My idolized country! grief of my griefs!  My adored Philippines!  Hear my last farewell.  I leave them all with thee; my fathers and my loves.  I go where there are no slaves, no oppressors, no executioners; where faith is not death; where He who reigns is God.

Farewell! fathers and brothers, parts of my soul!  Friends of my infancy in the lost home.  Give thanks that I should rest from the fatiguing day.  Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, my joy.  Farewell, beloved beings.  To die is to rest.

Jose Rizal.

The Vision of Friar Rodriguez.

Comfortably seated in an arm chair one night, satisfied with himself as well as with his supper, Friar Jose Rodriguez dreamed of the many pennies that the sale of his little books was drawing from the pockets of the Filipinos, when suddenly, and as if by enchantment, the yellow light of the lamp gave a brilliant, white flash, the air was filled with soft perfume, and without his being able to explain how or wherefrom, a man appeared.

This was an old man of medium height, dark complected and thin, whose white beard was a contrast to his glittering vivacious eyes, which gave his face extreme animation.  Over his shoulder he wore a long cape; a mitre on his head and a crosier in his hand gave him the aspect of a Bishop.

At sight of him, Friar Rodriguez yawning, murmured: 

“Dreams of my fertile imagin—!”

The vision did not permit him to finish the exclamation, but gave him a whack between the shoulders.

“Eh!  This is no joke!” exclaimed Friar Rodriguez, stroking with one hand the afflicted part while with the other he rubbed his eyes.

“I see!  It is no dream!  But partner!”

Incensed at such familiarity, the strange personage began poking Friar Rodriguez severely with his crosier on the stomach.  The latter, satisfied by this time that the thrashing was in earnest, exclaimed: 

“Here!  Here!  Friar Pedro (Peter)—­Is that the way you cancel indulgencies?  That was not the agreement.”

The strange Bishop, aroused to a high pitch of anger, stopped his poking and started to knock Friar Rodriguez on the head, believing it to be a more sensitive part.  Unfortunately, Friar Rodriguez’s head was too hard for anything, and the crosier fell, broken in two pieces.  At last! said the poor friar, who, pale and deadly frightened, had fallen on his knees and was trying to creep away on all fours.

At sight of his pitiful condition, the stranger seeded satisfied, and, placing on a table the broken crosier, said with contempt: 

“Homo sine homine, membra sine spiritu!  Et iste appellatur filius meus!”

At the sound of that potent voice and language, unknown to him, Friar Rodriguez appeared confounded.  The stranger could not be Friar Pedro (Peter) nor any brother in disguise!  Impossible!

“Et tamen (the stranger continued), tanta est vanita vestra, ut ante me Patrem vestrum—­sed video, loguor et non audis!”