fore the guns touched the ground, the thunder of their answer burst forth. Through the thick, steam -like powder smoke that now enveloped the whole mass I could see the figures of the cannoneers working like shadowy demons, and now and then the silhouette of a gun as it was run forward after the recoil, to again burst out in angry fire, blazing like lightning in the sulphurous

vapor.

Our skirmishers crossed the road and directed their fire on the defenders of the farm. At first these replied slowly, but the supporting lines of our troops coming up, a continuous discharge of small-arms was opened on them, and the walls and ditches, the rifle-pits, seemed to be ablaze. Heavier and heavier grew the fire from our side as line after line moved forward, increasing the number of the attacking force until the fields in front of the farm were alive with men. Kneeling to fire, and taking advantage of every little break in the ground, every heap of earth, every tree and bush, they had finally pushed up close to the farm, when their bugles sounded a charge, and rushing forward with a shout, they swarmed over the ditches and walls and crowded into the inclosure, the enemy's soldiers as rapidly retreating, but keeping up a sharp fire as they pursued their way toward their main line.

Here, so far, all had been quiet, save from the batteries on their left, and only the white caps of their strong skirmish line, dotting the rising ground in front of the villages, were to be seen, their main body being hid by the houses and trees.

At this moment the artillery over on their right opened fire, as our left wing, that had been forming under cover of the town, showed itself on the plain. Sharp skirmishing followed, increasing in volume as it rolled toward our right, blazing out from the farm just taken, and flashing all along the enemy's line, as our whole force began to advance, preceded by lines of skirmishers and bristling with a fringe of spouting flame and smoke. The roar of musketry became deafening, and the fire of the enemy grew hotter and hotter, as the masses of the attacking forces poured in volley after volley in heavy crashes, until the dense clouds of smoke curled up among the distant trees and almost hid the landscape from view. It was a grand

ment one forgot that the stirring spectacle was but an imitation of the terrible realities of war.

It was now nearly noon, and as the opposing lines approached one another the old general turned toward his aides, and in another moment half a dozen of them were flying down the hill at the top of their horses' speed, and disappeared in the smoke in the fields below. Simultaneously a hundred bugles sounded the order to cease firing, and the din subsided as if by magic.

There was a short pause. Slowly the smoke lifted and cleared away, the music of a dozen bands mingled in melodious confusion, the soldiers gave cheer after cheer as the columns of friend and foe moved off the field, and the "Grand Manoeuvres" were over.

A TOWN GARDEN.

See Frontispiece.

A PLOT of ground-the merest scrap-
Deep, like a dry, forgotten well,
A garden caught in a brick-built trap,

Where men make money, buy and sell;
And struggling through the stagnant haze,
Look up with something of the gaze
Dim flowers, with sapless leaf and stem,
That homesick eyes have cast on them.
There is a rose against the wall,

With scanty, smoke-incrusted leaves;
Fair showers on happier roses fall-

On this, foul droppings from the eaves.
It pines, but you need hardly note;
Shoots in the spring-time, as if by rote;
It dies by inches in the gloom;

Long has forgotten to dream of bloom.
The poorest blossom, and it were classed

With color and name-but never a flower! It blooms with the roses whose bloom is past, Of every hue, and place, and hour. They live before me as I look

The damask buds that breathe and glow, Pink wild roses, down by a brook,

Lavish clusters of airy snow. Could one transplant you (far on high A murky sunset lights the tiles)And set you 'neath the arching sky, In the green country, many miles, Would you strike deep and suck up strength, Washed with rain and hung with pearls, Cling to the trellis, a leafy length,

Sweet with blossom for June and girls? Yet no! Who needs you in those bowers? Who prizes gifts that all can give? Bestow your life instead of flowers,

And slowly die that dreams may live.
Prisoned and perishing, your dole
Of lingering leaves shall not be vain-
Worthy to wreathe the hemlock bowl,
Or twine about the cross of pain!

"And why can't you do what he asks?" said Talbot, in surprise. "Why can't you take them to that castle? You were there, and when there you say you recognized the Carlist chief himself, the very man who stopped the train. He must have the English prisoners there. Do you mean to say that you will not help those poor captives?"

"I can not," said Brooke. "Can not?"

"Look here, Talbot. I've thought it all over and over, and I can not. Honor forbids. Let me explain. You see, while wandering about here, I have frequently fallen into the hands of either party, and have often been in as great danger as now,

yet I have always escaped. More than this, I have papers from the leading men of both sides, which testify to my character. I am therefore in honor bound never, under any circumstances, to betray one party to the other, and that, too, no matter what my own feelings may be. I came here as a neutral, a stranger, a correspondent, to get information for the distant American public. That is my business here.

But the moment I begin to betray one of these parties to the other in any shape or way, the moment I communicate to others the information which I may have gained in confidence, that moment I become an infernal scoundrel."

"True, Brooke, very true," said Talbot; "but don't you see how different this thing is? Here is a party of travellers captured by brigands, and held to ransom. You are merely asked to show the way to their prison, so that they may be set free by their friends. What betrayal of confidence is there in this?"

"I say that in any way in which I tell one of these parties about the doings of

the other, I betray the confidence which has been placed in me."

"And I say, Brooke, that if you leave these English ladies in the hands of merciless villains to languish in captivity, to suffer torment, and perhaps to die a cruel death, you will be guilty of an unpardonable sin-an offense so foul that it will haunt your last hours."

"No, Brooke," said Talbot; "and since you feel in this way, I will say no more about it.'

Silence now followed. Brooke seated himself on the floor with his back against the wall, and Talbot stood looking at him as he thus sat.

This man, who led a life which required some of the qualities of the hero, had no

"Sir," said Talbot, with indescribable haughtiness, "you forget my name. Trust me, sir, no Talbot ever lived who failed one jot or tittle in the extremest demand of honor. I, sir, am a Talbot, and have no need to go to you for information on points of honor."

"Forgive me, Talbot," said Brooke, meekly. "I don't mean what you think. When I spoke of a man's sense of honor, I referred to his life of action, with all its conflict of duty and honor, and all those complicated motives of which a woman in her retirement can know nothing."

"Believe me, Brooke," said Talbot, earnestly, "women who are lookers-on are often better and safer judges than men who are in the midst of action. Trust me, and take my advice in this matter. What! is it possible that you can have the heart to leave these English ladies to a fate of horror among brigands ?"

The

"You put it strongly, Talbot, but that is only a partial view. In brief, you ask me to betray to the enemy a place which I may inform you happens to be one of the cardinal points in the strategy of the Carlist generals. I do not know for certain that the ladies are there; and if they are, I do not believe that they will be badly treated. A ransom will perhaps be exacted, but nothing more. On the whole, I should far rather fall into the hands of the Carlists than the Republicans. Carlists are generous mountaineers, the peasantry of the north; the Republicans are the communist mobs of the southern cities. I have seen very much of both sides, and think the Carlists better men every way-more chivalrous, more merciful, and more religious. I am not afraid about those prisoners. I feel convinced that when the general hears of their capture he will set them free himself. At any rate, I can not interfere. To do so would be a hideous piece of treachery on my part. Would you wish me to save my life by a dishonorable action?"

VOL. LXVII.-No. 399.-26

aspect. He was a man of medium size, and sinewy, well-knit frame. He had keen gray eyes, which noticed everything, and could penetrate to the inner core of things; close-cropped hair, short serviceable beard, of that style which is just now most affected by men of restless energy; a short straight nose, and a general air of masterful self-restraint and self-possession. Not a handsome man, strictly speaking, was our friend Brooke; not by any means a "lady's man"; but he was something better, inasmuch as he was a manly man, one who would be trusted thoroughly and followed blindly by other men, ay, and by women too; for, after all, it is not the lady's man who is appreciated by true women, but the man's man. To such as these the best sort of women delight to do reverence. Add to this Brooke's abrupt manner, rather harsh voice, inconsequential talk, habit of saying one thing while thinking of something totally different, love of drollery, and dry, short laugh, and then you have Brooke complete, who is here described simply because there has not been any very convenient place for describing him before.

Shortly after the examination of the prisoners the greater part of the band had gone away with the captain, and only half a dozen men were left behind on guard. After Brooke had grown tired of his own meditations he wandered toward the window and looked out. Here he stood watching the men below, and studying their faces until he had formed his own conclusion as to the character of each one.

"I'm trying," said he to Talbot, who came near, "to find out which one of these fellows is the most susceptible of bribery and corruption. They're all a hard lot; the trouble is that one watches the other so closely that I can't get a fair chance."

"I wonder where the others have gone," said Talbot.

"Oh, they've gone off to search for the prisoners, of course," said Brooke. “I don't believe they'll find anything about