hot, and such was the exasperation of his mind that one day, as he describes it,—
"It touched upon delirium; I was frantic, demented, and conceived the sublime idea of castigating all Chili; declaring it ungrateful, infamous, vile. I wrote I know not what diatribe, put my name to it, and carried it to the press of 'el Progreso,' giving it directly into the hands of the compositors. I then returned home in silence, loaded my pistols, and awaited the explosion of the mine I had laid for my own destruction, but I felt avenged, and satisfied that I had achieved a great act of justice. Nations, I said to myself, may be criminal, and are so at times, and there is no judge who can punish them adequately but their own tyrants or their own writers. I complained of the President, of Montt, of the Viales, in order that no one should escape my justice; and to the writers and the public in general I told horrible, humiliating truths, enough to rouse the indignation of a whole city, till beside itself with anger it should demand the head of the audacious one who could so insult it.
"From this certain danger I was saved by the kindness of Don Jacobo Vial, to whom the frightened compositors had shown my manuscript. Don Antonio came to my house looking very sad, and spoke to me in the gentle and compassionate voice with which one is wont to address a lunatic. No sign of displeasure or of resentment appeared in his countenance.
- "'Don Domingo,' he said, 'the printers have shown me the article you left with them this morning.'
- "' I hear you.'
- "'Have you considered the consequences?'
- "'Perfectly,' looking at my pistols.
- "'It is useless.'
- "'I know it; leave me in peace!'
