veritable nightmares. Foreseeing that a certain number of dangerous and unnecessary personages must be gotten rid of, one stands appalled at the ingenuity displayed in making the first taking off so circumstantially terrible. But the author's power is equal to the strain. With magnificent audacity he proceeds and runs through a rising scale of accident, suicide, and murder, which swells on triumphantly to the perfect artistic end. Yet this is but one view of the picture. Side by side with this dark and tragic story moves the peaceful and tender tale of village life and quiet homes and humble affection. It is as if the same hand could write at the same time "Monte Cristo" and the "Vicar of Wakefield," and the frenzied outbursts of the one revenge themselves for the gentle serenity of the other.
"Calvario y Tabor," as the name implies, is a story of suffering and triumph, — the death-agony of the old empire, and the transfiguration of the new republic. With the vivid and thrilling record of sacrifice and heroism, which forces the reader into profound sympathy with the purpose of the people, are interwoven two love-stories, — one
