stitution of clergymen, established or sectarian, for the butcher and baker.

That our doctrine is a not a mere ingenious imagination, splendid but unprofitable, that it is susceptible of most advantageous application to practice, the reader must already perceive. In the first place, it brings into the clearest evidence that penal inflictions are not matters for alembicated theory, but positive facts, having the closest connexion with the ministerial budget, with the county debtor and creditor accounts, and with the pecuniary gains and losses of the parties concerned. We are thus more particularly taught that high pressure and arbitrary plans for preserving order, though pleasant in the practice, and profitable to certain individuals, are much too expensive an indulgence to be permanently maintained. So, too, we learn that the ultra-rigorous administration of discipline in penitentiaries (however admirable in their influence on the minds and morals of the patients), is by far too potent an antiphlogistic for their bodily health. By reducing the constitution too low, it renders the sufferers chargeable on the parish for the rest of their lives. So, too, with regard to protections of industry, when considered metaphysically and politically, the discussion becomes infinite; but a medical view of the subject discloses that the stimulation thus produced, like that of opium and brandy, however exhilarating in the first instance, is uniformly followed by a waste of the powers of life, leaving the last stage of the patient infinitely worse than that which preceded the adoption of the remedy.

In like manner, education considered theologically, gives birth to as many opinions as there are minds to judge of it; but regarded in its relation to productive utility, admits of the most positive tests. One most striking and luminous result of this view, is the demonstration, that education, like every other drug, is efficacious, in some very precise relation to the constitution of the patient; and further, that, however valuable it may be, when all things conspire to promote its curative action, it is stark naught, when the adjuvantia are neglected or forgotten. We thus learn that there is no use in educating a population too poor to afford to be moral; and that a sufficiency of food, raiment, and lodging, is a necessary preliminary to the schoolmaster, if we wish that he should exert a healthful action on the subject.

By the light of the medical theory, too, we learn with more precision what education should be: discipline is a specific application to a specific disease, and therefore must bear a definite proportion to the end to be obtained. There is little use, for example, in giving a young statesman or lawyer, the education of a clergyman; there is none in teaching the wretch to read, who will never be rich enough to buy a book, or to write, when he will never have business to record. Nay, there is no use in teaching men the duty of obedience to spiritual pastors and masters, where famine teaches rebellion; no use in inculcating honesty to those who must thieve to live. We might as well try to set up a soldier for parade by tying him to the hand-loom, or to educate a blacksmith by teaching him watchmaking, or to rear a treasury clerk at the plough, as attempt to fit a child for living soberly and orderly in manhood, when every thing else conspires to make him a rogue and a vagabond.

THE TWO BROTHERS.

AN EPISODE OF CIVIL WAR.

ONE of the most heart-rending features of civil war is undoubtedly the divisions it occasions not only among friends and intimates, inhabitants of the same town and dwellers under the same roof, but also between those whom the nearest ties of blood unite. Probably in no country have there been more examples of this kind of domestic division than in the Spanish peninsula during the various wars and dissensions that for the last forty years have cursed with poverty and misery the finest soil and climate of Europe. The vindictive character of the Spaniards, their blind and furious fanaticism (now fortunately fast dying away), the violent enthusiasm with which they devote themselves, as the fit seizes them, to the cause of a tottering royalty, or the rising sun of that liberty, like the ignis fatuus, so bright to gaze at and difficult to seize, these are what give its sanguinary halfsavage character to Spanish civil warfare.

During the late Carlist struggle, innumerable instances were witnessed of the heartach and misery occasioned to families by the different political views of their various members. In many cases it happened that fathers, sons, and brothers, fighting on different sides. yet entertained no feeling of animosity towards each other, and gladly seized the opportunity of any momentary truce to exchange inquiries and greetings, but it was too often otherwise, and actuated by a feeling of partisanship or spirit of fanaticism, those who should have been the most anxious to avoid each other in the fight, were frequently the most eager to meet, and examples of that bitterest of all hatreds where it does exist, the hatred between blood relations, were of constant occur

rence.

The incidents on which the following sketch is founded came to the knowledge of the narrator as having actually occurred, and may perhaps not be found uninteresting as illustrating a state of things scarcely credible to dwellers in happier and more peaceable lands.

In the corner of Navarre south of the Ebro, that borders on the kingdom of Arragon, and at the foot of one of the numerous mountain ridges which intersect that part of Spain, is a small valley or rather dell, lying a little to the left of the high road across the sierra. Passengers along the road would hardly suspect the existence of this hollow, screened from view as it is by a wood of wild chestnut-trees that at a short distance appears to fill up the space between two steep and cragged mountains.

A sort of sheep-path from the road to the wood, however, is continued through the latter, and leads to a scene which in its kind is of unsurpassed beauty. An open space about a quarter of a mile long is bounded at the further end by a gray rock, rising for the first four hundred feet as perpendicularly as a wall. The mountains on either side of the valley are some three hundred yards apart, also of considerable height and very rugged, but less steep, and covered with a variety of trees and shrubs. From amongst these, masses of bare

rock here and there project, their barren nakedness only relieved by the creepers and mountain-plants, whose bright-coloured blossoms contrast admirably with the aridity of the spots on which they so capriciously choose to flourish.

The small space of ground thus enclosed between the mountains and the chestnut-wood is covered with the most luxuriant herbage enamelled with wild flowers, and sprinkled here and there with fig and olive-trees that attain an extraordinary growth and beauty in this warm and sheltered situation, and thanks also to the irrigation of several rivulets which flow from the surrounding hills.

As nearly as may be in the centre of the valley, and concealed by a clump of fruit-trees that have sprung up around it, stands, or stood at the time of this narrative, an object proving that the violence and the passions of men had intruded themselves even into this smiling land

scape.

This was a heavy stone cross, moss-grown, and worn with time and damp, and which had fallen a little out of the perpendicular from some sinking of the ground. There was an inscription on it that had probably never been very deeply or legibly carved, and at the period referred to it would have been difficult for any one previously unacquainted with its purport to have deciphered a date, and the words “Aqui se murio de mano ayrada," indicating the cross to be one of those commonly erected in Spain to mark the spot where an assassination has been committed.

It was a June morning of the year 183—, and the day was as yet scarcely broken, when a horseman emerging from the chestnut-wood rode slowly up the valley. On reaching the cross he dismounted and led his horse in among the bushes apparently with a view to concealment. Throwing the bridle over a branch he stationed himself behind a tree in such a manner that he could only have been discovered upon a very near approach, while he himself commanded a view of the whole upper part of the valley.

The person who thus posted himself in observation was a young and handsome man attired in the uniform of an officer of Christino cavalry. His countenance, of which the features were regular and agreeable, indicated an ardent and enthusiastic temperament, although its expression at this moment was rather one of anxious expectation, as he gazed fixedly at a spot in the upper angle of the valley, where a glimpse was caught of a path leading up the mountain side, and visible only for the space of a few yards, after which it disappeared amid rocks and ravines.

After a quarter of an hour's suspense, the young soldier gave a start of pleasure as a figure appeared descending the rugged track. It was that of a young and graceful woman, muffled in a large black mantilla, and whose rapid pace indicated haste, while the frequent and frightened looks she cast behind her, made it apparent that she apprehended either pursuit or observation. On reaching the valley she bounded with the speed and lightness of a fawn over the dew-steeped grass.

"Luis!" she exclaimed, as she approached the trees among which

the officer was concealed.

He sprang forward to meet her, and with a cry of joy she threw herself into his arms.

The family of Oriategui, hidalgos or country gentlemen possessing an estate near the town of Estella, consisted at the death of Ferdinand VII. of two brothers, the younger of whom, Geronimo, was a priest, and the elder, Vicente, a widower with one daughter. There was a third brother, who had died some years previously, leaving two sons to the guardianship of Don Vicente. Between Luis, the younger of these, and his cousin Elena there existed, when children, a sympathy which as they grew up ripened into a warmer feeling, and when, after two years passed at a military college, Luis came to spend a few months at his guardian's house previously to joining his regiment, the young people were affianced, and their marriage, although not to take place immediately, was considered a thing decided upon.

The only person whom this arrangement displeased was Pepe Oriategui, Luis's elder brother, who had also aspired to the favour of his beautiful cousin, although without the remotest chance of success. Several years older than his brother, he was far inferior to him in those qualities calculated to win the affections of a woman, and his sullen, moody nature contrasted unfavourably with the frank, cheerful character of his junior.

His time of leave expired, Luis departed to join his regiment. He was then only twenty and his cousin three years younger. Their marriage was fixed to take place on his attaining the age of twenty-one, when he would also receive his share of his father's moderate inheritance. He had left home but a few weeks, however, when an event occurred which, while it plunged Spain into a civil war, had a most disastrous effect upon the fortunes of the young soldier. This was the death of Ferdinand, followed by an immediate rising in the north of Spain, and strong demonstrations in favour of the deceased king's brother.

Luis received letters from his two uncles couched in ambiguous terms, in which they talked much of upholding the cause of the rightful monarch and of the Romish church. These were merely meant to sound and prepare him, but when what had at first appeared a trifling insurrection assumed the character of a civil war, and the Navarrese and Biscayans thronged round the banner of Zumalacarreguy, to the war-cry of "El Rey y la Religion," the elder Oriategui threw off the mask, and while he himself and his nephew Pepe donned the Carlist uniform, he wrote to Luis, enjoining him to leave his regiment and draw his sword in defence of his legitimate sovereign.

There was a severe struggle in the young man's breast on receiving this letter. He saw at once that by refusing compliance with his uncle's injunctions, he risked not only his small estate, which was situated in the country that held out for the Pretender, but also (and this was a far weightier consideration), the loss of his mistress. On the other hand his feelings and his conscience made him lean to the side of the queen.

He had imbibed the liberal principles, then beginning to be widely disseminated in the peninsula, and which had found ready acceptance among the enthusiastic young men who had been his college companions. Dislike of priestly influence, and an ardent desire for the liberal institutions under which he saw other nations flourishing were strong features in his character.

His reply to his uncle was a refusal to abandon what he considered the rightful cause, coupled with a strongly-expressed hope that they would not be the less friends because their political opinions differed, and that a speedy and amicable termination to the war would remove all causes of dissension between them.

He had not long to wait for a reply. It came signed by his two uncles and his brother, couched in the most violent terms of reproach, and declaring that unless he repaired his fault by an immediate adoption of the cause they had espoused, they should consider him no longer as a relative, but as a rebel and outcast dishonouring the name he bore. Vicente Oriategui also commanded him to give up all thoughts of his daughter's hand, to which he had proved himself unworthy to aspire.

His heart wrung by these cruel tidings, Luis yet remained stanch to his principles, and was ere long rewarded and consoled by a letter from Elena assuring him of her unalterable attachment, and arranging a plan of correspondence. She could not blame him, she said, for adhering to what he considered the right cause, and like him she trusted that the war would soon be over, and her father again be brought to consent to their union.

Months, even years elapsed, however, and the war far from finishing, increased in fury and probability of duration, when Luis's regiment was ordered to the Navarrese frontier. He soon learned by the letters which he still received from his mistress, that the corps of the rebel army to which his uncle and brother belonged was on the Carlist lines, within a couple of leagues of his cantonments, and that she had accompanied her relations.

With no small risk and difficulty, the lovers contrived to have an interview, which was followed by others. Daybreak and the valley that has been described above, were found the safest time and place for their rendezvous, and it was their fourth meeting with which this narrative commenced.

But a new subject of anxiety had lately arisen. Elena's father had promised her hand to Pepe Oriategui, now a captain in the Carlist service. He had long forbidden her to utter Luis's name, and unsuspicious of the correspondence kept up between them, marvelled greatly at the violent repugnance she testified to a union with her elder cousin. He insisted, however, upon the marriage taking place, and to his commands were added the remonstrances of her uncle the priest, and Pepe's wearisome assiduities.

The difficulties of her situation had been the principal topic of conversation at the interviews with her lover, who would have found little difficulty in persuading her to accompany him to the Christino lines and there give him a legal right to protect her. But he hesitated before exposing her to the privations she would have to endure as his wife, in time of war, and with the scanty pay of a subaltern as his only resource.

At this interview, however, Elena declared her intention of flying from the odious marriage her father was forcing on her, and which she saw no other means of avoiding.

"It may seem unmaidenly," said she; "but yet I know not whither to betake myself, except to your safeguard, Luis. But I will not allow