beard falling on his bare and bloody breast, and his whole person presenting an object of horror and loathing. Meanwhile Master Matthias, who was bleeding from several small wounds, and was apparently much distressed by some unparalleled exertion, had been seated, and had refreshments set before him. Presently the whole assembly became silent, and regarded Matthias, the wretch lying on the earth, and then the Justice, as if to inquire from whom the first words of explanation would proceed. Matthias saw what was passing in their minds, and thus addressed them :-" By the counsel of my wife, have I secured your tormentor and mine. In the early morning I lay within my garden bower, disguised and secretly armed; presently I heard a rustling among the leaves, and saw a huge figure, which I could not recognise, take up some woman's habiliments which lay at its entrance, and utter a loud laugh. My heart beat against my sides-I had heard that laugh before. "Oh! oh!" said the unknown, "what, thou hast proved wise, and art corved -now," and another horrid laugh burst forth, as he pressed his way to the interior of the bower, and encircled my head and neck with his arms. I was enveloped in this mantle, and durst scarcely contend with the great strength with which he seized me, until I had so far removed the covering as to enable me to breathe. At the moment I could respire freely, I sprung suddenly from beneath him, and then threw him on his back. It was now morning, and we were face to face. I knelt on the breast of my injurer, my hands seized his throat, and I could have strangled him on the spot; but this would not have served my purpose. Long we lay on the ground, until my firm grasp began to relax; in truth, my senses failed me. My enemy rallied, I lamented that I had not pressed out at once the breath of life-we fought with various changes of fortune. He fled, I pursued; the hours wasted: at length the fight was mine; a blow stunned him, and falling on him once more, I bound him as you behold!" The Justice, who was already moved by this recital, embraced Master Matthias, in the face of the whole multitude. Meanwhile the wounded man, who was supposed to be hurt beyond all power of motion, had contrived to loosen the gyves on his arms and legs, and with the speed of lightning fled towards the mouth of the Black Heading. A few pursued, but the body of the spectators stood motionless with surprise, Alan reached the desired place, and in a moment leapt into the corve and was lost to sight; the revolving wheel ran rapidly round for a moment; in the next, the chain to which it was attached ceased to run; a low heavy noise was distinctly heard ; and a shudder ran through the crowd, as they at once became sensible, that Alan Tuitle, at that instant, lay at the bottom of the pit a mass of lifeless flesh and broken bones. * * -* * When the first wonder at the events of the day had subsided, the Magistrate directed that the hovel, which was formerly occupied by the dead man, should be razed; the work was completed in an hour, and discovered the mouth of an old and neglected pit, which led directly to that underground neighbourhood, which had received the name of the Spirits' Seat. Its course was traced, and the skins of sheep and lambs were seen lying about. In one place, were stores of articles which had been stolen since the time of the supposed murder; and at its extremity was found the complete apparel of one, who, some years before, was supposed to have been privately murdered or spirited away. THE renown of Genius, like that of Truth, whereof, indeed, it is the most bright and universal messenger, in its advance through Time, is subject to continual ebbs and flows, and has its moments of eclipse as well as its seasons of full lustre. There is no great poet or philosopher but has experienced from posterity every alternation, from homage to contempt; each, perhaps, alike capricious: and mighty names-nay, the productions of an entire century or language-occasionally fade, for a time, into an oblivion, upon which those who witness their revived honours look back with surprise. The sincere worshipper of Poetry, in his pursuit of beauty and excellence, wheresoever they may reside, indifferent to the prevailing fashion or creed of the day, is ever meeting with treasures, which their antiquated mould, or less accessible situation has, for a season, condemned to neglect. At such times, he is impelled by a strong desire to acquaint all whom he has the means of addressing, with the secret of riches so unjustly disregarded, and to demand respect for the old masters of song, whose place of honour is too frequently usurped by pretenders to an ephemeral reputation. He will earnestly, according to the measure of his powers, appeal against the indifference whereby their works are allowed thus to sink into temporary darkness; persuaded that they remain unhonoured solely because they are unnoticed. The fate of Spanish literature in England, notwithstanding some bright examples of its culture, has, for the last quarter of a century, afforded a remarkable instance of the vicissitudes to which we have alluded. The music of that band of poets, whose strains were the guide and delight of our ancestors, has passed from our ears as though it had never been heard amongst us; for, save Cervantes, and perhaps Quevedo, what Spanish name do we now hear familiarly mentioned? That this neglect is lamentable and unmerited, we would gladly make some endeavour to demonstrate; and great would be our pride, were we to succeed in winning for the noble singers of Castile, some portion of that love which was willingly rendered them by our predecessors. In the performance of this pleasant duty, we now propose to draw aside, with a reverend hand, a rich curtain that conceals from English eyes the throne of a true poet of the olden time. Look! what a noble and excellent presence! His eye, indeed, gazes haughtily around; for his Spain was the empress and jewel of Christendom: but his lip is full of gentleness, and even of sorrow. These are garlands strewn amongst the records of ancient learning upon which he is supported. It is, in truth, a stately and radiant appearance! for the star of immortality sparkles on his brow like a crown, and upon the footstool of his throne his countrymen have inscribed, in golden characters, " HERRERA EL DIVINO." Spain, it is true, can boast of no Dante or Ariosto, nor does she possess many specimens of composition polished to the fastidious gloss of the Italian model; but, in many of the fairest provinces of song, she has no reason to dread comparison with her sister Hesperia. If Italy produces Dante, Spain may reply with Calderon; and the name of Cervantes will at least balance that of Boccaccio. There is a peculiar luxuriance in the flow of Spanish poetry, which appears, indeed, almost like a spontaneous production of this favoured land of its birth. The romantic charm which invests every page of the older annals, and every foot of the soil of Spain, is yet more vividly present in the writings of her knightly bards; and, in their expressions and images, a rich Oriental tinge, possessed by no other European literature, still attests the former influence of her Saracen invaders. It is in lyrical poetry that Spain is most wealthy; from the old romances which were poured forth without effort or forethought in her earlier times, to the more cultivated, but less rational, productions of a later period, the genius of her language has always appeared to find its happiest display in this class of composition. The lyrical poets of Spain, all their grace, genius, and fire apart, awaken a personal interest claimed by few of their brethren. They were not mere recluses, or book-men, or tuneful vissionaries, but soldiers, and courtiers, and statesmen, and gallants; rejoicing, through every change of condition, in the study and exercise of their favourite art. In the Spanish leaguer, the sound of the guitar was never mute; and the proud Ambassador who represented Charles V. at the Council of Trent, entered the assembly with a sonnet to his ladye's curls, folded within his glove; or, as Hurtado de Mendoza himself, one of the brightest examples of this brilliant class, describes the poet-soldier of his day, “Aora en la dulce ciencia embebecido, Ora con el uso del ardiente espada Such were the men whose genius shed a glory over three centuries of the literary history of Spain. The author to whom our immediate attention is directed, borrows no lustre from so captivating a position; for of the circumstances of his life scarcely any record survives. It is, indeed, strange that so little should now be known of the history of Fernando de Herrera, since his merit appears to have met with the fullest recognition from his contemporaries. But these having neglected to secure what was, no doubt, well known in their time, a few scanty notices, to which no material additions can now be expected, are all that remain of his life in the present day. He was born at Seville, a city notorious throughout Spain for her indifference towards the annals of her illustrious sons, in the beginning of the 16th century; but the years of his birth and of his death are alike unknown. Francisco de Rioja says that his Spanish annals (now lost) were completed as far as 1590. This statement, which is adopted by the biographer in the Parnaso Espanol, would place the time of his death later than that assigned by Nicolas Antonio, and suggested as probable by Bouterwek. However this may be, it appears certain that he reached an advanced age, and was, at the period of his death, an ecclesiastic, some say of the Franciscan order, others assert that the class to which he belonged is unknown. There is little doubt that he assumed the cowl at a late period of his life only. All the biographers agree in representing his learning as uncommonly ripe and extensive; his works, indeed, afford abundant evidence of this truth. A part only of his writings survive ; the rest-unless there be truth in the doubtful story of their destruction, shortly after his decease, by a literary opponentmay, perhaps, still exist in some monastic library, or disregarded collection; receptacles abounding throughout the peninsula, wherein many fair productions of the Spanish authors still lie interred. The published writings of Herrera consist of the Annotations upon Garcilaso, teeming with learned and happy illustration, but destitute of critical skill; a History of the War of Cyprus, and the Sea-fight off Lepanto, and a Life of Sir Thomas More, in prose; and two books of Lyrical Poems, containing sonnets, sestinas, canciones or odes, and elegies, almost exclusively turning on amatory or historical themes. In his love lays, he has evidently taken for his model Petrarch; whose elegance and precision he sought to introduce, more completely than had yet been attempted, into his native literature. They are characterised by the same repetition of the one idea-unsuccessful love-through every artifice of poetic invention. The name of the lady whom he celebrates is not known; some of his critics, indeed, dispute the fact of her real existence. One of his canciones affords some grounds for naming her Dona Leonora de Milan, Condesa de Gelves; but this is a doubtful supposition. Such, in brief, is all we know respecting the personal history of this great poet. Our ignorance of private records respecting him is, however, less to be regretted, inasmuch as we are thereby required to address our whole attention to the purely poetical aspect of his writings; an examination which will amply engage all the care we can devote to the illustration of our author. In point of time,"succeeding Boscan, Garcilaso de la Vega, and Hurtado y Mendoza, Herrera is the fourth of Spain's classical poets; so called (in contradistinction from the adherents of the older national redondillas) from their replacing the careless luxury of the popular style, by a regularity of form, and accuracy of expression, imitated, as had previously been done in Italy, from the models of antiquity. In the pursuit of this object, Herrera imagined that his predecessors had failed to impart sufficient dignity and splendour to the Spanish Muse; and the endeavour to supply this deficiency appears to have been the guiding principle of his poetical labours. His works thus constitute an era in the history of Spanish poetry, into which he introduced a loftiness of manner and opulence of style previously unknown. He also set the example of a greater freedom in the construction of his sentences, and coined many words, chiefly from Latin originals. These innovations, although vehemently assailed by the Castilian purists, and ridiculed by Quevedo, (himself nearly as great an offender in that way,) have, for the most part, been adopted into the language, Upon the dress of his poems he bestowed uncommon care, selecting such phrases and words only as he conceived to be fitting for metrical use; of these he is said to have prepared, for his own reference, a very copious vocabulary." Those which are now lost consisted of Historical Annals of the Reign of Charles V.; of Pastoral Eclogues, and Heroic Poems, together with Latin Verses, in the production of which he is said to have excelled. Of Spanish prose, with the exception of Mendoza, he was the first classical author. His style, as it appears in the comment on Garcilaso, is noble and flowing, but diffuse. The treatises noticed above, which, though still extant, are scarce, we have not seen. F. De Rioja. That such extreme fastidiousness and effort should at times have be trayed him into affectation and obscurity, will not excite surprise ; but it must not be inferred from this admission that Herrera's works are to be commended or dispraised for their style alone. They are replete with bold and beautiful thoughts, and decorated with infinite richness by an imagination peculiarly sensitive and abundant. A fine mellow strain of allusion and imagery displays rather than obtrudes the fruitful lore of the poet; and, above all, in the treatment of high themes, he soars to a pitch of solemn and lofty inspiration which no modern author certainly has surpassed. We have said that, in his amatory sonnets and elegies, Herrera was a professed follower of Petrarch. It seems probable, that emulation of the great Tuscan master, rather than any peculiar bitterness of passion. ate regret, suggested to his choice the theme of disappointed love, which forms the constant burden of his song. That he was attracted by some lady, whose superiority of rank formed an obstacle to his suit, celebrated under the various titles of "My Light," "My Star," "Sirena," Aglaia," "The Exalted Heliodora," &c., appears in some degree substantiated by the verses, alluding to such an attachment, addressed to him by various contemporary authors. Even these, however, might be mere compliments, pursuing the fiction which he had chosen to assume. But, that the burden of such a wo as his verses depict; that the tortures, burnings, faintnesses, &c. &c. which appeal for pity at every step of his prolonged Tristia,—prolonged throughout years of poetical activity, were more than ingenious sacrifices to the prevalent taste, few who have the patience to read them throughout will believe. We have no great faith in the personal sorrows of Petrarch himself.* There is a certain fervour in the language of unaffected passion which cannot be counterfeited or mistaken. No reader ever doubted the amorous frenzy of the "Mascula Sappho." These "willow-strains" of Herrera, although abounding with manifold affectations, and extravagant conceits, with frigid playing upon words, and all the vices peculiar to the genre, are nevertheless redeemed by the sonorous melody of the versification, and by frequent traits of peculiar sweetness and felicity. Few writers have moved in the narrow boundary of the sonnet with greater ease and dignity than our author; indeed, the necessity of confining his exuberance of diction within such close limits, has compelled him to adopt a conciseness which contrasts advantageously with the tendency to diffuseness perceptible in his A similar disbelief in the literal truth of the love-lamentations of Petrarch, Dante, and the host of poets who followed in their track, may possibly have contributed to lead Signor Rosetti to the singular theory promulgated in two treatises which he has recently published. According to him, these effusions must be regarded as a kind of symbolical cipher; by which, under the expressions of amatory passion, the writers of Europe circulated amongst the initiated, perilous anti-papal maxims, and aspirations for freedom. This, in spite of the ingenuity with which it is supported, we must take leave to consider as a chimera, devoid of all probability, and at variance with common sense. Petrarch, in one of his letters, ridicules the idea of such allegorical interpretations, which, it appears, some contemporary had sought to affix to his poems: and the learned Tiraboschi, speaking of the fanciful commentators upon Dante, says, with unusual severity, "Ogni parola credasi che racchiudese qualche profondo arcano; e perciò i commentatori pongono tutto il loro studio nel penetrar dentro a quella pretesa caligine, e nel ridurre il sensa mistico al letterale e chi sa quanti pensieri (al Dante) hanno asi attribuiti che a lui non erano mai passati pel capo." |