of the Inquisition, which were fastened upon his legs in such a manner as to prevent his walking, or even crossing his prison, otherwise than by a succession of short leaps, in taking. which his ankles could not fail to be bruised and wounded by the severity of his fetters.

One morning shortly after his incarceration, the Empecinado was lying on his straw bed, and reflecting on the circumstances of his position, which might well have been deemed desperate. But Martin Diez possessed, in addition to that headlong courage which prompted him to despise all dangers, however great the odds against him, other qualities not less precious. These were, an unparalleled degree of fortitude, and a strength of mind that enabled him to bear up against sufferings and misfortune that would have reduced most men to despondency. However abandoned by friends and shackled in his own resources, he never allowed himself to despair; and it was this heroic spirit, added to great confidence in his physical energies, that fifteen years later, when he was led out to execution, prompted the most daring attempt ever made by a prisoner to escape, naked and weaponless, from a numerous and well-armed guard.

To break out of the prison where he now was, certainly appeared no easy matter, and a sum in gold that he had on his person when he entered the town, having been taken from him, he could have no hopes of corrupting the jailer. While ruminating on the means of communicating with his friends without, he heard his name pronounced in a distinct but cautious whisper, and, turning his eyes to the only quarter whence such a sound could come, he beheld the grated window nearly blocked up by the head of a man, who was gazing at him through the bars.

« Martin Diez," said the stranger, perceiving that he had attracted his attention; «dost thou not know me ? »

The Empecinado arose, and, approaching the window, recognised the features of a certain shoemaker named Cambea, a native of Aranda, and who had served with him in the war of '92. He had been thrown into jail for some offence which was, however, of so trifling a nature, that he was not

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44

confined to a cell in the daytime, but had the run of the prison, and even worked at his trade by the connivance of the jailer. Having learned that the Empecinado was a prisoner, he watched an opportunity to visit him, and now offered to do all in his power to aid in his escape.

The risk of discovery was too great for Cambea to remain long in conference with the guerilla. A few sentences, however, were exchanged, and he then went away, but returned the same afternoon, and with a lump of wax contrived to take an impression of the lock on the Empecinado's dungeon-door in order to get a key made by a friend he had in the town, who by trade was a locksmith.

1

Two days elapsed without his reappearance, and Diez began to fear that their communication had been discovered, and Cambea subjected to stricter confinement, when the door of the cell gently opened, and the shoemaker entered, a key ir. his hand, and his face radiant with satisfaction. This difficulty being overcome, their plans were soon arranged, and it wa agreed that on the following Sunday, while mass was celebrat ing, the grand attempt should be made.

The day arrived, and at ten in the morning the wife and daughter of the jailer, their servant and the turnkey, having gone to church, the prison remained silent and deserted, except by the prisoners and the jailer himself, who was shut up in his apartment. Without losing a moment, and with the greatest silence and caution, Cambea repaired to the Empecinado's dungeon, and arming him with one of the knives he used for cutting leather, took him upon his shoulders, and in that manner carried him to the door of the jailer's room.

The alcayde, or jailer, was lolling in a large well-stuffed arm-chair, and opposite to him was seated the lawyer appointed to conduct Diez's prosecution. On a small table between them were placed glasses and a dusty cobweb-covered bottle, with the contents of which the two worthies were solacing themselves, while they discussed the all-absorbing topic of the day, the trial of the Empecinado, and its probable, or rather certain result. As glass after glass was emptied of the oily old Xeres wine, the lawyer rehearsed his speech, the

jailer found guilty, and passed sentence, until, step by step, and before the bottle was out, the Empecinado had, in imagination, and somewhat prematurely, been condemned, placed in capilla, confessed, and led out to execution. Just as the lawyer was conjecturing how he would look with the rope round his neck, some one tapped at the door.

Adelante! cried the jailer, and Cambea made his ap

pearance.

"

Senor Alcayde," said he, the corregidor is at the prison-gate, and desires to speak with you. »

Putting on one side the bottle and glasses, the jailer hurried to receive the chief magistrate of the town, but as he passed through the door behind which the Empecinado was concealed, the latter made a sort of buck-leap, with his fetters upon his feet, and grappled him like a tiger, seizing him by the hair with his left hand, and with his right clutching his throat so as nearly to strangle him. At the same time Cambea threw himself upon the lawyer, whose head he muffled in his own cloak, and then, taking him up in his arms, carried him bodily to the Empecinado's cell, and there locked him in. Then returning to the assistance of Diez, they tied the jailer's hands, and, putting a gag in his mouth, placed him also in the dungeon. The next thing to be done was to rid the Empecinado of his manacles, which was soon accomplished by means of riveting tools found in the jailer's room.

But they had as yet only surmounted a part of their difficulties, and much remained to be done before they could consider themselves in safety. It is true, they had the keys, and could unlock the door and walk out of the prison, but the streets were swarming with French soldiers, through whom they would have to run the gauntlet before getting out of the town. To do this with less chance of detection, they returned to the dungeon, and, taking the clothes off its present inmates, put them on themselves. Cambea took possession of the lawyer's three-cornered hat, and Diez of that of the alcayde, and then arranging their cloaks in such a manner as to conceal the greater part of their faces, they walked out of the principal gate of the prison, carefully shutting it after

them, and passing unsuspected through the French soldiers on guard. Fortunately, as it was the hour of high mass, all the town's-people were in the church, and the French took no notice of the two fugitives as they walked through the streets with grave and deliberate pace, studiously avoiding any appearance of haste, lest it might lead to detection.

In this manner they had nearly got out of the town, when they perceived an orderly dragoon holding two horses, saddled and bridled, at the door of a house, apparently waiting for some officer of rank who was about to take a ride, The Empecinado had found in a pocket of his borrowed garments a box, full of that excessively fine and pungent snuff, called in Spain the encarnado de los frayles. Emptying the contents into his hand, he walked up to the soldier, and asked to be directed to the quarters of the general commanding. While the man was answering him, Diez threw the snuff in his face and eyes, and opening his cloak, gave him a buffet that stretched him, stunned and blinded, upon the ground. Then, seizing his drawn sword, he sprang upon the officer's horse, and Cambea mounting that of the dragoon, they succeeded in passing the town-gate unchallenged.

They had not been clear of the town five minutes, when they heard trumpets sounding and drums beating to arms, and soon the road in their rear was covered with light cavalry in hot pursuit. But their horses were good, the start they had obtained so great, that they speedily reached the mountains. Three days afterwards the Empecinado had rejoined Mariano Fuentes, and was again at the head of his band.

(BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.)

DANIEL DE FOE.

ᏢᎪᎡᎢ II.

It has been long a favourite theory of ours, however paradoxical it may appear, that Fiction is far truer than History: that of the qualities and abstract elements by which Truth is distinguished from Falsehood, the former possesses by far the greatest share. Bold and heterodox as our opinion may seem, it is not without the support derived from the suffrages of at least two distinguished names: the one of a person whose genius in prose fiction is perhaps unequalled in the annals of Literature, while the military achievements of the other supply the history of the times in which he lived with its most brilliant and memorable materials.

Fielding, justly called by Byron « the prose Homer of human nature, has made the following acute distinction between the description of past ages and human conduct as drawn upon the page of History, and the same pictures limned in brighter colours in the more attractive gallery of Fiction. "In History, says the author of Tom Jones and of Amelia, nothing is true but the names and dates: in Fiction everything is true but the names and dates, a proposition which, however startling, we think, after due deduction is made for the