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the Successors of Mahomet," we might learn much that, as rulers of nations, and as conquerors of empires, it would profit us to know and to act upon.

The lives are written in the gifted author's usually brilliant style; and such lives they are, so full of achievement and heroism-of daring deeds and wondrous exploits, that in Washington Irving's hands they could not but become highly-fascinating but deeply interesting biographies-such skill in council, and courage in battle-such unanimity, of will, and singleness of purpose-such sincerity and earnestness of faith-such encouragement and such rewards to the proselyting spirit, might well produce all that we here read of, as their consequence. The book is, indeed, a book of wonders, and in the details of spoils of plundered cities and camps, we are reminded of Aladdin's lamp, and of the jewels and heaps of gold that were exhibited to his view. The Arabian armies, on various occasions, almost realised his visions. But it is not of rubies of great price, or of victories that had empires for their reward, that the book alone speaks; for it contains matter upon which statesmen might ponder, and from which all Christian readers might gain instruction; since it was not for nothing that within a century so many Christian nations ceased to be Christian;-that the Crescent rose so high and the Cross was humbled so low: that the land to which so peculiarly belonged the two Covenants, cared at length nothing for either; and that in the very country and district from which Christianity sprang forth, avowedly as a light to the nations, and as a blessing to the earth, there especially, it should be considered as a delusion, and the very name of Christian become a term of the vilest obloquy and reproach. What had Christians done to bring down such dire adversity upon them? and what they are now doing among themselves to make them still deserving of such chastisements? and what would be the gain to the Holy Land, if Mahommedanism was there suppressed to-morrow, and all the rival sects were at once let loose to exemplify to the world, what they considered to be the doctrines and precepts of the Christian faith, and the pure and simple spiritual worship which was due from the creature to the Creator? Bad as things are, they had better so remain for the present, until we Christians are agreed amongst ourselves, as to what the ritual and doctrines of our faith properly are, and until we are all of one mind as to what men must believe, and must do, to be Christians indeed. Then, and not till then, should we attempt to undo what the successors of Mahomet have done, or desire even to deprive them of an empire which they have gallantly won, and most skilfully held against all gainsayers; for it may be a question whether such Christianity with all its idolatries and buffooneries as the Greek and the Roman churches would carry amongst them, would be any peculiar blessing or advantage in any sense, and the Protestant communities are far too antagonistic in their opinions, as to what the truth is, to make them suitable teachers of the truth to others, or stable founders of Christian churches among a Mahommedan population.

We can do no more than cordially to recommend all Christians to read and attentively to read the "Lives of Mahomet and the Successors of Mahomet."

VOL. XXVII.

T T

THE SPANISH BEAUTY.

It was the time of the equinoxial gales, and the weather had been very tempestuous the whole day. The rain fell in torrents, borne about in drifting storms by the angry winds. Stillness reigned in the deserted streets in the neighbourhood of the Luxembourg, broken only here and there by the feeble and melancholy note of an organ under the shadow of one of the porticoes. The clock had just struck eight as I entered the drawing-room of my sister, the Marquise de Pons. She might be almost said to belong to the past century, her air, manner, and appearance carried back one's imagination to that period. The spring of her life had been passed at the Court of Marie Antoinette. Many years of sorrow and trial followed these days of prosperity, but forty years more found her once more prosperous and happy with the remains of her fortune, and surrounded by the few friends who had weathered the storm like herself.

Her first appearance was very striking, and she became amiable and charming on more intimate acquaintance. In spite of the tell-tale wrinkles of advanced age, her countenance bore traces of great beauty, and her fine figure, full of grace and dignity, was far from betraying her sixty years. In general society her manners and demeanor had a certain degree of stiffness and reserve; but the compliments of a first introduction over, she would become gay, lively, frank, and with due respect be it spoken, as frivolous as a young girl of fifteen years.

Madame de Pons had a son, who had been one of the victims of the stormy days of the revolution; and all her affections were now centred upon his only child. Valeria de Pons indeed deserved our love, for she was a little angel upon earth.

We were alone this evening, my sister was working at her tapestry frame, whilst Valeria was seated at a low stool at her feet unwinding a skein of silk. She had a large bouquet of autumn flowers in her lap, and their delightful fragrance was brought out by the warm atmosphere of the saloon. A young man was seated at the table drawing in an album, and his glances wandered from the_group before him to his sketch with all the pride of an artist. In another month Theobaldo de Montmaur was to become the husband of our beloved Valeria. I had just returned from a walk with Count Anatolio de Saint Jervien, whose relationship to Theobaldo gave him an entrée into our family circle. He was a good sort of a young man though rather silly and frivolous, whom you cannot but like pretty well, but whose society and companionship at the same time you care but little about. The contemplation of the pretty family group before me filled my mind with pleasant presentiments for the future. Theobaldo was exactly the sort of person I should have chosen as a husband for Valeria; a gentleman of a small fortune, moderate ambition, a high and generous character and a faultless life. Valeria, too, appeared fully to appreciate her good fortune, and her timid glance was often raised to Theobaldo with an indescribable look of trust and tenderness.

"Come here, dear uncle," said she, pointing to an arm-chair near her, "Theobaldo must certainly introduce you into this family picture."

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"What vain glory," I exclaimed, "I suppose you wish that my face should set off yours of seventeen summers. In this little picture it appears to me that the Marquise's sixty years are enough."

"I did not think of the contrast," said Valeria; "not being handsome, that vanity was, of course, unknown to me."

And yet she was very attractive; as she was thus speaking there was so soft and serene an expression in her blue eyes, so much grace in her smile and manner. Theobaldo's sketch was extremely well done, and very pleasing; but you could see that the artist had tried to embellish and improve upon the original without being able to accomplish it.

"Valeria," said he, with a little impatience, "will you incline your head a little more forward."

She bent a little forward, and her beautiful light brown hair fell in long tresses over her face.

"That will do very well," said Theobaldo.

Alas! thought I, he must see too clearly that this young girl is not beautiful.

At this moment the rain beat more violently against the windows, and a peal of thunder was heard.

“What dreadful weather," said Count Anatolio, who appeared to have been doing nothing the last half hour but listen to the rain.

"I am the more annoyed," said my sister, "as I expected a visit from the Signora di las Bermejas.”

"Madame di las Bermejas," repeated the Count, rising; "Indeed! the Spanish lady whose husband was murdered in Navarre, and who was made prisoner herself, and escaped so miraculously?

"The same, Sir Count”

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"That woman is a heroine. If it had not been for this tiresome rain she would have been here this very evening."

"Is it not very vexatious, Theobaldo?"

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Why, if you wish me to speak the truth," said Theobaldo, as he glanced towards Valeria, "I must say that I think our party is much more agreeable as it is; it would have sadly broken in upon the quiet of our evening; and besides," said he, with a tranquil smile,

I do not admire heroines,-I have much more sympathy with a timid and graceful woman than with those Amazons who mount a horse like a dragoon, and would fire a pistol without a shudder-a heroine a monstrosity of nature."

"Yes, yes, my friend, this is all very well," said the Count, "but I may be allowed to admire these Amazons. I can imagine to myself exactly what the Signora di las Bermejas is like-tall, dark, with a noble demeanour, and proud deportment-even ugly, perhaps. But of that sort of ugliness which still admits of a handsome cast of features. Have I not guessed very truly-is this not a picture of the Signora di las Bermejas?"

He had hardly ceased speaking when a carriage stopped at the door; there was a moment's pause, and the Signora was announced. She advanced, gracefully raised her black veil, made a general bow to all, and seated herself by the Marquise de Pons. I know not how to express the impression of admiration and surprise which the first appearance of the Signora di las Bermejas produced upon me; and to be able to judge of the effect, it would have been necessary to have seen her in all the marvellous beauty which she at that time

possessed. Imagine to yourself one of those faces the creation of a painter's imagination in one of his most inspired dreams of beauty, and which he can hardly reproduce upon canvas, beautiful as his imagination had at first pictured it. She had a tall majestic figure, and her graceful neck was half concealed by a profusion of black lace. She had very small white hands, and the glancing diminutive feet peculiar to the women of her nation. Her graceful figure was enveloped in a garb of deep mourning, so trying even to many beautiful women, but which only like the dark frame of a lovely picture was calculated to set off to even greater advantage her deep black eyes and glowing complexion. Theobaldo looked at the heroine with surprise, but I could plainly perceive that his prejudices were not in the least overcome. His attention soon returned to his drawing. The Signora looked at him in her turn, and then at Anatolio. There was certainly no comparison to be made between these two men. Theobaldo had one of those countenances which take the imagination by surprise; if it once looked upon you, you would turn to gaze and gaze again. His look was full of mind and intellect, and his smile not to be described. Count Anatolio was fresh looking and inanimate, with much affectation of manner. He did his utmost to engage the Signora's attention, but she paid no attention either to him or to Theobaldo, but continued her conversation with the Marquise. Anatolio was right when he told us that the Signora had a story to relate, a story of which she was the heroine, and which had been published in the newspapers, and had occupied the Parisians for a whole day. He so managed matters with the assistance of the Marquise, as to give the conversation such a turn that the Signora di las Bermejas found herself obliged to speak of it.

"Yes," replied the Signora to Anatolio's question, "the story is too true: my husband was sentenced to be shot, and my life was saved by a miracle." She paused for a moment, overcome by these terrible recollections, and glanced towards Theobaldo, whose attention appeared as greatly absorbed as ever by his sketch.

"My poor husband," continued she," was thus barbarously murdered beneath the walls of Vittoria; and I found myself alone in a country the whole population of which was in arms, and between the two contending parties. I thought of taking refuge in the mountains, and of hiding myself in some small peasant hut; and yet what security could I have had in remaining there? What miracle could have saved me from the marauding bands who ravaged the most secluded spots, and to whom the civil war afforded the most perfect impunity? I resolved, therefore, to take refuge in France; one servant only accompanied me, and I took no passport with me for fear my project should become known. We departed from Vittoria in my own carriage, as if we were merely going on an excursion into the country. I took a few clothes, and concealed some money and jewels in the cushions of the carriage. What a journey was before us! we traversed a country wasted and destroyed by a sanguinary war. The roads were almost impassable, the fields uncultivated, the population of the villages scattered about the country, disheartened and oppressed; they would fly at the very appearance of a uniform as they would the plague; and they had a horror of both parties, as they had in turn been oppressed by Christinos and Carlists.

"We travelled the whole night by fearful paths, surrounded by

ambushes and precipices, and at the point of day found ourselves at the entrance of a narrow valley, traversed by the foaming waters of a small mountain torrent. The road was overshadowed with the spreading branches of majestic oaks. Above, were the pointed rocks, at the summit of which eagles and crows could alone have found a resting-place. Oh! never, never, will the recollection of that fearful spot be effaced from my memory. To this day, every tree, every stone, is vividly present to my mind; and then the wooden cross by the side of the road, which memorialized the murder of an unfortunate traveller. Never can I forget the painful impression it produced upon me, nor can I cease to tremble at the mere recollection now. We appeared to be travelling alone in a desert at the very extremity of the world; when, all at once, the deep stillness around us was broken by a voice behind the trees- Halt. !'

"Perero put the mule into a quick gallop, but at the same moment pistols were fired from both sides of the road. Perero fell-the mule stopped suddenly-and I, as if by a natural instinct, descended from the carriage."

"And then," said Count Anatolio, who hardly breathed from the interest the tale excited, "then you fired courageously upon your persecutors ?"

"Alas! no," replied the Signora with adorable simplicity. "I was in the most extreme terror, and I began to weep. Soldiers surrounded the carriage, and the officer who commanded them came up to question me. I had seated myself by the side of the road, and had turned away my head that I might not see the bloody corpse of poor Perero, which lay but a few paces from me. In reply to his questions, I said I was a Frenchwoman, and that I was now on my return to my own country. In the meanwhile, they were ransacking my lug gage, and all screaming and vociferating around me. Oh! I was so frightened, and almost felt myself dying."

The Signora paused, and passed her hand across her forehead with a gesture of terror. Theobaldo had let fall his pencil.

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Approach, Donna Ines de las Bermejas,' said an officer, who wore the uniform of a Colonel of the état major.

"I trembled upon hearing my name.

"Donna Ines di las Bermejas, you are convicted of being one of the enemies' spies; recommend your soul to heaven, as you have seen your last hour on earth. The military council has condemned you to death!'

"A profound terror, an indescribable agony, took possession of my soul; to die at the early age of twenty years; no, it could not be. I threw myself on my knees-I protested my innocence-I imploredI petitioned for my life. It might indeed have been weak-a poorness of spirit, which, in a man, would have been in the last degree dishonourable. But a poor defenceless woman, she may at least, without shame, implore her life at the hand of her assassins; and then I wished I so earnestly desired that life, which was to be so cruelly torn from me. The extremest misery, solitude, destitution, I would have accepted all in exchange, but these men had no pity upon me. They drew back, the monk alone remained to confess me. I tried to speak, but my voice became extinct. I remained without motion, kneeling in the dust, and my eyes steadily fixed upon the group of soldiers, who stood with their guns pointed immediately before me

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