streets are quiet, but a glance toward the little church, henceforward to become in verity the Mexican Faneuil Hall and cradle of liberty, reveals dimly the outlines of men moving stealthily about in the gloom. They gather at length in a group around a central figure arrayed in priestly garb, a slender form telling of abstinence. See his eyes beaming dove-like gentleness and benediction! See the warrior-soul slumbering in the meek priest! See those eyes, once filled with woman-like gentleness, transformed to balls of fire that burn into the hearts of men, enthusing them with his own terrible thoughts! The eagle-glances that pierce the semi-darkness blaze into the dusky countenances of his followers! He waves his thin white hands, so oft engaged in supplication and in eloquent gesture, aiding his sacred oratory, as in words that burn he denounces the oppressor. The priest is a warrior now; the hand that has been so often raised in gentle benediction now strikes in wild gesture as though it held a sword. It would have blessed—it is now ready to smite!
Thus stood the venerable Miguel Hidalgo on the night of the 15th of September, 1810, as in animated tones he addressed his Indian allies, concluding with the exhilarating cry, "VIVA NUESTRA SEÑORA DE GUADALUPE!" "VIVA LA INDEPENDENCIA!" The banner of revolt is raised above their heads; he makes the sign of the cross, murmurs a prayer, and the humble cura of Dolores moves down the narrow street in front of his bronze adherents, releasing captives.
THE PATRIOT HIDALGO.
