If there be many young Americans' brought up among the rising generations, as Lieutenant Slidell appears to have been, these national deficiencies are not likely to remain long unsupplied. The style in which he writes is perfectly free from affectation. It never mounts upon stilts, or betrays the slightest tendency to that arrogance which is so exceedingly disagreeable in the works of some of his countrymen. It is civilized and European in its mode of expressing notions, and speaking of institutions and customs, which are not American. This is a great step for a republican to make, who has, we presume, lived chiefly at the other side of the Atlantic, and has been altogether educated there. We are pleased to recognize in his work so general a conformity to the taste which prevails in England, not because it is that to which we are most inured, but because we believe it to be founded upon the best models. Indeed, upon more than one point, this American traveller presents an example of which our own tourists would do well to profit. He describes the manners of those to whom he is indebted for hospitality exactly as he finds them. He does not deem it a part of his duty, or rather he does not yield so far to the temptations of insolent prejudice, as to decry their morals and ridicule their religion. He looks homeward when these subjects force themselves upon him, and he very properly leaves it to those who are themselves innocent to "throw the first stone."

Spain has been, perhaps more than any other country, the butt of our English travellers, both as to its religious and political institutions. We have abundance of calumny and misrepresentation upon these points in our libraries, and it is therefore particularly delightful to meet with a work like this, which gives us an impartial picture of that never-changing and yet ever-interesting part of the Peninsula. There is a sustained freshness and raciness about Lieutenant Slidell's sketches, with which even the least-informed reader can hardly fail to be pleased. They may want the picturesque touches with which Irving so well knows how to grace his pictures-like those snatches of exquisite scenery which the great painters exhibit, as it were by chance, through a window or a door accidentally opened; they may want also that appearance of defined outline and finish which an experienced artist never neglects; but they have the essential merit of truth and nature as far as they go. We can speak to this from our own knowledge, as, with some few exceptions, we have been over every foot of the ground which this author has traversed. As a much more rare and curious coincidence we may observe, that we have been enabled to appreciate his accuracy, not only as to the parts of the country which he visited, but even as to the season and the festival days on which he chanced to sojourn in them.

After having made the circuit of most of the French provinces, the author resolved to devote a year's leave of absence from his ship, to Spain, which he entered on the Catalonian side, in the

October of 1826. His pecuniary means, he frankly confesses, not being superabundant, he took the chances of the diligence from Perpignan, rather rejoicing than otherwise in the rumours which, for the last hundred years at least, have uniformly peopled the Pyrennees with banditti, whom no traveller can expect to escape. The objects which successively present themselves among the mountains and on the road to Barcelona, the city itself, not long since" the City of the Plague," and its beautiful environs, are accurately as well as gaily described. Thence the ride to Tarragona and Valencia, chiefly following the outline of the sea-coast, is varied and animated, sometimes commanding vistas of the Mediterranean, sometimes, in order to avoid the headlands, striking boldly into the interior. As on the side of Irun and Tolosa, so here also it is mountain, mountain, mountain. One imagines, before crossing the Pyrennees, that having passed the chain which bounds the horizon, one is to descend into a level plain. No such thing. They form a territory of their own, which spreads a considerable way into the Peninsula; ridges overlook ridges, and, indeed, the whole country may be truly said to be a constant succession of mountains, many of which are richly cultivated to their summits, affording fruits and excellent pasturage for goats and sheep, and presenting to the sun their bosoms teeming with oil and wine. The traveller, during the first week or two of his progress through Spain, will frequently be under the necessity of kindling up his associations, in order to invest the rivers and towers he meets on his way with the charms which he expected to find in them. Nay disappointment waits upon his steps for weeks and months. Filthy beds, food which he can hardly touch, wine which at first makes him sick, ruined cities, dismantled fortresses, squalid villages, idle and wretched looking crowds of human beings, every where contribute to disenchant the scenes which the song of the minstrel, the tale of the novelist, or the deeds of the warrior, had filled with many a spell of beauty and glory. But all these things are altered in time. Some how or other, upon further acquaintance, the stranger forgets all the inconveniences and disappointments which he had encountered; he sees the sunny side of the picture, enjoys the transparent climate, becomes attached to the good-natured and generous inhabitants, and quits the country as great an enthusiast in its favour as when he was about to enter it.

The kingdom of Valencia, sometimes called the Garden of Europe, with its amazing fertility, its numerous orchards of lemons, oranges, figs, pomegranates and mulberries, excited the author's admiration in a high degree. It is almost a continued slope from the interior towards the Mediterranean, varying in breadth from thirty to sixty miles, and stretching along that storied sea a distance of two hundred. While all the other provinces of Spain have been gradually declining from bad to worse, this alone has preserved a comparative degree of wealth and pros

perity. It contains a million of souls, is watered by abundant streams, and besides the produce of its surface possesses a great quantity of mineral treasure. While its barrier of mountains preserves the climate from rigid cold in winter, the excessive heats of summer are tempered by the breezes from the sea. It is no exaggeration to assert that throughout the year the air remains ever pure, pleasant, and healthful, the sky ever serene, and the whole system of seasons seems lost in one continual delicious spring.' We are not surprized that Mariana compared Valencia to the Elysian Fields. Its capital, by no means worthy of such a kingdom, need not detain us from Madrid, where we shall exhibit the author in propria persona, looking out for lodgings, a chace which he describes most amusingly.

'One of my first objects on arriving at Madrid was to seek winter quarters, which should combine the essentials of personal comfort with favourable circumstances for learning the language. These were not so easily found; for though the Spaniards have no less than six different and well-sounding names to express the various degrees between a hotel and a tavern, yet Madrid is so seldom visited by foreigners, that it is but ill provided for their accommodation. In the way of hotels, the Fonda de Malta is one of the best in the place; and yet the room in which I passed the two first days of my stay in Madrid, had but a single small window, which looked on the wall of a neighbouring house. There were but two chairs, one for my trunk, the other for myself; these, with a bed in an alcove at one end of the room, comprised the whole of the furniture. There was no table, no looking-glass, no carpet, and no fire-place, though there had already been ice, and my window was so placed that it had never seen the sun. There was nothing, in short, beside the bed and two chairs; and the grated window and dark walls terminated overhead by naked beams, and below by a cold tile floor. What would have become of me I know not, if I had not been taken from this cell on the third day, and moved into a large apartment at the front of the house, where the sun shone in gloriously, and which, besides, had a sofa and half dozen of straw-bottomed chairs, a straw mat which covered the whole floor, a table with crooked legs, and even a mirror! As for meals, public tables are unknown in Spain, and doubtless have been unknown for centuries; for men here are unwilling to trust themselves to the convivialities of the table, except in the society of friends. It is the custom for each party or person to eat alone, and in the lower part of our fonda was a public coffee-room for this purpose, which I used to resort to, in preference to remaining in my room. It was fitted up with much elegance, having marble tables, mirrors with lamps before them, columns with gilt capitals, a pretty woman placed in an elevated situation to keep order, and sometimes a band of music.

"Though this mode of living was tolerable, yet it would not have been so for a whole winter. On enquiry I was told that there were casas de alguila, or houses to be let, in Madrid, in which a person might rent a whole habitation, and hire or buy furniture to please himself, and be served by a domestic of his own; likewise, that there were other establishments called casas de huespede, or boarding houses, kept by families, who, having more room than they had occasion for, were in the habit of receiving one or more lodgers, who took their meals at the common table or were fur

nished apart. I determined at once for a casa de huespede, as according better with means that were rather limited; and because the intercourse of a family would be more favourable to the acquisition of the language.'vol. i. pp. 164-166.

With the assistance of a much decayed constitutionalist, who gave him lessons in Spanish, he found, after a good deal of walking, a house in the Calle Montera, belonging to a poverty-stricken royalist named Don Valentin, which eventually suited his purpose. The scene is painted to the life.

'Meantime, we had reached the landing-place of the third story, and pulled the bell-cord which hung in the corner. Before the sound was out of the bell, we were challenged by a voice from within, crying in a sharp tone, “Quien ?”—“Who is it?" "Gente de paz !"—" Peaceful people!" was the answer of Don Diego. Our professions of amity were not, however, sufficient, and we were reconnoitered for half a minute through a small window of a convent. The man who reconnoitered us from the security of his strong-hold had no occasion to close one eye whilst he peeped with the other; for he was one-eyed, or, as the Spaniards, who have a word for every thing, express it, tuerto. When he had sufficiently assured himself of our looks and intentions, several bolts and latches were removed, the door was opened, and Don Valentin stood before us. He was tall, guant and bony, dressed in a square-tailed coat, and narrow pantaloons of brown, with a striped vest of red and yellow. The collar and ruffles of his shirt, as well as the edges of a cravat of white cambric, were elaborately embroidered, and made a singular contrast with the coarseness of his cloth. Beside him were an immense pair of stiffbacked boots with tassels, ready to supersede the slippers which he wore. Don Valentin's face was thin, wrinkled, and sallow, and was set off by black and bristly hair, which seemed to grow in all directions from sheer inveteracy.

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These observations were made whilst the punctilious politeness which distinguishes the Old Castalian, and to which the Andaluz is no stranger, was expending itself in kind inquiries after the health of each other and family. "Como esta usted?"" How fares your grace?"—"As usual, at your grace's service: and yourself?" Then followed a long list of inquiries for Dona Concha on one part, and La Florencia on the other; with the replies of," Tan buena-tan guapa-para servir á usted; Equally well-famously-at your grace's service." By this time Don Valentin had discovered me in the obscurity of the doorway; so directing his eye at me, and inclining his ungainly figure, he said, with an attempt at unction "Servidor de usted cabellero," and bid us pass onward into a small saloon, of which he opened the door. When he had drawn on his boots he followed, and, after a few more compliments, Don Diego opened the subject of our visit. Don Valentin, after a becoming pause, replied that the room we were in served them as a saloon, and that the alcove had been the sleeping apartment of his daughter; but that if it suited me to occupy it, they would live in the antesala adjoining the kitchen, their daughter would move up stairs, and I should have the whole to myself. The room was every thing one could have wished in point of situation: for it overlooked the Puerta del Sol, and had a broad window fronting toward the south east, which, from its elevation above the opposite roofs, was each

morning bathed by the earliest rays of the sun.

But I did not like the look of Don Valentin, nor did I care to live under the same roof with him. So, when we rose to depart, I said I would think of the matter, secretly determining, however, to seek lodgings elsewhere.

Don Valentin accompanied us to the door, charged Don Diego with a load of expresiones for his family, and, as it is the custom on a first visit to a Spaniard, told me that his house and all it contained was at my entire disposal. He had told us for the last time, "Que no haya novedad! Vayan ustedes con Dios!"-" May you meet with no accident! God be with you !"-and was holding the door for us, when we were met on the narrow landing, full in the face, by the very Dona Florencia about whom Don Diego had asked, and who had just come from mass. She might be nineteen or thereabout, a little above the middle size, and finely proportioned; with features regular enough, and hair and eyes not so black as is common in her country, a circumstance upon which, when I came to know her better, she used to pride herself; for, in Spain, auburn hair, and even red, is looked upon as a great beauty. She had on a mantilla of lace, pinned to her hair and falling gracefully about her shoulders, and a busquina of black silk, trimmed with cords and tassels, and loaded at the bottom with lead, to make it fit closely, and show a shape which was really a fine one. Though high in the neck it did not descend so low as to hide a wellturned ancle, covered with a white stocking and a small black shoe, bound over the instep by a riband of the same colour.

'As I said before, I was met full in the face by this damsel of La Rioja, to whose cheek the ascent of three pairs of stairs had given a colour not common in Madrid, and to herself not habitual. Her whole manner showed that satisfaction which people who feel well and virtuously always experience on reaching the domestic threshold. She was opening and shutting her fan with vivacity, and stopped short in the midst of a little song, a great favourite in Andalusia, which begins,

"O no! no quiero casarme!

Ques mejor, ques mejor ser soltera!

"O no! I care not to marry!

'Tis better, 'tis better live single!"

'We came for a moment to a stand in front of each other, and then I drew back to let her pass, partly from a sense of courtesy, partly, perhaps, from a reluctance to depart. With the ready tact which nowhere belongs to the sex so completely as in Spain, she asked me in, and I at once accepted the invitation, without caring to preserve my consistency. Here the matter was again talked over, the daughter lent her counsel, and I was finally persuaded that the room and its situation were even more convenient than I at first thought, and that I could not possibly do better; so I closed with Don Valentin, and agreed to his terms, which were a dollar per day for the rent of the room and for my meals.* That very afternoon I abandoned the Fonda de Malta, and moved into my new lodgings, where I determined to be pleased with every thing, and, following the prescription of Franklin's

'In Madrid, lodgings are hired by the day. A tenant may abandon a house at a day's notice, but cannot be forced from it by his landlord so long as he continues to pay the stipulated rent.'