The Qaid of Sayagossa.

"The Spanish maid, aroused,

Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
And, all unsexed, the anlace hath espoused,
Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war!
And she who once the semblance of a seer
Appalled, an owlet's larum chilled with dread,
Now views the column-scatt'ring bay'net jar,
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead
Stalks, with Minerva's step, where Mars might
quake to tread."

HOME, the sacred word home, has thrilled through millions of hearts; and when danger has threatened that stronghold of the affections, the weakest and most timid have been suddenly changed into the most courageous and the strong. This side of heaven there is no place so worth defending; and if anything can excuse the horrors of war, it is when it is imperilled, when its peace and quiet are endangered. No wonder, then, that at times, in its defence, even young girls should quit their domestic duties, should forget their natural dread of danger, and rush to the "tented field" or the defended battlements, heedless of death, so that the foe might be kept from polluting the hearths of their homes. Such a girl was the famous "Maid of Saragossa."

Saragossa, properly named Zaragoza, is the capital of Aragon in Spain. The city has many very fine public buildings, and on many accounts is one of the most remarkable cities of Spain. It has repeatedly been subjected to the terrors of invasion. In 470 it was taken by the Goths, and in 712 by the Moors; and again, in 1118, Alphonso I. of Aragon, after a siege of eight months, drove the Moors from it. And then, in 1808, General Lefevre, during the continuance of the Peninsular war, owing to the unfurling of the Bourbon standard, invaded it. It was miserably adapted for defence. Its outward protection was an ill-constructed wall, twelve feet high and three feet broad, intersected by houses for the most part falling into decay. Many of the churches and convents were in the like condition. A large hill, called Il Forero, distant about a mile from the city, completely commanded the place, and offered a most effective spot from whence to bombard the streets and public buildings. All the soldiers within the city were two hundred and twenty; the artillery consisted of ten old cannon. It was scarcely possible for the city to be in a worse position for defending itself against a siege.

The French treated the question of defence. with ridicule; they conceived that preparation on their parts was scarcely needed, as so they said the city was only inhabited by monks and cowards. They had good reason ere long to change their notions; instead of cowards, they found the place inhabited and defended by heroes. The annals of war from the earliest period of the world's history do not recount an instance of greater heroism or bravery than that exhibited by the inhabitants during the

two months' siege; and, as could only happen under the circumstances, greater horrors and more concentrated misery, the concomitant of war at all times, but more so in a place so ill defended and provided as Saragossa. The sacrifices made by the inhabitants, the perils they endured, the heroism they manifested, were unsurpassed by the most daring and enduring. But the inhabitants were not all thus brave and high-souled: there was one exception, a despicable wretch who had charge of a powder magazine, who had tampered with the French, had listened to their overtures, and who had engaged, upon the promise of reward, at a certain time to fire the magazine. It is difficult to understand how such an ingrained villain could have been entrusted with an office of so much importance; but the inhabitants generally, doubtless, knowing the loyalty of their own intentions, were unsuspicious of treachery from one of themselves. When the magazine was fired, the immediate result was truly horrible. The French, so soon as the explosion took place, poured their troops in dense masses against the gates. The inhabitants were absolutely paralysed by the sudden misfortune; buildings were falling around them, shot from the guns of the enemy were crashing through the streets, desolation and destruction were alone to be seen: those who had defended the walls speedily were numbered with the dead, and either lay a ghastly sight at their posts, or filled up the ditch that surrounded the city. It was no longer a battle-it was a massacre! None presented themselves on the ramparts in defence their appearance would only have been a signal for their destruction. All seemed hopeless, all seemed over. The victors might

enter the city when they listed-the betrayed inhabitants, with their more than human courage, could no longer offer resistance; they must now bow their heads to the vanquishers!

Is there hope, can there be any hope? Is the state of affairs not yet desperate? No;-help was at hand; no circumstances are so desperate as not to present some way out of the difficulty. But what way or what help could come to these torn and betrayed inhabitants? It is true, if by any miracle an army could attack the rear of the besiegers, then the besieged could yet hope. But this could not be. No army came to their aid. Their help must be in themselves and they were helpless.

At this moment, from out the doorway of the church of Nostra Donna del Pillas, a female, habited in white, having a cross suspended from her neck, her hair hanging in dishevelled locks, and her eyes sparkling with almost unnatural lustre, proceeded. That was the deliverer of the city! Without hesitation she trod the streets with valiant boldness; she sought the very spot where the enemy were pouring on to the assault; a gunner, as she gained the ramparts just as he was about to discharge his piece, was struck down; the Maid Agostina snatched the brand from his hand and fired the cannon. Then kissing her cross, and raising her voice to its utmost height, she shouted "Death or victory!" and again reloaded the cannon. This vision gave new life to the all but conquered inhabitants; they caught the spirit of her enthusiasm-it was surely some heavenly power which had come to their aid! "Long live Agostina!" now rang out from those invigorated but weary men. "Forward, forward, we will conquer ! And

on they went against their invaders, who were forced by their impetuosity to yield on every side.

This was an unexpected repulse to the French, who were deeply mortified at their want of success when the place seemed given into their hands. The French general, in his mortification, determined to reduce it by famine, and also to bombard it from the hill Il Torero. These measures resulted in indescribable horrors for the inhabitants, and would, but for the intrepid courage of Agostina, have resulted in the capitulation of the city. She was ever in the thickest danger, mounted the ramparts to aid the wounded, ran from house to house to bind up the wounds of those who had been carried into them, administering medicine to the sick, and distributing food to the starving. She was an angel of mercy, as she had been an angel of victory.

The French, meanwhile, using the most indomitable perseverance, had succeeded in possessing themselves of nearly half the city. General Lefevre, with full confidence in his ultimate success, sent a messenger to Palafox, the commandant of the city, demanding its capitulation. This message was received in public. Agostina stood by the side of Palafox, completely armed. When the message had been read, he turned to her for an answer-without hesitation she cried, "War to the Knife!" The populace caught up and echoed the words, which were sent as the answer to the message!

Again was the war renewed. No incident in history can furnish a parallel to the horrors which then ensued. The same street in the city would be occupied by the opposite forces !