Impostors, and simple believers,— Half knaves and the other half fools. Doctor Solomon's sweet panacea (A bottle of balm) may be got, Including advice, if you'll pay a "Small compliment," call'd a pound note. When health's to be sold in a phial, His practice, a London leech plying, Cures ailments by rubbing the back; But his patients, when fairly a-dying, Begin to suspect he's a quack. When you find your apparel is wearing, At the warehouse in Prince's Street, bearing But should you (believing their praisers) Buy ready-made clothes that look well, Oh! like Peter Pindar's blunt razors, You'll find they were made but to sell. But of all impositions a-going, The greatest and worst to escape Is the one that prevents us from knowing A woman's own natural shape. Young ladies oft wed for a carriage, Entangled in love's silken meshes, With the maid that hath caught him, made oneHe fancies she flesh of his flesh is— He finds she's but bone of his bone. Pensive poets of shapes love the slender- Lean ladies, they are my provokers, So lank and so stiff, you would say That their drink was decoction of pokers, Instead of good London bohea. But I think we are most of us doaters It was now resolved that we should each in succession try our luck in this novel lottery. However, as we had commenced the investigation with a view to fly from thought, every serious production was voted irrelevant, and postponed till a future occasion. But the spring time is not a season of merriment, though it is of happiness. The reviving warmth seemed to have melted our correspondents, to a man, into a jelly of sentiment. Every tender swain of them, you would have sworn, had penned his lorn ditty stretched at his lubber's length on the sunny side of a half-green hedge, thinking of his lady, and laying in a stock of rheumatism for the next winter. At last our search was rewarded with A SPRING DITTY. Farewell to the blaze of wax candlesAdieu to the lustre of gas! And then, your half dances-half stand-stillsThey're but as a mem'ry that was! Good-by to your glasses of jelly— To sandwiches thin as my frill— An acre would not fill one's belly! Adieu to the waltz and quadrille ! The look of an orchestra's frightful- The sun now gets up in the morning At the hour I was wont to lie downAnd its roseate tints are adorning Even the smoke-wrinkled face of the town! The breeze is abroad like a rover, And gently kissing the flowers,— The winter-the winter is over, The spring and the summer are ours! O! for plumes of the ostrich, wave o'er me, Ye green leaves and blossoms of June! Paganini himself would but bore me, When the laverock's voice is in tune! I'm off to the glen and the mountain, Our comments upon these verses were interrupted by the entrance of Ellen, who was sent by her mistress to inform us, that three gentlemen had just arrived, that she had no empty room in the house, and that it would be an act of charity on our part to accommodate them. This, under existing circumstances, reasonable request being complied with, the strangers were ushered in. The party consisted of a gentleman and two younkers, evidently his relations; but in what grade it might not be so easy to determine. He was rather above the middle size, with broad flat shoulders, and expressing an easy consciousness of strength in his frank, bold bearing. His complexion was ruddy, long light-coloured locks, a little thinner than they had once been at the summit of the head, hung down on either side of a brow, which, whatever it might have been to a phrenologist, commanded at once the homage of the poet and the artist. His eye had a wild glistening, like that of the "fair ladie" in Christabelle-it looked through and through you, and yet every minute a shade of the tenderest expression would steal across it. A good-humoured smile played upon his lips. He bowed courteously, apologizing for his intrusion. We answered in some words-of-course-something about the obligation upon sportsmen to be mutually accommodating, inwardly congratulating ourselves upon the chance that brought us acquainted with a person of his figure. He advanced to the fire, and commenced the operation of drying some part of his habiliments, which had suffered from the inclemency of the evening. We remarked that his first step was to take two newspapers (we afterwards discovered they were Standards) from his coat-pocket, which he did with a marked air of deference, and spread them upon the back of a chair before the fire. He next desired Ellen to fetch him a large dish, into which he might transfer the contents of his creel. His orders being obeyed, he lifted out of that spacious receptacle one goodly trout after another, till we began to imagine that it was, like the fairy purse of Fortunatus, inexhaustible. All this while he continued to comment upon each fish to his young companions in a voice of fatherly kindness, sometimes extending a remark to us. When the whole of his enormous day's fishing was displayed, he contemplated it with the mild triumph of a gentleman and an angler. Williams. There is, for example, he who wrote the Life of Fuseli-what is his name? But we can with still greater facility imagine a better. His best recommendation is that, except in his first chapter, which is emi lavishly before us, seldom poking in his own stupid face to make a remark. He has given us an excellent "me moire pour servir," &c. Sir Thomas Lawrence is an artist, in the vindication and maintenance of whose fair fame the country is deeply interested. He is one of our three British portraitpainters, who, for originality and solid value, are entitled to rank among the Vandykes. First is Reynolds with his glowing and harmonious colour, his character, and his bold, manly style of handling. Next comes Raeburn with his breadth and solidity of effect, his likenesses of the mind as well as the body. Last, Sir Thomas, noways inferior to either, with his real presences, his eyes, into which you look down till you see the soul. We do not deny that there are, and have been among us, other portrait-painters of high merit, but not one of them has attained to such a mastery in their department as this splendid triumvirate. Having dried himself, and satisfied the cravings of appetite, he, first asking permission to use such a liberty, extended himself in a reclining posture upon a sofa which|nently stupid and irrelevant, he strews his materials stood in the room, aud began to converse. He followed the train of conversation wherever it led, showing himself equally versed in the mysteries of fly-fishing and metaphysics. By a tacit consent of all parties, politics were studiously eschewed. What first struck us was the intense power of his descriptions-the scenes rose embodied before us, as fixing us with his bright eye he evoked them, we knew not, spell-bound as we were, whether by the rich colours of his language, or by some magic in his glance. We were next startled by the broad rich humour of his grotesque impersonations. If any ludicrous idea were suggested, by himself, or another of the party, his delight was to pursue it to the very verge of absurdity, and even there to give it a palpable form, and that character of truth and reality, which genius bestows on its wildest imaginings. He treated us, in the course of the evening, to a thousand pictures, wild as Teniers' temptations of St Anthony, but luxuriant and glowing as the hues and forms of Italy. And ever and anon our high-wrought spirits were allowed to repose, by his introducing remarks upon life and character, in a tone of mild philosophic reflection. Whenever he addressed his young comrades, or alluded to his relations, there was an affectionate tremour in his voice. We regarded him with wonder and admiration. His was a spirit which must in youth have been terrible in its beauty, but years had rendered it milder, without impairing its strength. He was like a gorgeous picture, with its tints tempered by the lapse of time; like a noble and fiery wine, made mellower and richer by age; like-himself, his only parallel. Despite our fatigues, and the prospect of next day's renewal of them, we listened to his eloquence till far in the morning. At last he rose, and, calling his boys to his side, with a playful affectation of decrepitude leaned heavily upon them, and was thus borne out of the room. Who can he be? was our first question. Alfred, picking up a handkerchief he had dropped, proceeded to examine the corners we were too much excited to attend to punctilioes on one of which he discovered the initials Blockheads that we were, not to have recognised C. N. him sooner. The sun rose next morning bright and cloudless. We were stirring with him, and after one of Clovenford's amplest breakfasts, proceeded to take leave of our kind and attentive hostess. But before departing, we had to go through a ceremony belonging to the simple and kindly manners of the olden time. In came the landlady with no small degree of bustle, smiling through her tears, carrying a tray covered with bottles, glasses, and shortbread "Naebody ever left this house without takin' a dram frae my bottle, and sic discreet gentlemen shanna be the first." So we performed the libation with all due solemnity, and exeunt omnes. LITERARY CRITICISM. Lawrence was the son of an innkeeper-of a man who had been born to better prospects, somewhat addicted to literature, and a considerable prig. The boy was remarkable for his beauty, early showed a knack of taking likenesses, and, under his father's sedulous tuition, displayed a talent for declamation which he retained through life. Rather a ludicrous account is given by an eyewitness of one of his earliest attempts at portraitpainting : "Lawrence frequently brought his boy to the greenroom, and we would set him on a table and make him recite Hamlet's directions to the players. On one of these occasions, Henderson was present, and expressed much gratification. The little fellow, in return for our civilities and flatteries, was desirous to take our likenesses, the first time we came to Devizes, and Edwin and myself afforded him an opportunity soon after, on one of our non-playday's excursions. After dinner, Lawrence proposed giving us a reading as usual, but Tom reminded him of our promise. We preferred a specimen of his talents, as being most novel. The young artist collected his materials very quickly, and essayed my visage the first. In about ten minutes, he produced a faithful delineation in crayon, which for many years I kept as a curiosity. He next attempted Edwin's, who, startled at the boy's ability, resolved (in his usual way) to perplex him. "No man had a more flexible countenance than Edwin. It was not only well featured, but well muscled, if I may be allowed the expression, which enabled him to throw over its surface, as on a moral prism, all the colours of expression, minutely blending or powerfully contrasting. He accordingly commenced his sitting, by settling his face into a sober and rather serious aspect, and when the young artist had taken its outline and come to the eyes, he began gradually, but imperceptibly, to extend and change it, raising his brows, compressing his lips, and widening his mouth, till his face wore the expression of brightness and gaiety. Tom no sooner perceived the change, than he started in supreme wonder, attributing it to a defect in his own vision. The first outline was accordingly abandoned, and a second commenced. Tom was now more particular, and watched him narrowly, but Edwin, feature by feature, and muscle THERE is an immense deal of coquetting and compli- by muscle, so completely ran, what might have been menting at the outset of this book, between Mr Camp- called the gamut of his countenance-as the various combell and Mr Williams, who were to have been joint-get-ponents of its harmony-that the boy drew and rubbed ters-up of the Life of Sir Thomas Lawrence-between Mr Campbell, who was to have fathered the work, and Mr Williams who has. We do not see what possible interest the public can have in their private arrangements. We can easily imagine a worse biographer than Mr The Life and Correspondence of Sir Thomas Lawrence, out, till his hand fell by his side, and he stood silently looking in Edwin's face, to discover, if possible, its true expression. Edwin could not long maintain his composure at his scrutiny, and revealed the hoax with a burst of merriment and mimic thunder." midst of these vexations, which I think I reveal to you for the first time, I have the cares of overwhelming business, a thousand dissatisfactions arising from it, and the difficult settlement of those past encumbrances that once so nearly ruined me." Sir Thomas's conduct was in strict keeping with the sentiments he has here expressed. Throughout the whole of his life, however, we can trace a strain of that tempered effeminacy which we recognise in his paintings. From a want of that masculine decision which enables a man to regulate his worldly affairs, he was, He soon attracted the notice of the neighbouring gentry, and got into good practice as a taker of likenesses. While yet young he went to London, was introduced to Sir Joshua, and distinguished himself in the Academy. He attracted the attention of royalty, and was admitted an associate of the Royal Academy before he attained the lawful age. Once fairly afloat in London, his popularity increased with every year. No painter was ever more beautiful and true to nature,—no one ever produced such effects with the most subdued and unostentatious tints. There is a grace and elegance in every thing he did. Perhaps this is carried even to a degree of effeminacy-notwithstanding his immense professional gains, continever marked enough, however, to become offensive. It has been said that he had talents for becoming a great historical painter. Of this we are doubtful, notwithstanding that we have the fear of his Satan and his John Kemble before our eyes. He had an imagination which sailed swanlike upon the tide of human life, adding a new grace to it, but wanted strength of wing to soar into the imaginative world. He cultivated his powers to the uttermost, and had become all that he was capable of becoming. The following extract from one of his letters, while it shows his character in a most amiable light, serves to corroborate this opinion: Triumphs of conquerors, and even the deeds of heroism that secure them, have a colder spectator in me, as man and artist, than can often be found. I would rather paint Satan, bursting into tears, when collecting his ruined angels, than Achilles, radiant in his heavenly arms, mounting his chariot, defying his destiny when announced by miracle, and rushing on devoted Troy! And fallen Rome, with its declining sun, as it was once sweetly, pathetically painted by Claude, would be more delightful in anticipation, than seen in its full carnival, with its rich tapestries hung round St Peter's, its illuminated dome, and the magnificent fireworks from the castle of St Angelo, with all the gorgeous accompaniments of processions, fêtes, &c. &c. nually embarrassed. Though always kind and ready to befriend, there was a want of depth and permanency in his attachments. Our readers will understand us when they read what follows: "A "A lady, writing of Sir Thomas Lawrence's liaisons, says, I think every person of right feeling, every creature that will take the trouble to examine his own catalogue of failings, will be ready to pity or excuse the only shade on a character so beautiful and so much to be loved. I should be tempted to use the language of Laertes, ministering angel shall he be," &c., but it cannot be too strongly stated, that his manners were likely to mislead, without his intending it. He could not write a common answer to a dinner invitation, without its assuming the tone of a billet doux: the very commonest conversation was held in that soft, low whisper, and with that tope of deference and interest, which are so unusual, and so calculated to please. I am myself persuaded, that he never intentionally gave pain. He was not a male coquette; he had no plan of conquest. All I know of his attachment, was the ill-fated and never-to-be-defended affair.' "Ill-fated and indefensible indeed was this affair. Sir Thomas had carried his attentions to an exemplary young lady so far, that it required, on her part, the utmost magnanimity, and highest exertion of fortitude and gene"My case is very different to yours, and many inquiet-rosity, to subdue her feelings, when he declared himself udes break in upon me. I think more seriously of life the warm and open admirer of her sister. The painful than I ever did; and reflect, that I have lived half my sacrifice was made magnanimously by the sister, and the days, and done not half of what my morning promised. courtship of the other proceeded to the time expected for It is true, that for these last six years, I have been rising the settlement of the day of marriage. The parent of in professional estimation; but I find too, that enemies the lady had agreed to relieve Mr Lawrence of all his rise with it, and some way or other reach me. My faults pecuniary embarrassments, when his wayward fancy too are very obvious, and known to but too many-the good palpably reverted to his first attachment. He was of of my character to very few. Amongst the best part of it, I should say, that liberality towards my competitors, or at least with that branch of it. necessity forbidden further intercourse with the family, The pure, the exceland the opinions and feelings of a gentleman, may be in- lent, and beautiful girl, sunk into the grave, with woundcluded; with a disdain of selfish policy, and mere tricked pride and broken spirits, the unsullied and deplored ery of conduct: yet I have recently had the most striking victim of his caprice. She was allied to a family more proof, that this and more are imputed to me;-that I am celebrated than any extant for talents of a peculiar deendeavouring to create an unwarrantable influence in the scription, and was the daughter of a lady whose genius Academy; that I am forming my squad;' that every in her high profession was probably never equalled, and thing is to be sacrificed to me; aud that, whatever injus- who, with that genius, combined a beauty and a physical tice is shown to others, I am secretly the cause and perfection, that created a union which hope can never expect again to see realized." mover. "The most respectable character in the society, one who has been a benefactor to many, is now the object of their attack, from his supposed partiality to me; and I, who have never in act, or even speech, been illiberal towards a brother artist, am now the object of suspicion and distrust. The difficulty of keeping in the same quiet path I have hitherto walked in, becomes daily more distressing. With a word, I think I could refute these calumnies that are spread against me, and bring these restless enemies to shame. Then, I doubt if it is wise to do so; and, instead of being their envy, become their hatred a feeling in my mind dreadful to excite. So little have I yet committed myself, that these men are compelled to smile upon me when we meet; and to forego this quiet triumph, more enjoyment must be offered than their detection offers. Yet, to be untainted in my character with my rivals—I mean, in whatever regards my conduct to them-is one great object with me. In the Sir Thomas mingled much with the gay and fashionable world, and his memoirs are invaluable as casting a reflex light on the manners of the day, and the private character of our most prominent statesmen, literati, and warriors. We pass over his acquaintance with Queen Caroline-a source of melancholy reminiscences, of wrongs, misunderstandings, and national discord, to dwell upon the not less sad, but less painful, scenes at Clermont, when the mother and her babe- the hopes of Sir Thomas gives Britain-were reft from us at once. a pleasing picture of the Princess Charlotte: her people, charity and justice, high integrity, (as I ring a short pause I spoke of the impression it had made have stated,) frankness and humanity, were essentials and fixed in her character: her mind seemed to have nothing of subtlety or littleness in it, and she had all the courage of her station. "She once said, 'I am a great coward, but I bluster it out like the best of them till the danger's over.' I was told by one of the members of the council awaiting her delivery, that Dr Baillie came in, and said in answer to some enquiries, She's doing very well she'll not die of fear she puts a good Brunswick face upon the matter.' She had a surprisingly quick ear, which I was pleasantly warned of: whilst playing whist, which being played for shillings, was not the most silent game I ever witnessed, she would suddenly reply to something that the baron or I would be talking of, in the lowest tone, at the end of the room, whilst her companions at the table were ignorant of the cause of her observations. "I have increased respect for the Bishop of Salisbury, because he appeared to have fully performed his duty in her education. She had, as I have said, great knowledge of the history of this country, and in the businesses of life, and a readiness in anecdotes of political parties in former reigns. "How often I see her now entering the room, (constantly on his arm,) with slow but firm step, always erect, -and the small, but elegant proportion of her head to her figure, of course more striking from her situation. Her features, as you see, were beautifully cut; her clear blue eye, so open, so like the fearless purity of truth, that the most experienced parasite must have turned from it when he dared to lie." What he says of Prince Leopold, is well calculated to remove all those misapprehensions of his character, which factious virulence has for years been so busily attempting to disseminate: "When I returned to take my breakfast, Colonel Addenbrooke came in: he said, 'I don't know what to make of these fellows; there's Sir Robert Gardiner swears he can't stay in the room with it; that if he sees it in one room, he'll go into another. Then there's Dr Short. I said, I suppose by your going out and saying nothing, you don't like the picture. "Like it," he said, (and he was blubbering,)"'tis so like her, and so amiable, that I could not stay in the room.”—More passed on the subject, not worth detailing. I learnt that the prince was very much overcome by the sight of the picture, and the train of recollections that it brought with it. Colonel Addenbrooke went in to the prince, and returning shortly, said, The prince desires me to say how much obliged to you he is for this attention, that he shall always remember it. He said, "Do you think Sir Thomas Lawrence would wish to see me? If he would, I shall be very glad to see him."-I replied that I thought you would so if you like, he will see you whenever you choose, before your departure.' Soon after, I went in to him. As I passed through the hall, Dr Short came up to me, (he had evidently been, and was crying,) and thanked me for having painted such a picture. No one is a better judge than I am, sir,' and he turned away. "The prince was looking exceedingly pale; but he received me with calm firmness, and that low, subdued voice that you know to be the effort at composure. He spoke at once about the picture and of its value to him more than to all the world besides. From the beginning to the close of the interview, he was greatly affected. He checked his first burst of affection, by adverting to the public loss, and that of the royal family. Two generations gone!-gone in a moment! I have felt for myself, but I have felt for the prince regent. My Charlotte is gone from this country-it has lost her. She was a good, she was an admirable woman. None could know my Charlotte as I did know her! It was my happiness, my duty to know her character, but it was my delight.' Du on me. Yes, she had a clear, fine understanding, and very quick-she was candid, she was open, and not suspecting, but she saw characters at the glance—she read them so true. You saw her; you saw something of us -you saw us for some days-you saw our year! Oh! what happiness-and it was solid-it could not change, for we knew each other-except when I went out to shoot, we were together always, and we could be together-we did not tire.' "I tried to check this current of recollection, that was evidently overpowering him (as it was me), by a remark on a part of the picture, and then on its likeness to the youth of the old king. Ah! and my child was like her, for one so young, [as if it had really lived in childhood.] For one so young, it was surprisingly like-the nose, it was higher than childrens' are the mouth, so like hers; so cut, [trying to describe its mouth on his own. My grief did not think of it, but if I could have a drawing of it! She was always thinking of others, not of herself no one so little selfish-always looking out for comfort for others. She had been for hours, for many hours, in great pain-she was in that situation where selfishness must act if it exists-when good people will be selfish, because pain makes them so-and my Charlotte was not-any grief could not make her so! She thought our child was alive; I knew it was not, and I could not support her mistake. I left the room for a short time in my absence they took courage, and informed her. When she recovered from it, she said, "Call in Prince Leopold—there is none can comfort him but me!" My Charlotte, my dear Charlotte!' And hands, that at the last, when she was talking to others, now, looking at the picture, he said, 'Those beautiful were always looking out for mine!'" On the whole, the reader will find in these volumes a rich mine of interesting and important information. Sketches in Spain and Morocco. By Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke, Bart. In 2 vols. 8vo. Pp. 432, 408. London. Colburn and Bentley. 1831. THIS is one of a numerous class of works which we are not in the habit of subjecting to the strictest criticism. Every person who visits å foreign country observes something, or makes some remark which is worthy of being preserved. We think it is Harrington in his Oceana who mentions a board of council in that imaginary republic, the duty of which was, to receive reports from all young travellers of what they had seen and learned in foreign parts. Those who distinguished themselves by the extent, accuracy, and importance of the information they furnished, were marked by the examinators for future employment in affairs of state-and care was taken to record all useful information, even though it came through the medium of a weak brother, lying amid the trifles wherewith his mind was stored "like two grains of wheat amid a bushel of chaff." The increased activity of the press enables in our days the public at large to discharge the office of these imaginary functionaries. Every person publishes his travels; if the book be good, it retains a place in our shelves; if indifferent, what is worthy of preservation is picked out, and the rest dies away in a few months from the memory of man. People complain of the increased number of dull books, as if in them "nature's copy were eterne"-as if there were no trunkmakers in the world. It is not the quality of printer's ink to embalm the thoughts of an author, and lay them up like mummies for eternity-it only serves to diffuse them more widely for the present. Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke is by no means one of our best travellers, but he occupies a respectable situation among them. He has an eye in his head, and can tell in a lively and amusing manner what he has seen. He is no profound analyser of character, he is particularly ignorant of every thing that pertains to natural history, he never troubles himself with bearings and distances, and his geography is in consequence much more puzzling already than that of Herodotus after the lapse of thousands of years. Still he is of use, for, in running over a tract of country, he shows whether it be worth travelling through. He is a sort of Cuculus indicator, to lead the true huntsman to the hollow tree, or cleft of the rock, where honey is lodged. In the discharge of this pleasing duty, Sir Arthur visited, on a former occasion, the shores of the Baltic-the northern Mediterranean-and now he has bent his course towards the sea, which, in common parlance, bears that name. Sir Arthur landed at Cadiz, made excursions to Seville and Xeres, then crossed the mountains to Gibraltar, where he embarked for Africa. He took up his abode at Tangier, visited Tetuan; journeyed a little way into the interior, was not allowed to proceed to Fez, and returned to Gibraltar; proceeded through Grenada and Cordova to Madrid. The reader will see, that the ground he went over is precisely that which was the theatre of the fierce struggles between the Spaniards and the Saracens. It is classic ground. In Africa he met with many traces of the former lords of Spain. Tetuan is almost exclusively inhabited by their descendants, among whom the names of the principal families, celebrated in Spanish and Moorish ballads, still survive. Mr Price, late vice-consul at Tetuan, met at Ceuta a Moorish chief and his sister, who claimed to be descendants foom the last Moorish king of Grenada. The lady had visited Spain to claim restitution of the palace of Alhambra, which was refused, but small pensions were settled, by the Spanish government, upon her and her brother. Mr Price obtained from them two portraits of Christian knights, which were heir-looms in their family, and to which a wild tale of feudal vengeance attached. Sir Arthur's visit to Xeres-the land of the wine, which has been popular in England ever since Sir John Falstaff drank "good sherris-sack," is, in our eyes, the most interesting of his Spanish rambles. His description of the vintage is beautiful and picturesque. "The vineyard was a few miles distant, and the ride to it extremely pretty, through exceedingly narrow winding lanes, enclosed by gigantic hedges of aloe and Indian 'fig, varied by olive-woods, which we occasionally passed through; the hills, as well as valleys, being thickly covered with vineyards with white cortijos peeping out from each. On reaching the vineyard, which was in a valley, we found the labourers busily employed in picking the grapes, and carrying them on their heads in baskets to the pressing-house. The vines were trained very low, and close to the soil, on account of the greater degree of heat. This vineyard, I was informed, was originally planted with three kinds of vines, calculated to produce the wines desired. Difference of soil, however, and parts more or less exposed to the heat, had produced several other varieties: some were nearly black; others white, large, and sweet; while others were tinged with a brownish red, of a dry flavour, and devoid of sweetness. From the last the sherry is produced. "All the different kinds are picked and pressed separately, and the casks containing the juice from each marked. By the time I had seen the process of pressing, which I shall mention hereafter, the sun was getting very low in the horizon, and we mounted our horses to return. The evening was deliciously cool, and its stillness was only interrupted by the loud whistling hum of a kind of large grasshopper, which resounded in all directions. The labourers were slowly returning from the different vineyards towards Xeres, and the toil of man was over for the day. In these latitudes, sunset is followed by almost immediate night; and the calm enchant ing hours of twilight, so soothing to the spirits, are unknown. "We were yet at some distance from Xeres, when the last rays glistened as they sank below the horizon; and before we had reached the town it was night. It is not very safe, in any part of Spain, to be out after dark in the country; and perhaps less so at Xeres than elsewhere, from the lawless and desperate character of the lower orders, and the continual occurrence of acts of robbery and violence. It is not an uncommon thing for these desperadoes to station themselves close to the town at nightfall, and stopping those who are returning from the country, ride off with their horses. We urged on our steeds to the utmost of their speed, although it was no very easy thing to find our way along the pitch-dark narrow lanes that we were obliged to wind along." In reading his account of the Bottegas, we could fancy ourselves transported into the regions of the Arabian Nights. Surely these are no mortal wine vaults he speaks of? "There are few, however, who would not feel inclined, I think, to repeat their visits more than once to the bodega. The term wine-vaults is ill suited to convey an idea of these really splendid and extraordinary establishments, which I should class among the things best worth seeing in Spain. Instead of descending into a dark, low, grovelling, and musty magazine, like the London Dock wine-vaults, spacious as they are, you first pass through a street, one entire side of which, for the extent of a quarter of a mile, is occupied by one of these bodegas; and entering through large folding doors, you find yourself, to your astonishment, in what at first sight appears to be a church of considerable dimensions, with a lofty roof, and divided into spacious aisles. “In the centre you see in large characters, ‘Bodega of Jesus;' and at the sides, Nave of St Andrew, St Pedro, St Jago.' Your eye soon runs along the lower part of the building, and you see some thousand butts of wine ranged along the aisles and against the arched pillars. A delicious fragrance, which you easily recognise, soon convinces you, notwithstanding the pious inscriptions you have been reading, that you are in a place exclusivey dedicated to the enjoyments of the body. "On entering, you are waited upon by the superintendent of the bodega, who accompanies you through the different aisles, and who explains to you, on passing each barrel, the name, quality, age, and peculiar flavour of the wine within it; and, in order that you may understand it practically as well as theoretically, his observations are rendered clear and intelligible by a full glass of the delicious liquor. You proceed thus slowly through the whole range of the bodega, occasionally reposing, like Bacchus, astride of a huge butt, and sipping bumpers of luscious paxareti, fragrant muscatel, or dark creamy sherry half a century old. While on the outside every thing is blazing with the intenseness of the noontide heat, within, a delightful coolness, and a soft mellow light prevail; and you fancy you should like to pass the remainder of your days in this pleasant retreat. In this manner you keep on quaffing the nectar which is so liberally supplied you, until your senses become not quite so cool and collected as when you first entered, and you think it high time to make your retreat into the hot and dusty streets of Xeres." Our readers will now have the goodness to cross the sea with us to Africa. To judge from old chronicles, the Saracens, when compared with the Spaniards, were rather the more civilized nation of the two, and, in the present state of Spain, we would certainly pause before we attributed to the latter nation any decided superiority over their neighbours of the southern coast. Into this weighty disquisition we cannot, however, at present afford to enter. But we will convince our readers that the holy beggars of Africa are noways inferior to the jolliest friar in Spain |