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He sat down, and related the horrible adventure. His narrative was received with a fearful silence.

"You have been more unfortunate than criminal," at last replied the terrible general. "You are not responsible for the crime of the Spaniards; and unless the marshal shall decide differently, I acquit you of blame."

These words afforded but feeble consolation to the wretched officer. "When the Emperor shall come to know this!"-he exclaimed.

"He will want to have you shot," said the general; "but we shall see. However, no more of this," he added, in a severe tone, "except to draw from it a vengeance which shall strike a salutary terror upon this country of treachery."

An hour after, a whole regiment, a detachment of cavalry, and a train of artillery, were on their march. The general and Victor marched at the head of this column. The soldiers, informed of the massacre of their comrades, were filled with an unexampled fury. The distance that separated the town of Menda from the headquarters was traversed with a miraculous rapidity. On the route the general found whole villages in arms. Every one of these miserable hamlets was reduced to ashes, and their inhabitants decimated. By some inexplicable fatality, the English vessels had remained lying to, without advancing, so that the town of Menda was surrounded by the French troops with scarcely a blow struck. The inhabitants, seized with consternation, and seeing themselves destitute of that aid which the appearance of the English sails had seemed to promise them, offered to surrender at discretion. By one of those acts of self-devotion which have not been rare in the Peninsula, those concerned in the assassination of the French, foreseeing, from the well-known cruelty of the general, that Menda would probably be given to the flames, and its whole population put to the sword, proposed to the general to give information against themselves. He accepted their offer, adding to it the condition that all the inhabitants of the castle, from the lowest valet to the marquis, should be delivered into his

hands. This capitulation being agreed upon, the general promised to pardon the rest of the people of the town, and to prevent his soldiers from sacking or setting it on fire. An enormous contribution was imposed on it, and the richest inhabitants surrendered themselves as prisoners to guaranty its payment, which was to be consummated within twenty-four hours.

The general, having taken every precaution necessary for the safety of his troops, and provided for the defence of the country, refused to billet his soldiers in the houses. He encamped them, and then ascended to the castle, of which he took military possession. All the members of the family of Léganès, consisting of his wife, two daughters and three sons, together with the servants, were placed under careful guard, and pinioned. The general ordered the prisoners to be shut up in the saloon in which the ball had taken place. The windows of that apartment embraced a view of the terrace that overhung the town. The staff was established in a neighboring gallery, where the general first held a council of war on the measures to be taken to oppose the landing of the English.

After having despatched an aide-decamp to Marshal Ney, and given orders for the erection of batteries on the coast, the general and his staff turned their attention to the prisoners. Two hundred Spaniards whom the inhabitants had delivered up were immediately shot upon the terrace. After this military execution, the general commanded as many scaffolds to be planted on the terrace as there were persons in the saloon, and the executioner of the town to be brought to the spot.

Taking advantage of the interval to elapse before the service of dinner for the staff in the gallery of the castle, Victor Marchand went to see the prisoners. Presently he returned to the general.

"I come," he said in a voice of strong emotion, " to ask favors."

"You!" answered the general, with a tone of bitter irony.

"Alas!" replied Victor, "they are

It was afterwards ascertained that these vessels carried only artillery, and that they had outsailed the rest of the transports.

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melancholy favors. The marquis, seeing the scaffolds planted there, has indulged the hope that you would for his family change that mode of death. He entreats you that the nobles may be decapitated."

"Be it so," said the general.

"They ask also that the consolations of religion be afforded them, and that they may be released from their bonds. They promise to make no attempt at escape."

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"I consent," said the general, "but you will be answerable for them."

"The old man, moreover, offers you the whole of his fortune if you will pardon his young son."

"Indeed!" replied the chief; "but his fortune already belongs to King Joseph.' -He paused. A scornful smile wrinkled his brow, and he added: "I will even go beyond their wishes. I guess the importance of the last request. Very well!-let him purchase the perpetuation of his name, and let Spain preserve forever the memory both of their treachery and their punishment. I grant a pardon, and the whole of that fortune, to whichever of his sons shall perform the office of the executioner. Begone-and not a word more on the subject!"

Victor remained thunder-struck.

Dinner was served. All the officers, seated at table, satisfied the demands of a hunger sharpened by fatigue. One only of their number was wanting from the circle; it was Victor Marchand. After a long hesitation he proceeded to the apartment in which were mourn ing the proud family of Léganès. He entered. He cast a mournful glance over the spectacle now presented by that saloon where the evening before he had seen the gay and brilliant heads of the two young girls and the three youths whirling in the stream of the waltz. He shuddered as he thought that they were soon to roll to the ground, severed by the sword of the headsman. The father and the mother, the three sons and two daughters, pinioned to gilt sofas, remained in a state of perfect motionlessness. Eight servants were standing in silence, with their hands bound behind their backs. These fifteen persons were gravely contemplating each other, and their eyes scarcely betrayed the emotions by which they were harrowed. A profound resignation, mingled with re

gret for the failure of their enterprise, was depicted on some of the brows.. They were guarded by soldiers, themselves motionless, and respecting the grief of these cruel enemies. Α movement of curiosity animated every countenance on the appearance of Vic-tor. He gave orders to unfasten the condemned captives, and hastened himself to loosen the cords which secured Clara a prisoner to her chair. She smiled mournfully. The officer could not help lightly touching in the process. the elegant and fresh arms of the young maiden. He looked with admiration on the dark wealth of her hair, and her lithe form,-for she was indeed all Spanish; she had the Spanish complexion, slightly dark; and Spanish eyes, with long curved lashes and a pupil blacker than a raven's wing.

"Have you succeeded?" she said to him, with one of those funereal smiles in which there is still something of the young girl.

Victor could only answer with a groan. He looked in turns at the three brothers and at Clara. The one, the eldest, was thirty years old. Small, not well made, with a haughty and disdainful air, he still was not without a certain nobleness of manner, and did not seem entirely a stranger to that delicacy of sentiment which once made the gallantry of Spain so celebrated. He was named Juanito. The second, Felipe, was about twenty years old. He resembled Clara. The third was not above eight. A painter would have found in the features of Raphael something of that Roman constancy which David has given to the children in his republican pages. The old marquis had a head covered with white hairs, which seemed to have escaped from some picture of Murillo's.

At this sight, the young officer shook his head, despairing of seeing the general's bargain accepted by either of these persons. However, he summoned courage to confide it to Clara. She shuddered at first, but quickly resumed her calmness of countenance, and went to throw herself on her knees before her father.

"Oh!" she said to him, "make Juanito swear that he will faithfully obey the commands you shall give him. We shall be contented."

A sensation of hope thrilled through the aged mother; but as soon as, lean

ing over toward her husband, she had heard the horrible disclosure of Clara, she fainted.

"He consents!" cried the mother in despair; for she perceived Juanito make a motion of the eye-brows of Juanito understood the whole, and he which she alone understood the meansprang like a lion in his cage.

Victor took it upon himself to send away the soldiers, after having obtained from the marquis his assurance of entire submission. The domestics were led away and delivered to the executioner, who hanged them all.

When the family had no other spectator than Victor, the old father arose. "Juanito!" said he.

Juanito, understanding his father's command, made no other reply to it, than by an inclination of the head expressive of refusal. He sank back upon his chair, and looked at his parents with a dry and terrible eye.

Clara came and sat upon his knees, and with a cheerful air

"Dear Juanito," she said, passing her arms around his neck, and kissing his eye-lids, "if you knew how much sweeter this death would be to me bestowed by you, I should not have to submit to the odious touch of the executioner's hand. You will rescue me from the evils that awaited me, anddear Juanito, you were not willing to see me belong to any one-well, then

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Mariquita, the second daughter, was on her knees, pressing her mother in her feeble arms; and as her eyes were streaming with hot tears, her little brother Raphael came to rebuke her.

At that moment the confessor of the castle entered. He was immediately surrounded by the whole family. They led him to Juanito. Victor, unable longer to support this spectacle, made a sign to Clara, and hastened to attempt a last effort with the general. He found him in an excellent humor, in the midst of the feast, and drinking a delicious wine with his officers, whose conversation was beginning to sparkle

with merriment.

An hour after, a hundred of the principal inhabitants of Menda were assembled on the terrace, according to the order of the general, to be witnesses to the execution of the Léganès family. A detachment of soldiers was stationed to guard the Spaniards, who were ranged under the scaffolds from which the domestics of the marquis had been hung, so that their heads nearly touched the feet of these martyrs. At thirty paces in front of them stood a block and flashed a cimeter.

The executioner was there, in case of refusal on the part of Juanito.

Presently, in the midst of the most profound silence, the Spaniards heard the advancing steps of several persons, the measured tread of a picquet of soldiers, and the light sound of their muskets. These different noises were mingled with the gay voices from the revelry of the officers, just as shortly before the dances of a ball had disguised the preparations for a sanguinary treachery. Every eye was turned towards the castle, and the noble family of Léganès was seen advancing with a firmness almost incredible. One alone, pale and nerveless, was leaning upon the priest, who was lavishing upon this man, the only one who was not to die, all the consolations of religion. The executioner understood, as did everybody, that Juanito had accepted his place for a single day. The old marquis and his wife, Clara, Mariquita, and his two brothers, came to kneel down at a few steps from the fatal spot.

Juanito was led by the priest. When he reached the block, the executioner, pulling him by the sleeve, took him aside, and probably gave him some instructions.

The confessor placed the victims so that they might not see the execution; but they were true Spaniards; they held themselves erect and firm.

Clara rushed forward the first towards her brother." Juanito," she said to him, "have pity on my want of courage. Begin with me!"

At that moment the hasty steps of a man were heard approaching. Victor arrived on the spot of this scene. Clara was already on her knees, and already her white neck invited the cimeter. The officer grew pale; but he found strength to hasten up to her. "Stop!" he said," the general grants your life if you will be my wife!"

The Spanish girl flashed upon the officer a glance of scorn. "Come, Juanito!" she said, in a deep tone of voice.

Her head rolled at Victor's feet; and the marchioness de Léganès suffered a convulsive movement to escape her, as she heard the heavy sound of the cimeter; it was the only indication of her feelings.

"Am I right this way, my dear Juanito?" was little Raphael's inquiry of his brother.

"Ah! you weep, Mariquita ?"-said Juanito to his sister.

"Oh! yes!" answered the young girl; "I am thinking of you, poor Juanito. Ah! how unhappy you are going to be without us!"

Presently appeared the tall figure of the marquis. He looked at the blood of his children; he turned towards the mute and motionless spectators; he stretched out his hands toward Juanito, and said with a strong voice :

"Spaniards! I bestow upon my son my paternal blessing! May it ever be with him! Now, marquis, strike without fear, as you are without reproach!"

But when Juanito beheld his mother approach, supported by the confessor:

"She nourished me!" he cried, and his voice wrung a cry of horror from the assembly. The noise of the feast, and the gay laughter of the officers were hushed at that fearful cry.

The marchioness, comprehending that Juanito's strength was exhausted, sprang at a bound over the balustrade, plunging down to be crushed to death upon the rocks. A cry of admiration arose. Juanito had fallen in a swoon.

"General," said an officer, half-intoxicated, "Marchand has just been telling me about that execution.-I bet that you did not command it."

"Do you forget, gentlemen," exclaimed General G- -, "that in a month five hundred French families will be in tears, and that we are in Spain? Do you want to leave our bones here?"

After this speech, not a single officer was found, not even a sous-lieutenant, who dared to empty his glass.

Nothwithstanding all the respect with which he is surrounded; notwithstanding the title of EL VERDUGO, with which the King of Spain is said to have enriched the name of the Marquis de Léganès, he remains a prey to grief, living in solitude, and rarely allowing himself to be seen. Bowed down beneath the burthen of his sublime crime, he seems to await with impatience the time when the birth of a second son will give him the right to rejoin the shadows by whom he walks ore ver surrounded.

• El Verdugo, the executioner.

MR. CHANNING'S POEMS.*

THIS little volume is a pledge that the author need not owe any advantage to the eminent name he wears, but is ready to add, to the distinction which already encircles it, the fame of poetry. It is a collection chiefly of occasional poems on domestic, private, and personal topics, with poems of sentiment and reflection, and one or two narrative pieces; all very short, but a skilful reader will readily detect in them the presence of the authentic gifts of music and of fancy. All critics know that in the multitude of writers one who can write English is rare and much more rare is one who can master the keys of rhythm, and express himself naturally in verse. The author of these poems has achieved this mastery in the easy and novel structure of his metrical style, which, though often falling into the popular forms, as into blank verse, or into the common octosyllabic quatrains, keeps a new character in these old forms. Meantime, many of his metres are original and of singular beauty. Especially, we catch some strains of that peculiar lyric eloquence which the old dramatists, and Herrick, and even Donne drew from our rugged and hissing language, which is like an exquisite nerve communicating by thrills, and which we sometimes fear to be a lost art. Equally with his music, we enjoy the activity of the fancy in these thoughtful poems, which never keeps the beaten road, but by its beautiful invention of methods and outlets, communicates a feeling of freedom and power, which the lovers of poetry will hear as the ringing of a wind-harp.

But the samples of his thought which the author of this book has afforded us, few though they be, betray higher gifts than melody and fancy. There is a delicacy and refinement in this mind, which put the reader at once at school in the most agreeable of disciplines, as it requires much culture to apprehend them. Far from being popular verses, we should rather say that this

This honesty

was poetry for poets, and would be valued in proportion to the poetic taste of its readers. It has given us to think how much sincerity is an indispensable element of high poetry ;that the author should give us his proper experiences, neither more nor less, and should tell us not what men may be supposed to feel in the presence of a mountain or a cataract, but how it was with him. The truth must be spoken without reference to the reader or hearer, or to anything which is not the life of the poem itself. The writing shall have no foreign reference, but shall be a vent and voidance of things the man has at heart. Poetry thus written, we shall find wholly new, the latest birth of time, the last observation which the incarnate Spirit has taken of its work. comes only by highest endowment. Men utter follies, not because they prefer them, but from want of thought. The poet is preoccupied with the facts before him, and speaks well because the fact is too strong for him, and will not allow him to babble. That gratification this poetry will afford, as it is not conventional, but is stamped with truth. makes the value of the whole book; it is made up of the simplest expressions of a gentle and thoughtful mind, its privatest knowledge and feeling. Much of it seems to be poetry of love and sentiment, fruits of a fine, light, gentle, happy intercourse with his friends; the poet obviously and consciously idealizing his portraits, because his interest is not in that which they are in the world, but in what they are to his genius. And the imagery has the same genuineness; it is not borrowed from the great poets, but, though sometimes a little whimsical or surprising, is the form which the thought clothed itself in, and which required some courage to adopt.

This veracity

As we loitered among these Dorian measures, we have figured the author as a person of wayward habits, early

• Poems by William Ellery Channing. Boston: Little & Brown. 1843.

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