engaged to afford him every assistance in his power. “I will baffle at least a part of their plot,” said he: “I will disappoint their avarice, and that of the inquisition. I know that Estevan has caused a large part of his cargo to be ensured at Bordeaux. I will require that this be sequestered to secure the charges of my countrymen, so that, if you succeed in your generous enterprise, Estevan at least will not be ruined.” That very morning the consul repaired to the lodgings of Estevan. The commissioners of the inquisition were there before him, and had begun to make an inventory of the goods of the prisoner. The consul, by virtue of the treaty of commerce which existed between the two nations, exhibited to them the ensurance of the company in Bordeaux, and required, in order to secure the interests of his countrymen, that all the effects of Estevan should be sequestered until the termination of his trial. At the same time, calling to mind the suspicions expressed by Zamora, he required that the entire house should be searched, lest any part of the property of the prisoner should have been removed out of his own apartments. By these means, this knave, being entangled in the net which himself had laid, completely lost the reward of his iniquity, and nothing was left him but the remorse which followed so atrocious an action. Zamora repaired to the holy office. It was about ten o’clock in the morning. He begged to speak to the grand inquisitor. The guard and attendants treated him with rudeness. “His eminence is asleep.” “I will wait then.” “So you may wait ! On whose part do you come 3’ “On my own.” “Your own, indeed perhaps you belong to some master o’ “Yes, to Don Estevan.” In a moment the cry was changed. They took him for an informer. “ Enter, my good friend: his eminence shall be apprized of your visit.” A messenger was instantly despatched with the in

telligence, and returned back almost instantly. “His eminence,” said the messenger, “is engaged at present; but he has commanded his private secretary, the right reverend father Juan Maria, of the most illustrious order of St. Dominick, to give you an audience.” They then conducted him through a number of magnificent apartments, and brought him, at length, to that of the secretary, who was carelessly reclined upon a sofa, after having just finished his chocolate. He was in the act of saluting a young lady, concerning whom we are not to make too many inquiries. “Go in peace,” said he, “my dear sister, and sin no more.” A smile was her reply as she left the room. Zamora informed the inquisitor, that his master had promised him baptism; that he had delayed it from time to time; that he would give all

he had in the world (the savings of

his earnings in servitude) to obtain that grace, laying down a purse of gold in proof of his sincerity, and, that at present, as he was without a master, he desired a situation. “Well, I will attach you to the holy office: it is the way of heaven. What can you do?” “I know a little of cooking and gardening; I can shave well; besides, I am active and alert. I have a quick eye, a ready ear, and an excellent memory.” “And discretion ?” “I can answer for that.” “Excellent!” replied the secretary, and rang a small bell which lay upon the table ! “Majordomo,” said he to a man who entered and stood respectfully at the door, “this young negro is a catechumen whom his eminence and I take under our special protection. I recommend him to you. You will employ him in whatever he is found fit for. I intrust him to your care. Give him a chamber to himself, and see that he be well fed and well treated. Go, and you, my son, follow him: work, and pray that ye may not fall into temptation.” The majordomo and Zamora bent their knees with submission, and his reverence honoured them with his salutation: Benedicat vos omnifiotems Deus. Zamora employed the first month in conciliating the good will of every body around him. He studied, assiduously, the catechism of father Juan, he anticipated his desires, he guessed at his intentions, and gratified his smallest wishes. When presented by him to the grand inquisitor, he had been equally successful in recommending himself to that prelate; without being elated by this favour and without even boasting of his credit among his inferiours, he used his utmost exertions to please them. He assisted their labours, executed their commissions, drank with them, concealed or excused their errours, so that, in a short time, he became the object of universal affection in the holy office. It was, above all, to the alcaide and the guards of the prisoners that he studied to recommend himself. The alcaide had a mistress of whom he was jealous, and Zamora, by executing his business in the house, enabled him to absent himself more frequently. The guards were fatigued with their duty, Zamora watched for them, and passed whole nights in their place. He entertained them with accounts of his travels and of his country, and sometimes a few bottles of wine promoted the hilarity of the evening. Still all this was very far from the object upon which his heart was set. Already, thanks to the confidence which he enjoyed, and to his reason, he had got access to the dungeons of upwards of fifty prisoners, but without entering the only one which he wished to behold. One morning, as he stood in the gallery with the guards, the majordomo brought a note to the alcaide. The alcaide immediately ordered six of them to take their carbines. This was the usual sign that they were about to conduct a prisoner to


the mesa, or board of the holy office. Zamora was going to retire, when the alcaide said to him: “Come you also with us; you will behold a quarter you are not as yet acquainted with.” These words made him tremble with anxiety. He followed them. The alcaide then opened a door which, till then, Zamora had always seen shut. They ascended to an upper floor, and came to a gallery less dark than that below. “ This is the quarter of the hidalgos, or people of quality,” said the alcaide. At last they arrived at one chamber, the bars were withdrawn, the double doors were opened: “You are summoned,” said the alcaide to the prisoner within. A person then came forth: it was Estevan himself. What a moment to Zamora! What surprise Estevan proceeded with his eyes fixed upon the ground. He raised them, and beheld his faithful follower. Zamora, shuddering with terrour lest some slight gesture might occasion the destruction of both, placed his finger upon his lips. Estevan understood the signal, and went forward without betraying the least emotion. Zamora being thus: set at ease, suffered him to proceed with his escort, and, availing himself of the confidence which he enjoyed in the house, returned, during. the absence of Estevan, to his dungeon, the door of which was left open. He examined its position; upon what external part of the building the window opened; how many bars secured it; and at what height it stood from the ground. It was over the garden, the elevation about fifty feet. No windows, where any dangerous observation could be made, were directed towards this quarter. This was all he wanted to know. He came forth, and nobody observed him. He then descended and waited Estevan’s return. After a lapse of about two hours, Estevan returned, with the same retinue; their eyes again met, and much meaning was in the glance. Being arrived at the

door of his dungeon, Estevan entered, the alcaide was about to bolt the door, the officious Zamora of fered to spare him the trouble, and pretending to employ some force, and drawing close the inner door, he passed his hand through the wicket, By which the food of the prisoners is introduced, and let a small billet fall within. Then, having shut both the doors, he retired with the guards and the alcaide. Estevan snatched this billet as the palladium of his fate, and read: Courage, flatience, silence, attention, and above all, tear &fter you read. The next morning he was in the garden, which lay beneath the window of Estevan. He had worked there a hundred times without suspecting he was so near his unfortunate master. The gardener was accustomed to see him there, and never interfered with any work that he did; he knew that father Juan was his protector, and that was enough. The gardener was a man of above sixty years, who was extravagantly fond of brandy, and Zamora took care that he should not want his favourite liquor. He had, by his goodnatured attentions, rendered himself equally agreeable to the wife; so that Zamora was like the master of the house. The confidence of the gardener, the good will of his wife, and the liberty which was necessary for the performance of his work, had enabled Zamora to obtain a key of their door. By day or by night, at any hour that he pleased, he could enter the garden unnoticed, and this had been the case almost ever since he had been in the house. Upon that day, he employed himself in ascertaining which of the windows, that opened into the garden, belonged to the dungeon of his master. Zamora devoted himself, for some days, to assist the servants, whose business it was to convey their food to the prisoners, in the morning and evening. At length, one evening, as he conveyed to Estevan his supper

through the wicket, he contrived, adroitly, to let fall a second billet: To morrow, at the same hour, caution 1 The next evening, at the hour of distribution, he took care to be at hand. His comrades arranged the suppers of the prisoners upon plates, in order to convey them to their cells. Zamora took charge of the basket which contained the portions of bread. They then set forward. In going along, one piece of bread fell from the basket, or let us at least suppose that it fell. Zamora picked it up and placed it under his arm. This distribution then was made from door to door, and Zamora contrived to introduce, through that of Estevan, the piece of bread which he had picked up. Never, in his entire existence, did he experience anxiety equal to that which he suffered, from the moment when his pretended awkwardness caused the bread to fall from the basket, until that in which he conveyed it to the hand of Estevan. He had substituted it by stealth, in the kitchen, for another piece which he left there, in order that there might not appear to have been a piece too many, which might create suspicions, in such a place as the holy office, where the smallest trifles do not pass unnoticed. This piece of bread, which exactly resembled those distributed to the prisoners, had been prepared at the house of the consul. It contained a file. The moment he had descended the stairs, he fainted away. Every body flew to his assistance, every one was prodigal of attention. Even father Juan Maria, when informed of the accident, came to see him. He quickly recovered his senses, and with these, his native presence of mind. After some months, on the

night which preceded the eve of Christmas day, Zamora cast into his

master’s cell a third billet: If you

are ready, to morrow, after dinner,

leave some wine in your bottle. The

answer that he wished for was re

turned. This was on Christmas eve


Upon the day of this festival, Zamora enjoyed a still greater facility of correspondence. At the hour of distributing their supper to the prisoners, the greater part of the servants, the guards, and the alcaide were still at church. Zamora then threw in his fourth and last billet. To morrow, between midnight and one o’clock, det down the cord and get yourself ready. The routine of duty being over about six o'clock, the grand inquisitor and the majority of the superiour members of the inquisition sat down at table. The wine was not spared. At nine they separated: and in half an hour more they were all buried in a profound sleep. The alcaide then said to Zamora: “Every body is asleep, as you perceive; there are no rounds to go to night; I will go and spend a few hours with Donna Jacintha” [his mistress.]“Well,” replied Zamora, “I have promised to sup with the gardener and his wife. If you please we will go out together.” The alcaide desired the guards to watch well. They promised as usual, and in half an hour after, they were as fast asleep as every other person. Zamora supped with the gardener and his wife. He had supplied himself with excellent wine; joy, laughter, and songs heightened the pleasure of the repast. Bumper followed bumper; and at eleven o'clock the gardener leaned snoring upon the table. The wife soon followed her lord’s example, and Zamora was left alone. The clock now struck twelve. Zamora extinguished the candles, and, on tiptoe, descended the stairs. He entered the garden. It was per

fectly dark, and rained violently. He first ran to dig up a rope ladder, which he had concealed beneath a bed of flowers, of which he alone had the care, under the pretence of cultivating them for father Juan Maria. After some search he found it. He flew to the window: a slight whistle was the signal: in a moment after he saw descend a thin cord which he had conveyed to Estevan: he seized it, fastened it to his ladder, and then gave it a gentle pull. With the utmost ecstacy he saw the ladder ascend. The agitation which he endured was now most dreadful. Estevan appeared; and a moment more gave him to the ecstatick embrace of the delighted Zamora. They flew across the garden, entered the street, and were soon at a distance from this dreadful place. They entered the garden of the consul, flew across it in a moment, reached the door, ascended the stairs, and here had their liberty secure in the asylum of his chamber. “Oh, eternal giver of all good.”

..exclaimed Estevan, as he bent his

knees before the throne of his God, “hear the prayer of thy unfortunate creature; recompense my deliverer, whom thy mercies have enabled to achieve his daring resolution.” How shall I paint the transports, the overflowing ecstacy, the interrupted exclamations of the three friends. Estevan was indebted to one for the recovery of his liberty, and to the other for the security of his fortune.

Estevan and his faithful Zamora afterwards escaped by sea to Bordeaux.

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YOU are now about to enter on a profession which has the means of doing much good to society, and scarcely any temptation to do harm. You may encourage genius; you

may chastise superficial arrogance; expose falsehood; correct errour; and guide the taste and opinions of the age, in no small degree, by the books you praise and recommend. All this, too, may be done without running the risk of making any enemies, or subjecting yourself to be called to account for your criticism, however severe. While your name is unknown, your person is invulnerable. At the same time your aim is sure; for you may take it at your leisure; and your blows fall heavier than those of any writer whose name is given, or who is simply anonymous. There is a mysterious authority in the plural we, which no single name, whatever may be its reputation, can acquire; and, under the sanction of this imposing style, your strictures, your praises, and your dogmas, will command universal attention, and be received as the fruit of united talents, acting on one common principle, as the judgments of a tribunal, who decide only on mature deliberation, and who protect the interests of literature with unceasing vigilance. Such being the high importance of that office, and such its opportunities, I cannot bestow a few hours of leisure better than in furnishing you with some hints for the more easy and effectual discharge of it— hints which are, I confess, loosely thrown together, but which are the result of long experience, and of frequent reflection and comparison. And if any thing should strike you, at first sight, as rather equivocal in point of morality, or deficient in liberality and feeling, I beg you will suppress all such scruples, and consider them as the offspring of a contracted education, and narrow way of thinking, which a little intercourse with the world, and sober reasoning will specdily overcome. Now, as in the conduct of life, nothing is more to be desired than some governing principle of action, to which all other principles and motives must be made subservient, so, in the art of reviewing, I would lay down, as a fundamental position, which you must never lose sight of, and which must be the main spring


of all your criticisms—write what will sell. To this golden rule, every minor canon must be subordinate, and must either be immediately deducible from it, or at least be made consistent with it. Be not staggered at the sound of a precept, which, upon examination, will be found as honest and virtuous as it is discreet. I have already sketched out the great services which it is in your power to render mankind; but all your efforts will be unavailing, if men do not read what you write. Your utility, therefore, it is plain, depends upon your popularity; and popularity cannot be attained without humouring the taste and incliInations Of Imen. Be assured, that by a similar train of sound and judicious reasoning, the consciences of thousands, in publick life, are daily quieted. It is better for the state, that their party should govern than any other. The good which they can effect by the exercise of power is infinitely greater than any which could arise from a rigid adherence to certain subordinate moral precepts, which, therefore, should be violated without scruple, whenever they stand in the way of their leading purpose. He who sticks at these can never act a great part in the world, and is not

fit to act if he could. Such maxims

may be very useful in ordinary af. fairs, and for the guidance of ordinary men; but when we mount into the sphere of publick utility, we must adopt more enlarged principles; and not suffer ourselves to be cramped and fettered by petty notions of right, and moral duty. When you have reconciled yourself to this liberal way of thinking, you will find many inferiour advantages resulting from it, which, at first, did not enter into your consideration. In particular, it will greatly lighten your labours to follow the publick taste, instead of taking upon you to direct it. The task . pleasing, is at all times, easier than that of in

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