena of their strife, and a land of bloodshed and desolation.

The Carlist free corps were in far greater number, and much less scrupulous than those of the Christinos; in fact, assimilating more to the robber. They were of many kinds. The partida or corps of several hundred men, usually from two hundred to a thousand, and commanded in most instances by chiefs who, in addition to great boldness and recklessness of character, had pretensions to some degree of military knowledge- these parties, augmented by volunteers and deserters, and driven by the Christinos from the district where they carried on their depredations, were not unfrequently formed into a regular battalion and attached to a Carlist corps d'armée. Sometimes beaten and decimated by the troops of the queen, and by the national guards, who waged a war of extermination with them wherever they appeared, the remnants of two or three partidas would unite under one leader and recommence their excursions. Besides these large bodies of men their were smaller ones, chiefly of cavalry, and from fifty to two hundred horse, who would appear suddenly in villages where their coming was unexpected and their very existence unknown, and after plunder ing the unfortunate inhabitants, contrived by forced marches, and an intimate acquaintance with the country, to baffle for the time the pursuit of the troops sent after them. The volantes or flying guerilla parties are hardly to be named, as, although they were to be found in most of the provinces of Spain during the war, they were seldom of more than ten to twenty

men, usually armed peasants; and, although calling themselves Carlists, were frequently disowned by the latter, and shot as robbers when taken by the queen's troops or authorities. The muleteer, unapprehensive of danger, and singing gayly as he guided his wellladen team; the solitary dragoon bearing a despatch; the foot-sore straggler from an escort party; the officer attended only by his servant, and rejoining his regiment on horseback after a short leave of absence, dearly purchased by some severe wound; these were usually the prey sought after by the volantes. A gleaming of musket-barrels in the copse bordering the road, did not warn the lonely traveller suffi ciently early to avoid the quickly following discharge, fatal to rider or horse, or both, and in an incredibly short time he was stripped of every thing worth taking, and the plunderers in full retreat to their fastnesses, or perhaps in ambush for another victim.

The Cuerpos Francos of the Christinos were better disciplined and organized, and most of the officers were allowed a rank in the queen's service one grade below that which they held as free companions. In the course of the war more than one of these corps were made regiments of the line, being equal in discipline and appearance to nearly any of the Spanish regular infantry. But not any of the free corps have more distinguished themselves or become better known throughout Spain, than that of the volunteers of La Rioja, under Martin Zurbano, called Barea. This intrepid and fortunate adventurer is a native of the district of La Rioja, from which his corps takes its name, and which comprises small portions of the province of Alava and of the kingdom of Navarre. In time of peace a contrabandista, or smuggler, he soon after the commencement of the war sought and obtained permission to raise a body of men to act in conjunction with the queen's troops against the Carlists. His standard, once displayed, was resorted to by smugglers, robbers, and outcasts of all descriptions, attracted by the prospect of plunder and adventure. These were increased by deserters from the faction, until at last he numbered five or six hundred men

under his orders. It is not intended at present to give a memoir of Zurbano, and we shall therefore not follow him through the numerous bold exploits, and daring and successful enterprises, which have raised him from chief of a handful of banditti-like guerillas, to be a general in the Spanish service at the head of several thousand fine troops. His distinguishing characteristics are a reckless personal bravery, entire devotion to the cause he has espoused, and great conduct and cunning in carrying through his enterprizes, which, whilst only in command of a small force, were necessarily limited to harassing the enemy, cutting off convoys, and surprising detachments; exploits in which he was highly successful, greatly aided no doubt by his minute knowledge of the greater part of the Basque provinces, more especially of Alava and the Navarrese bank of the Ebro. It is one of these exploits that is about to be recounted; and the few observations that have preceded were necessary, in order to dispense with too great detail in the subsequent narrative.

It was a gusty evening in the autumn of 1836. The gates of the city of Vittoria had been shut about an hour, when an orderly sergeant passed under the high gloomy arch which, according to the fashion of building in most Spanish towns of a certain antiquity, forms the entrance to the narrow and dirty lane known as the Calle Nueva. From the dingy windows and half open doors of the wine-shops and less reputable places of resort, which abound in that street, issued forth sounds of boisterous merriment, united with the tinkling of cracked guitars and the rattling of castanets. An occasional deep oath and noisy scuffle betokened that the revellers were get

soon

ting quarrelsome over their cups, and that the cuchillo* might chance to be brought into play. It was in these houses that were billeted the volunteers of La Rioja; and the sergeant, whose arrival we have noted, came charged with an order to march that night. His communication changed the occupations of the men. Glasses and bottles were deserted, guitars thrown aside, women dismissed with almost as little ceremony, and the careful examination of the musket, the changing of the damaged flint, the filling the leathern belt with cartridges, were the pressing cares of the moment. The soldiers of Zurbano were too well habituated to the sudden orders of their restless chief to be easily taken unprepared; and on this occasion Martin had purposely kept his intended sortie a secret from all until the gates were closed, lest some spy or peasant might have conveyed intelligence to the enemy.

The church clocks had chimed the eleventh hour of the night, and "sentinela alerta"† was running round the line of sentries on the well-guarded walls of Vittoria, when Martin Zurbano rode along the front of his little band, drawn up within the eastern gate of the city. Could an inhabitant of peaceful and highly-civilized countries, a London or Paris lounger for instance, have been transported suddenly to the side of the guerilla chief, and have accompanied him in his inspection, he would hardly have been induced to believe himself in the thirty-sixth year of the nineteenth century, and within a week's travelling of either of the above-named capitals; still less would he have been inclined to accord the title of soldiers to the wild-looking troops before him, whose only point of uniformity con

* Knife.

sisted in their arms. Here were to be found the natives of every part of Spain: Basques and Navarrese, with their high, sharply-cut profiles, sinewy limbs, and spare bodies, side by side with the Andalusian and Valencian, easily distinguished by their delicate features, slight frame, and generally low stature, the beautifully-penciled eyebrow and mustache setting off their clear but almost copper-colour ed skins; the Gallego, powerful and heavily limbed, but generally of dull and inexpressive countenance; the grave Castilian, and the passionate Aragonese, Catalonians and Manchegos, and some few Portuguese and Frenchmen. So much for the varieties of race. Nor was their dress less motley and bizarre. Some had the loose grey coat of a Christine infantry soldier; some the short dark jacket, laden with metal buttons of a sugar-loaf shape, which was the uniform of the greater part of the Carlist army; and others again wore the Zumara, or sheepskin jacket, so generally used in the Basque provinces and by the Pyrenean mountaineers. The boina or beret, bonnets de police, forage-caps of every description, formed the head-dress of these desperadoes, some of whom had adopted also a sort of hussar cap, with bag and tassel of red or yellow cloth hanging on one side. On the extreme right of the line, were twenty to thirty cavalry, for the most part badly mounted and equipped, but fully armed with lance and sabre, carbine and pistol. On the immediate left of these came the light company, composed of about forty of the finest men of the corps, amongst whom were some who might have served as models for the painter or statuary. This light company was well and uniformly clothed with grey frock-coats, secured round the middle by a belt, and having a short scarlet cape, which just covered the shoulders. On their heads they wore a scarlet cap, resembling the French cap of liberty, and fastened under the chin by a broad black velvet band, which completely encircled the face, and formed a sort of frame to their sun-burned and frequently picturesque countenances. With alpar gatas on their feet, and rifles in their

hands, these men appeared and were the beau idéal of guerillas.

After entering into these details of the men, it is necessary to say a word of the appearance of their leader. Zurbano is a trifle under the middle size, and about forty-five to fifty years of age. Square built and muscular, he possesses all the activity and strength of a man of thirty, whilst the lines on his bronzed and weatherbeaten countenance appear more the result of fatigue and anxiety, than indications of the approach of old age. His face is clean-shaven, with the exception of a short whisker, which, as well as his hair, and thick, shaggy eyebrow, is of a dark-brown, or rather a tawny black. A deep-set and very quick grey eye, and thin compressed lips, give something fierce and almost cruel to his aspect; which expression is, however, redeemed in great measure by the frankness of his broad, open brow, and by a sunny smile, rendered the more pleasing, perhaps, by the rarity with which it flits across his features. It is a countenance that would be judged differently by men of different parties. The Carlist, detesting the very name of Barea, would probably denounce his physiognomy as that of a savage and bloodthirsty assassin, and conveying the expression of every bad passion; whilst the Liberal, full of gratitude to the man, and mindful of the manifold services he has rendered the cause, would find much to admire in the soldierlike features and determined bearing of this hardy partisan. How often is judgment swayed by feelings and predilections!

Martin rode to the head of the column, mounted on a powerful black stallion, and followed by his son, a slight boy of fifteen, whose lance, at the period we now write of, had already been dyed by the blood of more Carlists than he had years over his head. The gate was opened, and the little troop filed through and advanced upon the high-road to Salvatierra.

After proceeding about a mile on this route, they inclined to the right, and struck off across the country nearly in as straight a line as the crow flies. And now the greatest caution