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"These things may stand for more than quickness of repartee. It is even possible that the secret might be found in them of much that has been virtuously condemned for vanity in Goldsmith. Vanity it may have been; but it sprang from the opposite source to that in which its ordinary forms have birth. Fielding describes a class of men who feed upon their own hearts; who are egotists, he says, the wrong way. It arose, not from overweening self-complacency in supposed advantages, but from what the world had forced him from his earliest youth to feel, intense uneasy consciousness of supposed defects."

And something more besides in the innocent holiday revenges it gave him upon fortune. It was something to come out of his penury into a suit of fine clothes, and enjoy the luxury of a little folly. The finery was really an uneasiness to him in itself, but the masquerade was an enjoyment. It was the playfulness of a child with a new toy, -and Goldsmith was a child to the end.

The simplicity of his nature was shewn in too many things not to be credited in this. It is related of him that when he presented himself for ordination, at the time when he thought of the church, he was rejected because he appeared before the bishop in a pair of scarlet breeches. All this is reconcilable with that want of foresight which led him to contemplate setting up to teach English in Holland, without knowing a word of Dutch; and that story which is told of him by Dr. Farr, to whom he communicated a scheme he had in view of going to decypher the inscriptions on the Written Mountains, though he did not understand a syllable of Arabic,

It was this guilelessness, and thoughtlessness, and innocence of character, which no deceits or injuries could deform into selfishness, or strain into practical sagacity in his dealings with the world— this extraordinary union of wisdom as an observer of mankind, and incapacity to turn his wisdom to advantage on his own accountthat made the beauty of his life and kept it pure. And it is remarkable that with feelings so impressionable and impulsive, this easynatured and most tender of human beings, appears never to have fallen in love. A passing emotion of that sort flitted over him in Dublin, but left no permanent trace. But the truth was that his nature was too diffusive, his affections too comprehensive, to be narrowed to a passion that finally reverts to, and concentrates in self. And his life was unfavourable to its indulgence, and opened few opportunities for its awakening in a heart so shy, and weak in its selfreliance. Looking back upon the struggles of his career, we cannot better sum up the obligations which his labours, and, above all, his genial and stedfast nature have bequeathed to the world than in the following just and eloquent words of his last biographer, to whose excellent book we have referred with imperfect acknowledgment of its great merits.

"Goldsmith had borne what Johnson bore. Of the calamities to which the literary life is subject,

Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the gaol,' none had been spared him. But they found him, and left him, gentle; and though the discipline that taught him charity, had little contributed to his social ease, by unfeigned sincerity and unaffected simplicity of heart he diffused every social enjoyment. When his conduct least agreed with his writings, these characteristics failed him not. What he gained, was the gain of others; what he lost concerned only himself: he suffered, but he never inflicted, pain."

EL BUSCAPIE:

THE LONG-LOST WORK OF CERVANTES, RECENTLY DISCOVERED IN

MANUSCRIPT AT CADIZ.

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH, WITH NOTES,

BY

THOMASINA ROSS.

In presenting this literary curiosity to the English public it may not be superfluous to offer a few observations explanatory of its nature and origin. Every one acquainted with Spanish literature has regretted the long disappearance and supposed total loss of the "Buscapié," a little work written by Cervantes after the publication of the first part of his "Don Quixote." Whether or not this production ever was submitted to the press by its author is exceedingly doubtful; but, be that as it may, no printed copy of it has been extant for the space of two centuries, and, though manuscript copies were supposed to be hidden among the treasures of the Biblioteca Real in Madrid, or in the unexplored recesses of Simancas, yet the "Buscapié" has always been named by writers on Spanish literature as a thing inaccessible and known only by tradition. Great interest was consequently excited some months ago by the announcement that a manuscript copy of the "Buscapié" had been discovered in Cadiz among a quantity of old books sold by public auction, and previously the property of an advocate named Don Pascual de Gandara, who had resided in the neighbouring town of San Fernando. Some writers have imagined that the "Buscapié was a sort of key to "Don Quixote," and that in it were indicated, if not named, the persons whom Cervantes is supposed to have satirized in his celebrated romance.* But such is not the fact. The "Buscapié " is a vindication of "Don Quixote" against the unjust critical censure with which that work was assailed on the appearance of its first part, which was published at Madrid in 1605. In the same year Cervantes wrote the " Buscapié." The manuscript copy of this little work, recently discovered in Cadiz, is in the scriptory character commonly in use about the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries. On the title-page it is styled :

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It has been conjectured, though without any satisfactory ground, that Cervantes wrote his Don Quixote as a satire upon the Emperor Charles V. and the Duke de Lerma, the favourite of Philip III.

+ Encouraged by the hostility of which Cervantes was the object, a writer, under the assumed name of Avellaneda, published, what he termed, a continuation of Don Quixote.

The title Buscapié seems to have been suggested by one of those quaint conceits common to the Spanish writers of the sixteenth century. The word etymologically considered is a compound of busca (seek; from the verb buscar, to seek,) and pie (foot), and it signifies in the Spanish language a sort of squib, or cracker, which boys and mischievous persons were accustomed to throw down in the streets, and which, rolling about, got between the feet of passers-by. Towards the close of

Todas Aquellas Cosas Escondidas y no
Declaradas en el Ingenioso Hidalgo
Don Quijote de la Mancha
Que compuso

un tal de Cervantes Saavedra."*

Lower down, and in the same hand-writing, are these words :—

Copióse de otra copia el año de 1606 en Madrid 27 de Ebrero año dicho. Para el Señor Agustin de Argota, hijo del muy noble señor (que sancta gloria haya) Gonzalo Zatieco de Molina, un caballero de Sevilla."+

Afterwards are written the following words in the Portuguese language, and in characters, the apparent date of which may be assigned to the beginning of the eighteenth century :—

"Da Livreria do Senhor Duque de Lafôes.”‡

How this manuscript found its way to Portugal, and came back to Spain, there is no evidence to shew. It was, however, purchased in Cadiz (at the sale of the books of the Advocate Gandaro) by its present possessor, Don Adolfo de Castro, to whom literature is now indebted for its appearance in a printed form, accompanied by some valuable and interesting bibliographic notes.

The following English version of the "Buscapié" is from the first printed copy of the work that has reached this country. The translator has endeavoured to adhere with all possible fidelity to the spirit and meaning of the original, compressing only some occasional redundancy of expression, and here and there abridging passages which, if literally given, would in our language appear prolix and tedious.

But it is time to introduce the reader to

EL BUSCAPIE.

In which is related what befel the author when he travelled to Toledo in company with a student whom he accidentally met on the road.

It happened once that, being on my way to Toledo, and having just arrived within a short distance of the Toledana Bridge, I descried advancing towards me a student mounted on a most villanous-looking nag. The poor animal was blind of one eye, and not much better than blind of the other; neither was he very sound in the legs, if I might judge from the numerous reverences he made as he wearily moved onward. The student gravely saluted me, and I with due courtesy returned his greeting. He spurred his poor nag with the intention of advancing more ex

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the work itself, Cervantes thus explains his reason for selecting the title. call this little book Buscapié (he says), to show to those who seek the foot with which the ingenious Knight of La Mancha limps, that he does not limp with either, but that he goes firmly and steady on both, to challenge to single combat the grumbling critics, &c."

"The very pleasant little book called Buscapié, in which resides its excellent doctrine, are unfolded all those things which are hidden, and not declared in the History of the ingenious Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, written by one de Cervantes Saavedra."

"This was copied from another copy in the year 1606, in Madrid, 27th of February of the same year, by the Señor Agustin de Argota, son of the most noble Señor (now in glory) Gonzalo Gatieco de Molina, a knight of Seville."

"From the library of the Duke de Lafões."

peditiously, but the miserable animal was so worn out by old age and hard usage, that it was piteous even to behold him.

The rider whipped his horse, but the horse, heedless of the blows, shewed no disposition to quicken his pace; turning a deaf ear to all the commands of his master, who, in truth, might as well have shouted down into the depths of the well of Airon, or up to the summit of Mount Cabra.

This contest between horse and rider had proceeded for some time, to my no small diversion, when, at length, the descendant of Babieca,* as though suddenly roused by the severe treatment to which he was subjected, seemed determined not to proceed another foot. In proportion as he was urged to advance, he appeared resolved to stand stock still, or, rather, he shewed more disposition to go backward than forward.

Thereupon the rider flew into a furious rage, and began belabouring the unfortunate horse without mercy, though, as it proved this time, not without effect. Anticipating a smart stroke of the whip, which the upraised arm of his master was preparing to inflict, the animal began to kick and plunge, and after two or three curvets, both horse and rider came to the ground.

I, seeing this mishap, pressed forward my mule, which, by the bye, was anything but light footed. Having reached the spot where the unlucky student lay rolling in the dust, and uttering a torrent of imprecations, I quickly dismounted, saying, "Compose yourself, señor, and let me assist you to rise. These accidents must be expected by persons who journey on the backs of such crazy animals."- -"Crazy animals!" said he, "your's appears crazy enough; but I have only to thank the high spirit and mettle of mine for bringing me to this sad strait!" Restraining my laughter as I best could, and with as grave a face as I was able to put on, I helped the fallen horseman to rise, which was no easy matter, for he appeared to be much hurt. Having got him upon his feet, I beheld before me the strangest figure in the world. He was short of stature, and on his shoulders there was a graceful hump, which might be likened to an estrambote,† tacked to a sonnet, and which made him bend down his head somewhat lower than probably he wished to do. His legs were curved like two slices of melon, and his feet enjoyed ample room in his shoes, albeit the latter were of dimensions smaller than nature has determined as the ordinary measure of mortal feet.

The student raised his hands to his head, as if to assure himself that his pericranium had sustained no fracture. Feeling the effects of his fall, he turned to me, and, in a faint and languid tone of voice, said, that since I was a doctor (which he must have conjectured from seeing that I rode on a mule), he begged I would tell him of some remedy to cure his aching bones.

I returned for answer, that I was not a doctor, but that even if I were as skilled in the knowledge of medicine as Juan de Villalobos, of the bygone time, or as Nicolas Monardes, § of the present time, I could

Babieca was the name of the Cid's favourite horse.

The old Spanish poets occasionally lengthened their sonnets by affixing to them a few additional lines. The lines so added were called the estrambote.

In the time of Cervantes the Spanish doctors used to ride on mules when they went to visit their patients.

§ Villalobos, physician to the Emperor Charles V. was celebrated not only for medical skill, but for literary talent, and he was the author of several valuable contributions to Spanish literature. Among his works is a Spanish translation

prescribe for him no better physic than rest and sleep; and I added, that as noontide was advancing, the best cure for his aching bones would be to recline for a while beneath the shade of some trees which grew by the road side. There I proposed that we should seek shelter against Apollo's scorching rays, until, less oppressed by heat and weariness, we might each pursue our course.

"It is strange," resumed the student in the same doleful tone in which he had before spoken. "Who could have imagined that by reason of the vicious temper of that unruly beast, the whole body of a bachelor of Salamanca should be thus bruised from head to foot! Mark me! I say of Salamanca, and not of Alcala, where none but poor miserable fellows graduate; but by so doing they lose all the privileges and immunities enjoyed by Spanish hidalgos at Salamanca. Alas! what a disaster has befallen me. They told me at the inn that I should find this horse restive and unruly. Nevertheless, he is a fine animal. His smooth sleek skin denotes his high breeding. How finely shaped are his limbs, and his hoofs so black and well rounded, and so hollow and dry underneath! His pasterns are short; neither too high nor too low; thereby indicating strength. His fore-legs are sinewy, and his shins short and well formed; the knees firm, smooth, and large. How full and fleshy are his hind quarters, and how round and expanded his chest. His nostrils are so wide and distended, that one can discern the ruddy tint within them. His mouth is large, and the dilated veins are visible in every part of his fine head."*

Perceiving that my friend the bachelor was preparing to extend still further the catalogue of excellent qualities which were neither possessed by his horse, nor by any of his horse's race, I cut the matter short by saying, very composedly, "Pardon me, señor, if I cannot descry in your horse any of the beauties and merits which are so apparent to you. The limbs which you admire, appear to me very ill formed; the sleek skin you extol to the skies, is covered with marks and cuts; and as to his full black eyes, I wish I may lose my own eyes if I see anything in them but the overflowing of the vicious humours inherent in the nature of this miserable beast."

To these remarks, which were taken in no ill part, my interlocutor rejoined with an air of doubt and misgiving,-" Well, probably it may be as you say, señor, and not as I have fancied; but still you must admit, that though I may be under a mistake, I have advanced nothing at variance with reason; and if I think I perceive what you cannot discern, my error may be occasioned by short-sightedness, a complaint from which I have suffered from childhood, and which, being increased

of the "Amphytrion" of Plautus. Nicolas Monardes, who was a contemporary of Cervantes, wrote many valuable works on medicine and natural history, some of which have been translated into the principal European languages.

The delusion of the student, in respect to the merits of his horse, would seem intended to have some reference to the hallucinations and mistakes of the Knight of La Mancha. It may be mentioned, that minute descriptions of animals, such as that given above, are of frequent occurrence in the works of the Spanish writers, especially the poets. Lope de Vega, in one of his comedies, describes in detail a fish caught in the net of a fisherman on the bank of the Guadalquiver. Another beautiful specimen of this kind of animal painting is given by Antonio Mira Amescua, in his " Acteon i Diana." The subject is a pack of hounds, weary with the chase. Villaviciosa, in his " Mosquea," pourtrays with eloquent poetic colouring the death of a fly; and there is a celebrated description of a horse by Pablo de Cespedes.

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