record here for the benefit of those who despair of due punishment being meted out to crimes committed with impunity ten years ago. The perpetrators of that bloody farce, all without one exception, have died a bloody death. A fatal ball struck Espinosa at Angaco. Acha, coming suddenly into the street one dark night, fired a few shots out of mere wantonness into the square, and the comic actor, who hoped for Espinosa's signal to stab me, fell dead from his horse; the Indian Saavedra, who had given me a thrust, was assassinated. And the crippled gaucho Fernandez, who wallowed in drunkenness and dissipation, if he yet lives, it is to show who was the Governor's adjutant in those days of madness and infamy. Like my mother, I believe in Providence; and Barcena, Gaetan, Salomon, and all the Mashorqueros (thugs) assassinated by each other, or sentenced by him who had put the dagger into their hands, devoured by remorse, desperation, delirium, and the contempt of men, tormented by epilepsy or wasted by consumption, have made me hope yet for the end which will adjust all things. Rosas is already in despair! His body is a skeleton, trembling and disjointed. The venom of his soul is corroding the vase which holds it, and you will soon hear it crack, that his putrescent existence may give place to the rehabilitation of morality and justice, and to the sentiments of humanity compromised for so many years. Woe, then, to those who have not repented of their crimes! The greatest punishment that can be inflicted upon them is to live, and I wish to inflict upon all, without exception, this punishment.
"My residence of four years in San Juan—and this is the only epoch of my adult life that I have resided in my own country—was a continuous and obstinate combat. I, like others, wished to elevate myself, and the least concession on my part would have opened to me the door to the
