where she keeps her potatoes; and if you should meet any eggs on your way, introduce a dozen or so into your pouch. As you go along, my good friend, don't forget to ask how her father is, and her mother, and the children; that will flatter her a little, and make you better acquainted.'

nately I was keeping watch for Master Calisto, and I sent Desbarolles to his duty. Ten minutes after, we were seated round a table, on which smoked a dozen chops, two pyramids of potatoes, and a gigantic omelet, and at our repeated shouts of laughter-enter Madame Burguillos, behind her Desbarolles approached the hostess in the the two or three Maritornes of the posada, and most respectful manner, and, softened a little al- behind them, in deep shadow the astonished faces ready by the contact of the duros, she deigned to of the English guests. I profited by the preaccept the arm which he offered, and both disap-sence of Madame Burguillos, to slip the key of peared by a door that seemed to lead down into the bowels of the earth. Boulanger and Don Riego at the same moment made their appearance at an opposite entrance; they had steered their course in a contrary direction, had encountered winds which had driven them along a corridor, at the end of which they had discovered a chamber capable of containing eight beds, and Boulanger, like a man of sense, had locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.

The chops were broiling away famously. 'Now,' said I, a saucepan and fryingpan.'

"Achard immediately seized a frying pan, and Giraud a saucepan. Monsieur Calisto Burguillos gazed at us, as if fairly stupified; but he was only one against eight, and had but a ladle against five loaded guns. I think he had, at one time, half a mind to call the English to his assistance; but he was a well-informed man, this M. Calisto Burguillos, and he knew, that in the peninsular war, the Spaniards had always had more to suffer from their allies, the English, than from their enemies, the

French; and he determined, therefore, to make no appeal to his guests.

Desbarolles now returned, with his pouch full of eggs, and his pockets of potatoes.

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the sleeping-room into the hand of Desbarolles :Come, Mr. Interpreter,' said I, one more effort. Get up from table, and go and see our beds made; we will keep your share of the supper, and on your return the company will vote you a crown of laurel, as Rome did to Cæsar.' In another hour we were all arranged symmetrically side by side on the ground like Tom Thumb and his seven brothers."

The second adventure which we shall present to our readers is of a different cast, and is somewhat suspiciously effective in the feuilleton style. We must premise that the party had been fairly beaten in another attempt to take a posada by storm; and compelled to make a hasty retreat. The landlord and landlady, and their friends, were busy dancing, and would have nothing to say to them. In vain did even M. Dumas exert his eloquence-in vain did another of the party place himself in a graceful atti

tude before the hostess-with an elbow leaning on the wall, and one leg crossed over the other, and begin a conversation with an elegant freedom and captivating politeness that seemed likely to be irresistible. The landlord fairly drove them out, and would not agree to let them have so much as a glass of wine till he saw them seated in their carriage, and ready to start on the road to Aranjuez.

It was Achard's mission to break and beat the eggs, Giraud's to peel the potatoes Desbarolles was to continue his attentions to Madame Burguillos, till the cloth was laid somewhere for eight; and Desbarolles devoted himself heroically to the cause, and in a quarter of an hour returned with an Oh, dear! Gentlemen, the cloth is laid.' Ten minutes after, the omelet only wanted just a turn-the chops a moment more broiling, the po- Behold, then, the discomfited party tatoes a moment more boiling. At this moment, again en route, abandoning for this time all the kitchen of Don Calisto Burguillos presented a hopes of a supper and a bed. M. Dumas, his son, and one of his friends on mules, the rest in a curious vehicle which they had found it necessary to purchase.

curious scene.

"First, there was your yery humble servant,

M. Alexander Dumas, with a fan in each hand, keeping up the proper ventilation for the charcoal fire that was cooking the chops and the potatoes; Giraud was peeling a second edition of the potatoes, "We set off then, and behind us the carriage aldestined to succeed the first; Don Riego was pre- so began its march, lighted by a single lantern tending to read his breviary, but snuffing up the fixed in the middle of the imperial. By degrees scent of the gridiron, and glancing out of the cor- the crescent moon arose and threw a soft and ner of his eye at the fryingpan; Maquet was charming light upon the landscape; a landscape, holding the handle thereof; Achard was pounding the immense extent of which rendered it almost pepper; Desbarolles was resting from his fatigues; terrible. At our right it was bounded by mounBoulanger, chilled by his voyage in the high lati- tains, amidst which, from time to time, great tudes, was warming himself; Alexandre (the lakes of sand glittered in the moonshine. To the younger), faithful to his speciality, was taking a left, it seemed quite boundless; it was impossible nap; finally, Master Calisto Burguillos, confound- for the eye to sound the depths of the horizon; ed at this French intervention, did not notice his but at about a thousand paces from the road, a wife, who was making signs to Desbarolles line of trees, and the deeper color of the vegetathrough the window, that there was something tion, marked the course of the Tagus. From place very important still wanting to the table. Fortu- to place a portion of the river was discovered,

sending back to the moon, like a bright mirror, the "like a single tooth in a gigantic jaw." rays received from it; before us, the long yellow Nobody was much hurt, however; and to road stretched out like a band of leather. From the inquiry of M. Dumas, as to how the time to time our mules turned out of the straight accident happened, one of the sufferers repath to leave to the right or the left some precipice, almost beneath our feet, left yawning since some plied: forgotten earthquake. From time to time, also, we turned, and saw behind at a distance of three hundred, four hundred, five hundred paces, the old coach tottering along, its wheels often buried in sand to one-third of their depth, and its light shaking like a Will-o'-the-wisp. Presently we climbed a little hill, and after that we completely. lost sight of it."

They continued their course, gossiping away very gaily, and quite forgetting the old coach and its Cyclops eye of a light. At last, when for more than three quarters of an hour they had seen no glimpse of it, they thought it prudent to stop.

"The moon was marvellously bright; but not a sound was to be heard in these vast elevated plains, except perhaps the distant barking of a dog from some lonely farm, The mules, however pricked up their ears as if they heard something which we did not. In another moment a vague sort of sound seemed to pass with the wind, like the echo of a human voice lost in immense space. What's that?' said I. Alexandre and Achard had heard something, but they knew not what. We remained silent and motionless, and in a few seconds the sound reached us again. It was like a cry of distress. We redoubled our attention. At length we heard distinctly a name pronounced by a voice that seemed approaching.

"It is you-it is you they want,' said Achard. 'It is one of our friends,' said Alexandre. You will see,' said I, trying to laugh, that they have been stopped by six banditti, who have forbidden them to cry out and that's why they're calling.' "It's certainly me that they're calling,' said I. 'Forwards, gentlemen, in that direction! We spurred our mules, but had scarcely gone ten yards when the same cry reached us, and, this time, with an accent of distress that there was no mistaking. Something has happened, certainly,' said I. • Allons" and we galloped on, attempting also to shout in answer; but the wind was in our faces, and carried our voices back. The same cry was heard again, but now it had a panting, exhausted sound. A sort of shiver passed through our hearts. We tried again to reply; but we now perceived that it was to no purpose; it soon became evident that the person who had uttered those cries, was running towards us with all his might."

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"Oh! it was very soon done. We were jogging along, discoursing of feats of love and war, as M. Annibal de Coconnas says, when, all at once, * I believe we felt our coach lean to one side. we're going to overturn,' said Boulanger. I believe we have overturned,' said Desbarolles; "I believe we are overturning,' said Maquet; and, in fact, just at that moment the coach laid itself quietly over on its side; but then, all of a in that position, she gave a shift, and turned us completely topsy-turvy, with our heads down, and our feet in the air, kicking about among our guns and hunting knives-Maquet at the bottom, I upon him, and Don Riego on me, larded between with Boulanger and Desbarolles,'

sudden, as if she hadn't found herself comfortable

Steady, gentlemen,' said Boulanger; I believe we are on the very brink of a precipice that 1 was just looking at when we went over. The quieter we keep ourselves the better chance we have of not going down it.

This advice was good, and we followed it; but Maquet observed, with his usual composure:

"Do what you think best, gentlemen'; only don't forget, if you please, that I am stifling, and in five minutes I shall be dead." "

On reconnoitring the ground where the accident happened, it seemed rather probable that it had been not altogether accidental; and this suspicion was confirmed by seeing the mayoral snatch his lantern and extinguish it. This extinction, however, threw, in the minds of the travellers, a sudden light on the affair.

"Maquet instantly left off scolding, but seized the mayoral by the collar, and dragged him towards the precipice.

he resisted with all his might, but Maquet had a "The mayoral thought his last hour was come; grasp of iron; and they were soon on the edge of to kill me,' said he, do it at once,' and he shut his the abyss. He turned ashy pale, If you want eyes. This humility saved him, and Maquet let

him go.

666

this scene is not over yet. Who has the use of Now,' said he, we must call Dumas, for his legs, and lungs enough to run after him and

call out? I have,' said Giraud, and he set off. You know the rest, Madame, or, rather, you do not know; for the rest was, at that moment, com

This person turned out to be one of the party in the rear-the painter Giraud; who had come to inform them of the coaching over a little hill, clearly marked out against the horizon-this horizon was very near to us. having been completely overturned on the See, see!' said I, a troop of men ;" and I exvery edge of a precipice, having only es- tended my hand in the direction of the new caped being thrown over it by the acci- comers. dental projection of a rock, which stuck out

"Three, four, five, six, seven,' counted Gi

The end of the second volume brings us "Achard, who had no gun, snatched up a hunt- to Grenada, of which there are some goring knife, and we then recollected that our guns geously-colored descriptions, though we pass were not loaded. The men were now not more them over on account of the familiarity of

than a hundred yards off; we could count them-the subject.
they were seven. Gentlemen, we have three
minutes,' said I; that is enough to load. Steady,

From the British Quarterly Review.

TURNER'S PAINTINGS.

1. Modern Painters. By a GRADUATE OF OXFORD. Vols. I. and II. Third Edition. London, 1846.

2. A Glossary of Terms used in Grecian, Roman, Italian, and Gothic Architecture. Fourth Edition. Parker: Oxford, 1845.

3. A Companion to the Glossary of Architecture. Ibid. 1846.

curiosity for classical terms has gone by. The few notes and illustrations of his three first subjects, scattered through the work, appear as rare exotics, intruding among the ample details of gothic art.

In the literature of every period there are the certain works, which, like the straws on the surface of a stream, serve to indicate the tendency of the current; while others appear at rare intervals controlling, rather than pointing out the course. The works The limited, though very full chronolonamed above are illustrations of these two gical table which occupies a large part of classes. It can hardly fail to be considered the third, or companion volume of the as a curious characteristic of our own day, glossary, is equally symptomatic of the prethat in the one case, three, and in the other; sumed preference for gothic art. It comfour large editions have been rapidly dis- mences with the year 284, and ends with posed of, and that further issues of both are that of 1538, entirely excluding at the one now in preparation. No two works could extreme, the progressive changes of classic perhaps be selected more completely differ- architecture, and at the other the Elizaing in character and style, than the Oxford bethan style, which has furnished so many Graduate's Treatise, and the Oxford Di- characteristic examples of our national dovine's Glossary,-for both claim their birth-mestic architecture; but which is now put place on the banks of Isis. The first is a under the ban of all thorough-going worshipgenerous and impassioned review of the pers of medieval art. With such, indeed, works of living painters, characterized occa- the love of gothic art is a part of their creed, sionally by the extravagance of the enthu- and the architecture of the seventeenth siast, and the partiality of the friendly century a heresy, corresponding with the critic; yet, withal, a hearty and earnest laxity of opinion of the same period. It is work, full of deep thought, and developing a mere question of orthodoxy in both cases. great and striking truths in art. The di- With many, however, the religious feeling vine, on the contrary, is "dry as a diction- thus accompanying the love of art, is the ary," but he promises no more; and be- fruit of true enthusiasm. Let us not quarsides initiating us into all the mysteries of rel with such because they are in earPiscinas, Sedilia, Credence-tables, fald- nest. Earnestness and unity of purpose stools, and the like curiosities of ecclesias- afford the only hope of a new triumph. tical furnishing, which have become such The revivers of art in the fifteenth century weighty matters of late years, he supplies were poets, painters, sculptors, architects, a concise and very full book of reference for all in one ;-giants in their day. The architectural terminology, copiously illus- puny striplings of the eighteenth century trated both with wood cuts and engravings. were men of line and rule;* feeble followThe illustrations, indeed,-which are exe- ers of precedent, who groped apart, each cuted in a masterly style,-occupy fully after his own little idol; which he believed two-thirds of the whole work, to the manifest in only as an idol,—a wooden god. We have ease and comfort of the reader, who thereby discarded this sceptical formalism at least; learns from example and at a glance, what even the orthodox revivalist grows enthusias-, pages of learned technical description tic and begins to show that he has a heart. would have failed to render clear to him. The work, in fact, is intended for the amateur, and as such indicates both the diffusion and tendency of taste in the present day. It professes to deal with Grecian, Roman, Italian, and Gothic architecture but the editor has shrewdly guessed that

Let us turn for a little from such reflections, suggested by the somewhat singular

* Vanburgh is in some degree an exception to

this; he was a poet as well as an architect, and his

Blenheim, and other mansions, are worthy of praise, though scarcely of imitation. They possess character, and marked individuality-proofs of genius.

alliance that has taken place of late years painter, if he be a painter; if not, as the between the admirers of patristic theology German critic so satisfactorily settles,and canonical architecture, to consider an then he may rest content in the enjoyment equally devout, and much more rational of originality; for he has devised something student of art. That our Oxford graduate that has not only cheated many men of is no timid or time-serving critic appears in taste into the belief that he is, but has even the very first lines of his first preface. induced one earnest and enthusiastie stu"This work," he says, "originated in in- dent of nature to write two large volumes, dignation at the shallow and false criticism suggested by his works, which not a few of the periodicals of the day, on the works have thought it well worth their while to of the great living artist to whom it prin- study and lay to heart. cipally refers." To exhibit Turner as the We are no new converts to the genius of greatest landscape painter in this or any Turner. Years ago we had studied his other age; and to rescue the age from the works, from the quiet, sober-tinted, unpreguilt of despising and decrying his genius, tending drawings of his early years, to the until the shadows and the light of the grave gorgeous scenes which confounded the Lonreveal, too late, its real proportions, are the don critics, year after year, at Trafalgartasks which he aims to accomplish. square. We have examined the early

The subject, however, has grown upon paintings in his own gallery at Queen Annehim as he proceeded; the great painter has street, the Carthage Pictures, the Crossbeen lost sight of in the greatness of the ing of the Brook, even the Funeral of art itself; and instead of a brief and ephe- Lawrence; and we have studied him, where meral pamphlet, we have here two large Turner can alone be truly known, in the volumes, with the promise of a third, collection of drawings at Tottenham, under full of deep thought, and earnest searching the guidance of its courteous and enthusiinvestigation into the principles of art. astic owner, B. G. Windus, Esq. We have The work, as a whole, commands our admi- never felt any surprise at his pictures not ration. It lays before us the deeply stu- being generally appreciated. The Lady of died reflections of a devout worshipper of the Lake won more admirers in a quarter nature, of one too thoroughly imbued of a year, than the Excursion has done in with the love of truth, and too keenly alive a quarter of a century. Even so, the peato the highest beauty, to be misled in their green landscapes of Creswick and Lee will pursuit by the shallow conventionalities of find a thousand to appreciate, and purchase, high-art criticism. Within our narrower too, for one who can understand Turner. limits we propose to adopt the same arrangement in our remarks.

"The works of a frequently named English artist, J. M. W. Turner, can only be cited to rank them in that class of the worst and most ludicrous aberrations which the art of painting could ever be subjected to: This sort of working is not painting at all!" So says a recent German critic. We quote him in preference to any of our own reviewers, though it would be easy to present the same idea from many of them, in coarser, if not in stronger terms.

The reason is obvious. "It is an insult to what is really great, either in literature or art, to suppose that it in any way addresses itself to mean or uncultivated faculties." (Modern Painters, vol. I., p. 2.) Need we say, that we do not hereby challenge the claims of either Scott or Creswick to take his place among our poets or painters; we only question the right of either to the place thus accorded to them.

We

We are well aware, however, that besides the class of superficial critics, who find it so much easier to abuse than to study the “J. M. W. Turner is the only man who works they cannot comprehend, there are has ever given an entire transcript of the men of modest thought, and actuated by a whole system of nature, and is, in this sincere desire to appreciate the highest point of view, the only perfect landscape truths of art, to whom Turner's pictures painter whom the world has ever seen." appear an incomprehensible enigma. (Modern Painters, vol. I., p. 411.) So acknowledge at once the right of such to says our Oxford graduate. There is no something more practical from the reviewer mistaking opinions here. No hesitating than mere dogmatic censure or praise, if modicum of condescending encouragement their judgment is to yield its suffrage as an or timid censure. It is plain we have independent and voluntary act. We shall something out of the common to deal with. endeavor, then, to clear the way for an unThere is hope, indeed, for our English prejudiced study of our great landscape