O, believe us, you should see and feel the belongings of this
beautiful isle, to appreciate how nearly it approaches to your early
ideas of fairy land.

But, alas! how often do man's coarser disposition and baser nature
belie the soft and beautiful characteristics of nature about him;
how often, how very often, is the still, heavenly influence that
reigns in fragrant flowers and bubbling streams, marred and
desecrated by the harshness and violence engendered by human
passions!

In the midst of such a scene as we have described, at the moment to
which we refer, there was a fearful struggle being enacted between a
small party of Montaros, or inland robbers, and the occupants and
outriders of a volante, which had just been attacked on the road.
The traces that attached the horse to the vehicle had been cut, and
the postilion lay senseless upon the ground from a sword wound in
their head, while the four outriders were contending with thrice
their number of robbers, who were armed with pistols and Toledo
blades. It was a sharp hand to hand fight, and their steel rang to
the quick strokes.

In the volante was the person of a lady, but so closely enshrouded
by a voluminous rebosa, or Spanish shawl, as hardly to leave any of
her figure exposed, her face being hid from fright at the scene
being enacted about her. At her side stood the figure of a tall,
stately man, whose hat had been knocked over his head in the
struggle, and whose white hairs gave token of his age. Two of the
robbers, who had received the contents of his two pistols, lay dead
by the side of the volante, and having now only his sword left, he