to appreciate. The predominant passion of the personage is set before us with such clearness, and shines through all the vicissitudes with such a strong, and withal so discriminating a light, that a man must feel before he can discover its brilliance. A casual perusal would condemn the volume; it requires to be dwelt upon, or otherwise we do an injury to the poet. It demands the "second sight" of Parnassus, and a portion of that delicate enthusiasm, under the influence of which the author wrote, before we can claim the character of competent judges. Mr. Scott fairly eludes all criticism. We are charmed in defiance of argument; the tale, whether silly or not, is lost in the beauty of its narration. In his preface to the poem, he boldly informs his reader, that "the description of scenery and manners was more his object than the combined and regular narrative." If it were allowable to an author to have said more, he might have added, that the strength of his genius compensated for every defect of his plan. Should a straw on the surface of a rapid current be possessed of human intellect, it is not for that poor thing to determine the impetuosity of its course; but it must submit to be whirled about at the caprice of the cataract.

Beside the bold and obtrusive beauties of the poem, there are others less striking, which may fairly be denominated poetical violets. Unlike some of our modern bards, who deem it the perfection of poetry to write what no one can understand, the metaphors of Mr. Scott do not dazzle out of sight the subject they were destined to illuminate. On the contrary, they diffuse a coy and reluctant kind of splendour that flash on the opacity of the object, and expire.

We will not detain the reader by a long enumeration of the foibles (for such are undoubtedly to be found) in this beautiful work. It may be observed in general, that Scott sometimes loses the character of a Border Knight, and by following too faithfully the original, presents us with the Robber. When Deloraine, for instance, is desired by the lady of the castle not to read the book, that he is commanded to obtain from the tomb of Michael Scott, he replies:

"And safer by none may thy errand be done,

Than, noble dame, by me;

Letter nor line know I never a one,

Wer't my neck verse at Hairibee."

The author subjoins in a note, that "Hairibee is the place of executing the Border marauders; that the neck verse is the beginning of the fifty first psalm, anciently read by criminals claiming the benefit of clergy." Here the character of the knight is degraded to an intimate acquaintance with the gibbet, and the artificial dignity conferred by the muse dissolves in a mo

ment.

R.

FOR THE ANTHOLOGY.

JOURNAL OF A TOUR FROM CADIZ TO SEVILLE.

BY A BOSTONIAN.

THE late unfortunate reverses of the Spanish arms have rendered it probable that I shall not continue much longer in Spain. This I regret exceedingly on many accounts, one and not the least of which is that I have seen much less than I wished of the country. I have only been a few leagues round about Cadiz, excepting one excursion which I made some weeks since into the interior as far as Seville. As I know that whatever concerns me will interest my dear sister, I will give you a short history of my journey thither; though if you expect any very extraordinary or very entertaining adventures, you will, I fear, be disappointed.

Seville was formerly reckoned in point of size, and is still, in many respects, the second city in the kingdom. The Spaniards have a proverb among them, "Quien no ha visto Sevilla, no ha visto una maravilla;" or as we should do it into English, "he who has not seen Seville has not seen one of the seven wonders." I determined at all events from the first not to leave Spain without seeing a place so remarkable; and lest the troops of king Joseph should be there before me, I resolv ed not to delay my intention until it was too late, as I might never have another opportunity.

Several of my acquaintance having the same wish, we were accordingly not long in forming a party for the purpose. We set out on our expedition one afternoon, about five o'clock. Having obtained our passports and gone through the necessary forms, we embarked at the quay and crossed over to the town of Port St. Mary, which lies on the opposite side of the bay of Cadiz. Passage boats pass and repass at all hours. The distance across the bay is five miles. It was late when we sailed, and there was so little wind, that we did not arrive at the Port until the dusk of the evening.

As soon as we set foot on shore, our trunks, portmanteaus, &c. were seized by the custom-house officers, who in this country, like so many sharks, are ever on the watch for prey, and who would have proceeded immediately to ascertain whether they contained any contraband articles, if, in order to avoid the delay and inconvenience (not to say hazard) of having our shirts and handkerchiefs tumbled about, we had not made use of the universal recipe. These are a species of gentry, whose consciences are easily satisfied on this score. They are not trou

bled with many "compunctious visitings;" and their anxiety, lest the king should be defrauded, is sure to be quelled by the glimpse of one of his pictures.

No sooner had we run the gauntlet through these harpies of the revenue, and rescued our goods and chattels from their clutches, than we found ourselves surrounded by a posse of boys and negroes, yelping and fighting with each other in the strife to carry some part of our equipage. We were obliged to have all our eyes about us to protect our property and to keep the villains at bay. In addition to our calamities, a tribe of caleseros, and muleteers, apprized of our arrival, pressed forward, vociferating, elbowing the crowd, bellowing and almost stunning us with their offers of service. When we had extricated ourselves, which was effected with no little difficulty, from these obliging gentlemeh, we adjusted the business to our satisfaction, and hired three calesas to take us as far as Xerez, two Spanish leagues, or eight miles distant.

By the time we were seated in our vehicles, it was quite late. The night was very dark and cloudy, and the moon had not risen. We had been so strongly cautioned, previous to leaving Cadiz, to be on our guard against robbers, that we were all amply provided with arms and accoutrements. We loaded and primed our pistols, when the cavalcade set forward. The muleteers expressed such apprehension from the darkness of the night, and related so many stories of recent robberies, that we anticipated a certain attack. Our expectations were however disappointed. Whether so formidable a body (there being six of us, besides three muleteers) alarmed the lurking depredators, or whether there were really any, I cannot say be it however as it may, we travelled unmolested, no such persons having made their appearance; though doubtless we injured many an honest man by taking him for a robber, for we sagaciously pronounced every person without exception that we met on the road to be one. We all felt fully persuaded, that had the occasion offered, we should have made a most valorous defence. Our conversation for some hours after our arrival at Xerez was on the subject of the feats of heroism, which we were so near displaying: like the ancestor of Sir Roger de Coverly, who narrowly escaped being killed in the battle of Worcester, had he not luckily been sent on a message to a distant part of the country the day before.

After labouring for nearly three hours over a most execrable road, notwithstanding the tax laid upon those who pass it, we reached in safety the place of our destination. We alighted at the principal inn, which was called Posada de la consolacion, or in English, the "Hotel of consolation;" a name, alas! like, many others, whose application experience proved to us not to be the most just. Our first care was to inspect the beds, and to order our hostess to get supper ready without delay.

Xerez, (or as it is generally termed in English Sherries) is a handsome town, containing between 30 and 40,000 inhabitants. It is particularly famous for producing the well known wine,

which bears its name (Sherry). Mr. Gordon, a Scotch gentleman, who has resided above thirty years in the country, has in this place one of the richest and most extensive wine establishments in Europe. We had not been many minutes at the inn, when a nephew of Mr. Gordon, with whom I was well acquainted, heard of our arrival and called to see us. He immediately despatched a servant to bring us a few bottles of his oldest vintage for supper, a favour for which we were not a little grateful; and he pressed us so hard to pass the next day at Xerez, that after some little debate, we resolved to abandon our first design of proceeding early in the morning, and to accept his invitation. This plan we adopted more willingly, as it would give us an opportunity of visiting La Cartusa, (the Carthusian convent) situated about a league from town, which we were very desirous to see.

As soon as we got up next morning, we called at Mr. Gordon's for our friend. He was not at the house; a servant however conducted us to a neat and elegant little edifice, which Mr. Gordon has erected for the accommodation of his numerous visiters, and which is styled Bachelor's Hall. It was here that his nephew had taken up his quarters. Before breakfast we took a stroll round the town, and visited the extensive vaults and immense establishments of Mr. Gordon. The property he possesses I cannot attempt to calculate. The stores alone, without estimating the wine with which they are filled, are valued at 200,0001. sterling. He has carpenters, smiths, coopers, wheelwrights, &c. on his own demesnes, who are constantly employed. Most of his head workmen are either English or Scotchmen.

Xerez contains several spacious streets, and some very elegant houses. A great number of the nobility reside in the town and its vicinity. There are sixteen or seventeen monasteries, besides many other churches. A building, which, in ancient times, when Spain was divided among different monarchs, was a royal palace, is still unimpaired, and the ruins of a Moorish castle and walls yet exist.

At breakfast, we met Mrs. Gordon and her daughter, who has recently been married to a young colonel in the Spanish service. They are both very fine women. Mrs. Gordon is a Spanish lady, and it is easy to trace in her features the remains of beauty. She speaks no English. Her daughter, however, who was educated in England, speaks the language perfectly. Soon after breakfast, we ordered horses and calesas, and set off on our jaunt to the Carthusian convent, where we arrived in little more than half an hour. The convent is situated in a delightful spot, on the declivity of a hill, commanding a very extensive prospect. The architecture is gothick, and as we approached, the effect was very noble and magnificent. The gate, through which we entered into the outer court yard, is a

most beautiful structure. It is adorned by a number of Corinthian columns and several very fine statues.

No description of mine could convey an adequate idea of the grandeur of this edifice, or of its interior splendour. We had a letter to the Procurador, who is a relation of Mrs. Gordon, but he was unfortunately so much occupied that he was unable to attend us. We consequently had no one to accompany us over the different apartments and chapels, who could explain to us the various paintings with which the walls were adorned. By this means our visit lost much of its interest. Murillo, Velasques, and the greatest masters of the Spanish school have employed their pencils in its decoration. In the principal chapel, the architecture of which is very similar to the famous chapel of Henry VII. in Westminster Abbey, lies interred the body of the founder, Don Aibano Oberto Senbaleto. On the stone over his sepulchre is engraven the figure of a knight clad in armour, with a short Latin inscription, giving an account of the valour and piety of this holy warriour. It seems that, tired of battles and tumult, he determined to dedicate his riches to the erection of this convent, and to pass the remainder of his days in seclusion from the world. We were shewn the plates, out of which the pious founder ate, and the pitcher which supplied him with water during the period it was building. They are hung up as trophies. It was completed, as appears, in 1482, This is the principal convent of the Carthusian order, and the richest in Spain. The wealth it contains is said to be above two millions of dollars. There are 2 or 3000 acres of land ad

jacent, belonging to the convent, in high cultivation.

Next to the order of La Trappe, the Carthusian is the most austere, The monks have no intercourse or communication with each other, except on one day in the week, On this day they assemble in the hall and partake of their simple repast together. At this time only do they speak. The other days of the week they pass in solitude and silence. Shut up in their gloomy cells, they neither see nor hear the voice of any human being. Even the hand which furnishes their one daily meal of fish and vegetables, and their jug of water, is concealed. They are allowed to keep no cat or dog, nor any living animal, lest their thoughts should be diverted from heavenly objects. No woman can cross the threshold of the convent under pain of death!

The centre court yard, or quadrangle, is surrounded with cypresses, and is appropriated to the burial of the dead. A beautiful gothick piazza is built along the four walls. Under this are the friars' cells. The walls and ceilings of the piazza were once adorned with sumptuous paintings, which, from time and exposure to the vicissitudes of the weather, have now nearly all mouidered away. The convent contains an infinite number of cells and cloisters, though the monks have now dwindled to