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"Que titolo tiene el libro preguntó Don Quixote? A lo que el autor respondió ; senor el libro en toscano se llama Le bagatelle? Y que responde Le bagatelle en nuestro castellano i preguntó Don Quixote.

"Le bagatelle, dixo el autor, es como si en castellano dixésemos los juguetes y aunque este libro es en el nombre humilde, contiene y encierra en si cosas muy buenas y substanciales."


Bayonne - The British Cemetery-An Apparition- An

Epitaph Hotel St. Etienne - Biaritz – La Cave

d'Amour-A Cold Bath. ABOUT half-a-mile north of the citadel of Bayonne, at the foot of a hill, is a small square enclosure, comprising a few yards of ground. A brick wall, originally eight feet high, but now scarcely half that height exteriorly, (in consequence of the clay from the surface of the hill VOL. I.


having been washed down in the course of time,) fences this secluded spot. Within, the ground is at its usual level; but an uninterrupted growth of weeds, seldom if ever pressed by the foot of man, overspreads the enclosure. It was here that, after a terrible and murderous sortie from the citadel, during its siege by the British army in the year 1814, the distinguished heroes who fell in that engagement were consigned to their lasting rest. The flower of the officers of the Coldstream Guards perished in that sudden conflict, so fatal to those who, during the perilous attack, were foremost to defend the British banners. Private subscription, and sympathy for their fate, soon caused the spot to be protected and reverenced; and unadorned, but neat, grave-stones were placed to indicate the bed of each of the heroes. *

At the latter end of the month of October,

* From the field-officer to the ensign, all are, alike, designated ; and to the liberality of Captain H—, the present British Consul at Bayonne, (formerly comrade in battle of the now silent occupants of the secluded cemetery,) much credit is due for the repairs it has more than once undergone at his private expense.

1833, a young man was seen hurrying, towards the close of day, in the direction of the cemetery. He had passed the last cottage intervening between it and the citadel, but still looked around in vain for some indication of the place. No path was beaten by the frequent tread of pilgrims, a reflection which served to embitter his feelings. Perhaps the very spot on which he stood bad been distinguished by the prowess of some brave soldier who now lay beneath-and a few years had been sufficient not only to obliterate the remembrance of his valour, but also to destroy the very memento erected to perpetuate his memory. At length, his searching eye caught the angle of a sunken wall ; and with breathless eagerness he broke through the brushwood that interrupted his path. A marble slab, built up with the wall, and suffered to project as a stepping-stone, enabled him to gain access to the sacred ground, the only means of entrance, as the elevation around formed an uninterrupted enclosure.

But the step of manhood that had borne him along thus far seemed to desert him now, and his trembling hand appeared hardly nerved enough to bend aside the weeds that darkened the epitaphs of the dead.

One by one his eye pored over the time-worn chiseled letters, now almost effaced. “ Colonel C—, obit A.D. 1814.” Major Ensign Lieutenant

; the last name expired on his lip :-and the young man sank on his knees beside the grave.

There was nothing effeminate in the outline of his countenance, although at that moment tears rolled down his cheeks. His dark and glossy hair waved over his forehead, which he bared as he dropped his knee upon the ground, revealing the graceful contour of a wellshaped head. Indulging in the intensity of feeling, the solitude around heightened the solemnity of his grief; and he suffered the emotion of his breast to find utterance, as he apostrophized the remains of Lieutenant De Clifford.

When the first effusion of grief had passed, he looked around



of the comrades in death, and drew earnestly towards a monument that was erected in the centre of the

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