Posada de Leon for a dinner, and from the experience which I then had of garlic and oil, I never whilst in Spain repeated the experiment. The next morning we continued our march through the Pyrenees, and rode all day through the most beautiful and romantic scenery. We were now traversing the great road commenced by Louis XIV. and completed by Bonaparte, leading from Bayonne over the Pyrenees to Pampeluna-a road very much resembling in its construction our common turnpikes in England. For the first twelve miles from Tolosa, our course lay between stupendous mountains, which, covered with wood, towered perpendicularly above us. The level space between the mountains was about three times the breadth of the road, which was bordered by a pleasant rivulet. The clearness of the day and the beauty of the climate gave additional effect to the fine prospects which continually opened upon us as we wound round the base of the mountains; and what made the scene more interesting, was hearing the songs of the muleteers, and the tinkling of their bells, ere they came in sight. These mules and muleteers, of whom we read so much in the Spanish writers, certainly have a most singular and picturesque appearance. Eight or nine large and powerful mules, each nearly fourteen hands high, are placed under the conduct of one muleteer, who rides upon the leading mule. The beasts are ornamented with large bridles, decked with fringe and tassels, and with bells attached to their heads. The burden is carefully balanced upon their backs, so as not to cause any friction, a sore back in Spain being a very different thing from a sore back in England. The dress of the muleteers consists of a sort of short jacket, made of a kind of velveteen, inexpressibles of darkblue plush, hung round with tassels about the knees, and something between slippers and sandals to supply the place of shoes. A large slouched hat covers the head, which seems made both " for shelter and shade." A long red sash, bound three times round their waists, which is used also as a pocket to carry their cigars and their money, gives them a light active appearance. Their hair is clipped in a most extraordinary manner;-I have often seen the operation performed in the streets on Sundays and fast-days;-the top of the head is cut so close as to give the skull the appearance of having been shaved, while the hair of that part of the head which is not subjected to this operation is suffered to grow to any length, and generally flows over the shoulders. This grotesque figure is seated on his leading mule, with his large cloak thrown over the neck of the animal, and his gun carefully tied on to the bow of his saddle, to be near at hand in all cases of exigency. During his progress he sits singing, or rather shouting, some old Castilian air, to which he often adapts some improvisatorial words in praise of the Volontarios D' Y Mina, or the Seignorittas de Madrida, every now and then interrupting his warbling with the words Anda Mulo carracco; which have only the effect, from their frequent repetition, of making the mules wag their tails. But to return from this digression. Our road continued nearly level until we arrived at the foot of a mountain, over which, from its great height and steepness, it was cut in a zig-zag direction. Our day's march terminated at a village about half way up the mountain, in which a convent of nuns was situated. Our men were stationed in some of the neighbouring houses, and the Baron and I took up our abode at the convent. I had some

expectations of obtaining a sight of one or two of these caged beauties, but the fair sisterhood" with souls from long seclusion pure," thought it wise to retire into another part of the convent-though I must confess I caught a saintly pair of eyes reconnoitring the Baron through a small iron-grating. The abbess, a lady d'un certain age, had provided most comfortable accommodations for us, and I never did less penance during all my campaigns, than on the night I passed within the walls of this holy habitation. On the following day, our path lay entirely over the rugged and lofty ridges of the Pyrenees, through a road carved out of the solid rock. On commencing our descent we broke upon a glorious Pisgah-view of our land of promise. For three days after leaving the Pyrenees we made a circle round Pampeluna, which was at that time in the possession of the French and blockaded by Spanish troops, and on the evening of the third day we halted at the town of Puenta la Reyna. It was at this period the vintage time, and the "bacchanal profusion" of every thing around me reminded me of Sterne's accurate description of the mirth and hilarity which always accompany this season. The Baron and I took a walk for the purpose of viewing the town. It was Sunday afternoon, and all the damsels in the neighbourhood were dancing in various groups to the sound of the tambourine, which was played by one of the party, the burden of whose song, as far as I could comprehend it, always ran in favour of the Soldades Ingleses. The dance very nearly resembled the Scotch reel, when danced by four, with the addition of many fantastic flings: this is the regular bolero. At the doors of the wine-houses we saw the same dance performed by very different actors: a drunken muleteer playing on his guitar was stimulating the activity of his still more drunken companions. Occasionally, amongst the passengers, we observed a Padre, dressed in his canonical gown, and his long scrowlbrimmed hat, at whose appearance the joyous dances ceased, while every individual of the party made the usual obeisance, and many a fair finger touching a ripe pair of lips, demurely traced the sign of the

cross.

At this town the Baron's patron or host, at whose house he was billetted, was a certain worthy Padre, who, in addition to his clerical functions, was the keeper of a gambling-shop, a fact with which we became acquainted in the evening by discovering him presiding at a table where they were playing a game which the Spaniards call Banco. It appears that this same Padre, like many more of his cloth in Spain, was exceedingly kind to a young lady who resided with him, and who, we were given to understand, was the daughter of a deceased brother. These worthy men generally select the most comely of their destitute relations, whom they charitably admit to a participation in their domes: tic comforts. The Baron, ambitious of victory both in the field and with the fair, had been paying rather more attention to the Padre's relative than was agreeable to the austere notions of that grave ecclesiastic, though he had hitherto abstained from making any comment upon the conduct of the gallant officer; an occurrence, however, arose, which gave vent to the Padre's resentment, and nearly withered the budding honours of my brave commander. I have already mentioned that we strolled into a gaming-house, where we found the Baron's clerical host acting the part of Banker. The Baron, like all Ger

mans, played deep, and fortune favoured him. In the course of a couple of hours the bank was broken, and the Baron had sacked about four hundred dollars. All the company had left the room except the Baron and myself, and we had just gained the street, when I heard the Baron, who was a little behind me, yell out some most tremendous and unintelligible oath in German: I turned round, and saw the enraged Padre, with a stiletto in his hand, about to repeat the blow he had already given. We were both totally unarmed, but I immediately ran back and caught the Baron as he was falling, and endeavoured at the same time, though ineffectually, to lay hands on the assassin. One of our own men, and two Light Dragoon officers now made their appearance in the opposite direction, and having heard the cries, they were hastening towards us. I committed my wounded comrade to the hands of a Spaniard, and calling to my countrymen to follow me, I started in pursuit of the criminal. One of the Light Dragoon officers outstripped us all, and we saw him catch the Padre by the cloak, who most ingeniously slipped off that garment, and continued his course. We were all of us now nearly equally close on the heels of our game, who turned and twisted with all the skill of an old hare. He at last made his escape through a small iron gate, near a church, which closed after him, and effectually put an end to our pursuit. He did not escape entirely with impunity; for in the doubles and turns which he made, one of the Light Dragoon officers with a whip, our dragoon with his stick, and myself with the toe of my boot, which was fitted to inflict a pretty sharp wound, made him occasionally forget his clerical character, and indulge in some violent imprecations. But, on the whole, I fear this chastisement only furnished him with a more cogent argument not to slacken his speed.

SONNET.

WHERE shall youth's bubbling spirit overflow,
Or whereon shed its tide of generous thought,
Of sympathy and hope, with which o'erfraught
The soul is sick of wishing, and below

Deems that no change awaits it, save of wo?

Vain hope t' expand its wings! for soon 'tis taught,
That all its short-lived pleasure must be caught

In strife and struggle, and in the quick glow

Of passion, like the pelican, well-fed

From its own bosom, with its blood for bread.
Is there no feeling then, no name on Earth,
Apt to contain the ocean of man's will?

Love! Honour! Friendship!-are they nothing worth?
Nought-there's but Freedom, that it deigns to fill.

Y

CATILINE; A TRAGEDY.*

THE above work has, for some time past, been looked for in the literary world, not without expectation and anxiety; and, in our own case we must confess that this expectation has been answered by considerable disappointment. From the somewhat pompous carriage of Mr. Croly's muse-her measured step and dignified deportment-we had been led to believe that she would well become the tragic robe and cothurnus; and had hoped to see her "go stately by," to take an approved and final station in that noble but neglected department of our national literature. But, judging from the evidence now before us, we fear this will not be. In fact, we have here a work enriched with powerful and energetic, as well as sweet and graceful poetry; but it is the poetry of imagination, not of passion; it is engendered and deliberately given forth from the intellect; it does not spring eagerly and involuntarily from the heart: and this is to say, in other words, that it is not dramatic. We believe Mr. Croly to be gifted with great and valuable powers, of a certain kind. He possesses a rich store of poetical thoughts and feelings, which have always at their command a gorgeous flow of language and imagery. These-directed by a general soundness of taste and judgment, such as we believe Mr. Croly to possess may be made to produce very striking and impressive effects; but, alone, these effects cannot amount to high tragedy. They may worthily supply its outward form, and its ornamental attire, but unless Passion breathe into it a vital spirit, it must still remain but a splendid caput mortuum.

The subject of Catiline is well adapted to the purpose for which it has, in this instance, been chosen. It offers a unity of action and a depth of passionate interest, united to the great desideratum of historical truth. But it must be admitted that the author has not availed himself of these capabilities to the extent that the high drama demands. He has judiciously enough applied his best powers to the end he had in view; and if they have not enabled him to reach it, he may be well content to submit to his failure, when he reflects that he suffers it in common with every living writer who has made the same attempt. In fact, Tragedy sits on a height which cannot be climbed: it must be scaled with wings, if at all; and those wings must be the eagle's.

We proceed to regard the work before us more in detail, and to lay a few specimens of it before the reader. Its principal defect strikes us as being a want of coherence of purpose, and consequently a want of unity and consistency of effect. If we may borrow a mode of expression from a sister art, the characters are well drawn; but they are not well coloured, either as it regards themselves or each other. The tone of the language, and the flow and fall of the versification, are essentially of the same class, from whichever of the personages they proceed. This creates a languid monotony in the general effect very injurious to dramatic feeling, which should be as vivid and as varied as the varied purposes and interests from which it is supposed to spring. In short, notwithstanding the author's censure of Voltaire's and Cre

Catiline; a Tragedy. In Five Acts. With other Poems. By the Rev. George Croly, A. M. Author of " Paris in 1815," "The Angel of the World," &c.

billon's plays, on the same subject, as being "written on the model of the French stage; and, according to the national taste, make up for nature and incident, (he means, probably, the want of "nature and incident,") by affected sensibility and feeble declamation." Notwithstanding this sweeping, and, perhaps, just censure, it must be confessed that this new attempt on the same subject assimilates less to the English than to the French model-less to Shakspeare than to Voltaire; that, if the "sensibility" it contains is real instead of "affected," and the "declamation" is strong instead of "feeble," it is, for the most part, but "declamation" and "sensibility" after all-not passion.

It must be needless to lay before the reader the plot of this tragedy: the title will at once call it to mind: for the variations from strict history are few and unimportant. We shall do better in offering specimens of the poetry with which the drama is enriched. The following describes the effect of Catiline's eloquence at the meeting in the Campus Martius, when he opposes Cicero in the election for the Consulship:-*

"You should have seen him in the Campus Martius,-
In the tribunal,-shaking all the tribes

With mighty speech. His words seem'd oracles,
That pierced their bosoms; and each man would turn,
gaze in wonder on his neighbour's face,

And

That with the like dumb wonder answer'd him :

Then some would weep, some shout; some, deeper touch'd,
Keep down the cry, with motion of their hands,

In fear but to have lost a syllable."

His conduct during the banquet which is given at his palace immediately after his defeat at the election, is thus described:

"He seem'd to feel

The fiercest joy of all; pledged the whole room

In brimming goblets; talk'd a round of things,

Lofty and rambling as an ecstasy;

Laugh'd, till his very laughter check'd our mirth,

And all gazed on him; then as if surprised,

Marking the silence, mutter'd some excuse,

And sank in reverie; then, wild again,

Talk'd, drank, and laugh'd-the first of Bacchanals!"

His warlike bearing in the field is thus spoken of by a companion in arms:

"You have seen him in the field?

HAMILCAR.

Ay, fifty times,

I' the thickest fight; where all was blood and steel,
Plunging through steeds unrider'd, gory men

Mad with their wounds, through lances thick as hail,
As if he took the ranks for idle waves!

Now seen, the battle's wonder: now below,
Mowing his desperate way, till with wild shrieks,
The throng roll'd back, and Catiline sprang out,
Red from the greaves to the helm."

The author has chosen to depict Catiline altogether after the portrait of Cicero, as given in the Orat. pro Cœlio, and not after that of

*It is supposed to be exactly at this period that the play commences.