An example of quite another kind may now be given from the First Part, Chapter XVIII. Here we have unexampled eloquence given with an art which at the same time holds within it so much satire, that no passage from any humorous writer can be cited to

match it.

Sancho's faith in his master's magnificent promises, it will be remembered, had been grievously tried. He had tasted the miraculous balsam of Fierabras, which apparently had wrought the cure of his lord, but which, to his seeming, had brought himself to the brink of death. He had been tossed in a bed-quilt; he had lost his wallets, which contained all that he cared for in the world, and he saw nothing before him but a future of dull, monotonous poverty, sharpened with disappointment and pain, and the scorn of his neighbours. Then it is that the rhetoric of his master, like an enchanter's wand, restores the sun to the heavens, and in the twinkling of an eye turns a black night into a bright noon.

"This is the day, O Sancho, wherein shall be manifested the good which my star has reserved for me. This is the day, I say, on which the valour of mine arm shall be displayed as much as on any other, and on it I have to do deeds that shall remain inscribed in the book of fame for all the ages to come. Seest thou that cloud of dust which rises yonder, Sancho? Well, it is the mustering of an immense army of divers and innumerable nations which comes marching there.”

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By that token there should be two,' said Sancho. 'for on this side also there is just such another cloud of dust.'

"Don Quixote turned to look, and, seeing that this was true, rejoiced beyond measure, imagining of a surety that these were two armies, which came to attack one another and encounter in the midst of that spacious plain; for every hour and moment his fancy were full of those battles, enchantments, adventures, extravagancies, amours, challenges, which are related in the books of chivalry, and all that he spoke, thought, or did tended to such-like things. As for the cloud which he saw, it was raised by two large flocks of sheep, which were coming along that same road from two different quarters, and which, by reason of the dust, could not be discerned until they were close at hand. With so much vehemence did Don Quixote affirm them to be armies, that Sancho came to believe," etc.

Now, if we do not allow ourselves to be carried away as Sancho was, but calmly stand still and watch the flowing tide that carries the squire off his feet, we shall observe with what skill the artist works out his immediate purpose, as well as the means he uses to secure other and subordinate ends. The principal object is, of course, to reduce Sancho to a state of unquestioning belief, and the manner in which this is done cannot fail to command admiration; but it so happens that this magnificent and apparently extem

poraneous preachment which carries Sancho's reason captive, is an exact imitation of the mode by which the national army of Spain was made to exist in the time of Philip III., for it existed only in the brain of those whose interest consisted in having it generally believed to be great and well found. Many and ample were the fortunes made out of clothing, feeding, and housing this paper army; many were the achievements in social life, local as well as metropolitan, of men whose magnificence was confined to the clothes they wore, whose courage lay in persuasive eloquence, and the foundation of whose lofty fortunes was nothing else but an opportunity for helping themselves out of the national purse.

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Sir, what then are we to do?"" said Sancho.

"What should we do," replied Don Quixote, "but favour and aid the weak and distressed? And thou must know, Sancho, that this which comes on our front is commanded and led by the mighty emperor Alifanfaron, lord of the great island of Trapobana. This other, which is marching behind us, is the army of his foe, the King of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the uplifted arm, because he always enters battle with his right arm bare."

It will surprise only the unlessoned readers of the Don Quixote to be told that all these names are the coinage of Cervantes; that they contain pointed allusions to certain men and things as well known in their day as Barnum and shoddy are in this; they

glance at the vices of sloth and idle ostentation which disgraced the Court of Philip III.; they repeat in jest what had before been spoken in moving earnestness, but which were treated as the idle wind by Philip II., to whom they were addressed-words which called upon the son of Charles the Great to emulate his father's courage, and come to the rescue of his enslaved Christian subjects.* For at that time there

* It is perhaps too severe a charge to bring against Philip II., to say that he disregarded the petitions of Cervantes; for, although they are still in existence, it is not certain that they were ever brought before Philip's notice. The following is translated from the rhyming letter of Cervantes, while he was yet a captive in Algiers, which he addressed in 1579 to Mateo Vasquez, one of Philip's private secretaries :

When I arrived in chains and saw the place

So noted in the world, whose teeming breast
Hath nursed the fierce swarms of a pirate race,
My bitter lamentations found no rest,

And, ere I knew the tears coursed at their ease
Adown my haggard cheeks, and unrepressed.

My straining eyes were fixed upon the seas,

The strand, and hill whereon our Charles the Great
Unfurled his royal banner to the breeze;

I saw the main, which, envious of his state
And martial glory, rose in fierce array,

And foamed and raged with unexampled hate.

And as I mused, and memory cast its ray

Upon the scene, my tears seemed charged with fire
And shame at thought of that disastrous day.
But if high Heaven should not with Fate conspire
To heap still greater sorrows on my head,
And Death should not despoil me in his ire;
And should in happier days my steps be led
To royal Philip's throne, and by your aid
I find me kneeling in that presence dread;

were more than twenty thousand "weak and distressed" Spaniards languishing in the accursed bagnios of Algiers-many of illustrious birth, and among them Then do I hope to speak, nor feel afraid,

Though haply with a stammering, faltering tongue,
Yet not with lies nor flattery arrayed,

And thus entreat: Most mighty Sire, whose strong
And powerful arm doth hold in subject sway
Of nations barbarous a countless throng;
To whom the swarthy Indians homage pay,
Dragging their gold from out its rocky nest,
Their wealth of tribute at thy feet to lay;
Let the proud daring of that pirate pest,

Who braves thy potence to this very hour,
Rouse noble wrath within thy royal breast.
The folk be many, though but scant their power;
Naked, ill-armed, for them no refuge lies
Behind the armèd mole or battled tower;
We all across the main with straining eyes
Watch for thy fleet, if haply it be nigh,
With timely succour for the lives we prize.
Thou hast the keys, within thy hand they lie,
To unlock the prison, dismal and profound,
Where twenty thousand Christians pine and die.

*

To turn, and that right soon, thy pitying eyes
On theirs, whence tears do run in endless chase.

Be thine the task, great king, with fitting art
To end the work in which, with courage high,
Thine honoured father took the foremost part;

The rumours of thy coming, as they fly,

Will strike the foe with awe, for well they know
The hour of their perdition draweth nigh!'
Who doubts that through the royal breast will flow
Sweet thoughts of pity, while he hears the sigh
Of these poor wretches buried in their woe?