them. The narrative, as given by Mr. Prescott, is a terrible one. We had marked it for extract, as a fair specimen of his writing, but our space will not suffer its insertion. Enough that, when sated with slaughter, the Spanish retreat was sounded. Forty thousand men are said to have perished in the work of that one dreadful day.

No courage, no

Such conflicts must soon terminate. resolve or resource, can stand them long. The next day, which was the 13th of August, 1521, a day memorable as the close of this dreadful struggle, Cortés prepared to renew the assault. But, willing to afford one more chance of escape to the wretched Aztecs, he sent another message to Guatemozin. The answer was, "Guatemozin is ready to die where he is-he will hold no interview with the Spaniard. It is for him to work his pleasure." "Away, then," said the stern conqueror, "away to your countrymen, and let them prepare for death. The hour is come!" He nevertheless postponed the assault for several hours, in the hope that some change might be induced in the inflexible spirit of the Indian. He seemed reluctant to urge the last desperate measures against so brave an enemy. But his troops murmured at the delay. Rumours were spread that the Aztec monarch was preparing to escape across the lake, and the Spanish General reluctantly gave the signal for the assault. This was, in other words, the signal for massacre. Cortés placed himself upon an azotea, which commanded the scene of operations. The Spaniards found their enemy huddled together in a confused crowd of all ages and sexes, in masses so dense, as to seem designed less for the purpose of combat, than to facilitate the expected carnage. The causeways were crowded to the water. Some had climbed the terraces; others feebly supported themselves against the walls of the buildings. Their garments were squalid and tattered, and the famine glaring from their eyes, only served to heighten the spectral ferocity of their expression. They possessed the ancient spirit but not its strength, and met the assailants with a flight of arrows. But these feebly

seconded their hate. They fell ineffectual from the padded coats of the Spaniards. Then followed the crash of more potent implements of war-the peals of cannon, the sharp, rattling discharge of fire arms, and the shouts, hellish and infuriate, of the herds of Spanish allies, exulting in the near accomplishment of their long contemplated hope of ven

geance. Why attempt the description of the horrible scene that followed. Why show the last hopeless struggle of the Aztecs, butchered on the causeways, or gasping in the overwhelming waters in which they sunk on either hand. The battle raged equally on lake and land. The last hope of the lordly race of Tenochtitlan, was extinguished in the bloody horrors of that day. It was at its close when Guatemozin was taken. Bravely, indeed, with a stern resolution worthy of the greatest times and people, had this gallant Indian clung to the falling fortunes of his country. He had done all that man could do in the circumstances under which he stood. He was no mere savage;-but, with the indomitable obsti nacy of one, he united large resources of civilization, and superior powers of intellect and observation. His defence of the capital had been singularly adapted, in most respects, to his own and the condition of his enemy. As we have seen, it was unavailing. It was only then that he attempted flight, and this attempt may have contemplated the safety of his wife and followers rather than his own-may have contemplated nothing less than future struggles with the inva der, in other places of security and strength. He was not the Roman fool,

"to die by his own sword,"

so long as there were hopes of good battle, yet in reserve for his countrymen. In the moment of danger and captivi vity, he betrayed no apprehension. His surrender was much more dignified than that of Santa Anna at Jacinto. When his piragua was encountered by the brigantine of Garci Holquin, and the Spaniards were about to fire, he was the first to rise, armed with buckler and maquahuitl, in defiance to the assailants. But the cry of his followers declared him to be their lord. They could implore mercy for him, hav ing no prayer for themselves. The Spanish captain arrested the fire of his soldiers. At this command, the young monarch lowered his weapons. "I am Guatemozin," he exclaimed, "lead me to Malinche, (Cortés.) I am his prisoner. Let no harm come to my wife and followers." When Holquin told him to command the people in the other canoes to surrender, he replied, with a dejected air,-"It is not necessary. They will fight no longer, when they see that their prince is taken." The fight ceased from that moment. In the conquest of Guatemozin, that of Tenochtitlan was complete.

He had been the soul of his empire. It was now a corse, at the mercy of the Spaniard.

When brought into the presence of Cortés, Guatemozin betrayed no sort of apprehension. Emotion he must have shown. His deportment was dignified and modest. As Cortés came forward to receive him, he broke the silence by saying, "I have done all that I could for the defence of my people. I am your prisoner. Deal with me as you list. Dispatch me with this"-laying his hand upon the hilt of a poniard in the General's belt-"and rid me of life at once." Cortés could appreciate the noble character of his captive. "Fear nothing," he replied; "you shall be treated with honor. You have defended your capital like a brave warrior. A Spaniard knows how to respect the valor of his enemy !"

This assurance was unhappily forfeited in the sequel. It is the reproach of Cortés that his noble captive fell a victim to suspicions, which do not seem to have been justly founded. He was kept, in a sort of honorable captivity, for some time after the conquest. But, insurrections among his countrymen were laid to his charge. He was put to the torture, and subsequently executed, professing his innocence, reproaching Cortés for his perfidy, and dying like a Prince. Whether the charge were true, or not, the better nature of Cortés, when time was allowed for reflection, recoiled at the cruel severity of his proceedings. His conscience smote him for the too ready credence he had given to the accusation, for the too stern penalty with which he had visited the supposed criminal. He suffered bitterly from a natural remorse, which, while it testifies to his consciousness of crime, at least equally declares the acuteness and justness of his sensibilities, and, we trust, the merit of his repentance.

Thus fell the wondrous empire of the Aztecs, an empire of the greatest magnificence, great numbers, and immense resources, an empire upheld by crime, and maintained by cruel wars, stained by the most shocking rites and governed by the most relentless tyranny,-the wonder of its own people, the terror of its neighbors,-the admiration of the European. Its destiny was fulfilled by the stranger, as shadowed out by its own traditions. The great drama which began with the fall of Montezuma, by the hands of his subjects, was carried out to stern completion by the sacrifice of the nobler Guatemozin, to the suspicions of the conqueror. And here our narrative might properly conclude. The tri

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umph of our hero is complete. The object of the grand action which makes the glory of his career, is attained. He is at the summit of his conquests. There is no point of elevation, yet beyond, attainable, which is desirable for him to reach. The further survey presents him in less favorable lights, shows him struggling against injustice, and finally its victim. The last days of a great man, "fallen from his high estate," have something mournful in them, particularly if he shall have been one accustomed to command. Yet, a biographical propriety hurries us forward. A few paragraphs must suffice to close a history, the leading events of which have been already absorbed in the narrative.

Of the subsequent career of Cortés, in fixing the civil power of Mexico, and in extending and making sure his conquests, it will be enough in this place to say, that they prove his resources as a statesman to have been quite as remarkable as those which he had shown in the character of the conqueror. He secured the submission of the country, suppressed insurrection, rebuilt the capital, and, by well conceived expeditions explored its remotest provinces. When this difficult work was all complete, he returned to Spain, where he found a most brilliant reception. His presence confirmed his conquest over his enemies, who were numerous in that quarter. All jealousy of his designs was set at rest. The Emperor ennobled him, and with the title of "Marquess of the Valley of Oaxaca," conferred upon him a princely domain in Mexico. But the future government of the country he had won, was not confided to his hands. In his respect, the suspicious policy of Spain differed in no particular from what it had been in the case of Columbus. Greatness is very apt to be distrusted, the moment it ceases to be necessary to conquest, the moment its achievements and discoveries are sure. A military command was given him. He was named Captain-General of New Spain and of the coasts of the South Sea,-a dignity which simply conferred upon him the privilege of making new conquests-if he could. He subsequently married into a noble house and returned to Mexico, where he was regarded with distrust by the authorities. His eager and proud spirit did not suffer him to remain long in unperformance. He fitted out new expeditions, which were only partially successful. He returned to Castile, where he was received with coldness by the Emperor. His offence was two-fold. He had claims

upon the crown, and he was no longer fortunate. We pass over the melancholy history of entreaty met with indifference, and complaint answered with impatience. The fate of Cortés, in seeking justice, is a story which is often read. The aged veteran was thrust aside to make way for younger spirits. The monarch found it easier not to acknowledge obligations which he could not repay; and, after a fruitless prosecution of his claims for three years, Cortés determined to abandon them and return once more to Mexico. But mortification and disappointment had impaired his health. He was not permitted to re-visit the scene of his conquests, but, taken with a mortal illness, while making preparations for his voyage, he died near Seville, on the 2d December, 1547, in the sixty-third year of his age. He met his end with the same composure with which he had gone into battle, he made his will, a remarkable document,-confessed his sins, received the holy sacrament, and yielded himself meekly, and with humble confidence, into the hands of his Maker. We read his character in his story. It has been our purpose to make this speak for itself,-to select and bring out the prominent performances of his life, and educe the moral of his life from its successive scenes and performances. What is wanting to our analysis must be supplied by that of Mr. Prescott, to whose delightful history, we trust, we have shown the way to numerous readers.