THE FRAUDS OF PICTURE-DEALERS.

BY AN ARTIST.

MR. George Dubourg, in the preface of his quaint but interesting little volume, The Violin, rather astounds the ordinary, matter of fact reader, by the somewhat brusque announcement, that "Mankind may be divided into two classes-those who play the violin and those who do not!" It has not only long been granted that everybody has a "hobby," in some shape or another, but that, to the proprietor's mental vision, this "hobby" generally assumes a magnitude and importance unrecognisable by that of others. I will not interrupt, by any censure of mine, the enthusiastic violinist, in his peculiar feat of hobby-horsemanship; and for a very excellent reason: occasionally I am myself given to indulge in the expression of rather odd freaks of opinion respecting the most prominent characteristics of a "simple division" of humanity. For instance, I sometimes detect myself, very inopportunely, intimating, after the fashion of Mr. Dubourg, that "mankind may be divided into two classes-those who impose upon their own brains the honourable labour of thinking, and those who, through indifference, incapacity, or sheer idleness, delegate that important and peculiarly human privilege to somebody else!" I am likewise rather partial to another view of this sort of dual humanity. On more than one occasion I have insisted, somewhat rudely, that "the cheaters and the cheated constitute the most remarkable antithetical phases of the human character!" Though the propounding of such opinions may, perhaps justly, militate against one's reputation for good breeding, yet I am inclined to think it no difficult task to show that they contain some germs of truth, notwithstanding their uncourteous aspect. It is not my wish, however, to insinuate that any particular individuals belong altogether to either the one class or the other. On the contrary, I have ever found them so intricately dove-tailed together as to defy the strictest investigation to decide exactly where the one ended and the other commenced. The man who well and bravely thought yesterday, I have seen to day "as tenderly led by the nose as asses are ;" and the adept, at present counting the gains of his duplicity, may, perhaps to-morrow, be fleeced by the sharper practice of a more experienced competitor.

[PRICE 1d.

I think it may pretty confidently be asserted that, amongst the numerous impostors who exist upon the ignorance or credulity of the public, few practise frauds of a more unscrupulous character, or more generally succeed in their nefarious transactions, than picture-dealers. There unquestionably may be parties engaged in the business whose conduct as tradesmen is beyond reproach; but it unfortunately happens that the proportion of honest dealers is not sufficient to materially influence their general character.

Pictures particularly the genuine works of the "old masters"- may be said, like ancient coins or other curiosities, to possess a twofold value; or, in other words, large sums are often paid for them, on account of their rarity, over and above their intrinsic worth. A penny, coined during the reign of Alfred the Great, was sold, some years ago, for upwards of forty pounds, though its value as a piece of silver is not more than three pence. This enormous price was realized solely owing to the scarceness of coins of this description, and the consequent competition amongst collectors for its possession. An Alfred silver penny, in good preservation, may now be procured for about five pounds. This diminution in value has been caused by the recent discovery of other specimens of a similar character. The genuine works of the "old masters" are so rarely to be met with, that wealthy connoiseurs will give almost any price rather than lose an opportunity of gracing their collections with authenticated specimens. The picture of "St. Catherine," by Raffaelle, which was added a few years ago to our National Gallery, at a cost of something like £3,000, will serve to illustrate my meaning. This picture is executed in the feeble manner the artist acquired in the school of Perugino, and previously to the alteration his style underwent after studying the antique, and the works of Michael Angelo. Simply as a work of art, it is in some respects below mediocrity, especially in the execution, though many of Raffaelle's admirers fancy they discover in it the twilight which preceded and prognosticated the subsequent splendour of the artist's genius. It being, however, an important object with the curators for public galleries to procure, not only good specimens of the several schools, but likewise of the various styles practised by the more celebrated masters at various periods of their lives, the trustees of the National Gallery eagerly availed themselves of

the opportunity of purchasing this picture, notwithstanding the large sum demanded for it. If a living artist imagined that the production of a picture equal in excellence as a work of art, was all that was necessary, on his part, to the realization of a similar prize, the absence of customers, and the sneers of the "patrons," would quickly undeceive him.

The authenticated pictures of Correggio, on account of their very great scarcity, generally realize immense sums of money. His small oil sketch of the Holy Family, commonly known by the name of "La Vierge un Panier," measuring only fourteen inches by ten, was purchased by auction at the sale of M. Laperière, at Paris, for the enormous sum of 80,005 francs, and afterwards disposed of to the British Government, for the National Gallery, for £3,800! Although this picture has been extolled by many as a miracle of art, I have no hesitation in saying that there are living artists who would feel themselves amply remunerated if they received one hundred guineas for a superior production. Two pictures by Correggio were purchased a few years ago from the marquis of Londonderry, for our National Gallery, at the immense cost of eleven thousand guineas! However excellent they may be, there is every reason to believe the artist never received anything like eleven thousand shillings for them. The famous picture of the "Assumption of the Virgin," by Murillo, was purchased a few months ago, at the sale of the late Marshal Soult's collection, for the gallery at the Louvre, for upwards of £23,000.

It will readily be perceived that the great prices which ancient pictures often realize, is the result of circumstances altogether independent of their genuine artistic merit. Picture dealers are well aware that excellence in a work of art forms but one item in its commercial value, and this not always the most important. A wide field for deception is thus open to the skill and cupidity of unprincipled men.

Perhaps I cannot better describe some of the many frauds practised by picture dealers, than by relating a few anecdotes of one of the fraternity with whom I some years ago became acquainted, and whose impositions I had many opportunities of observing. I will call this individual Mr. Moses, a Jew of foreign, perhaps German extraction, and of cunning, sinister aspect.

I

It is rather singular that on my very first interview with him, we had scarcely exchanged more than a dozen words before we commenced squabbling. had heard that a Jew had arrived in the town with a collection of pictures, and understanding that they were open to public inspection, I called at his lodgings. A cursory glance served to give me a tolerably clear insight into the character of their proprietor. The whole of the collection was a mass of "rubbish," with the exception of three or four pictures, which, if not original, were at least respectable copies. These, however, had been almost ruined by the "doctoring' they had undergone for the purpose of giving to them an appearance of age. I was attentively examining one of the latter description when the Jew entered the room.

"Goot morning. Vot you tink of my collection?" said he, politely bowing. "Ah! I see you very goot judge! You know de fine pictur! Dat is a Cuyp: I vant hundred guineas for it."

I smiled at the business-like touch of flattery; and confessed that the picture had possessed considerable merit at some time. "Yet I am afraid," I continued, "that it has been much injured in many places, and that some one has been attempting to repair the damage by repainting portions of it.'

The Jew was rather astonished at hearing this, for he sharply exclaimed, "No! no! not a bit re

touch! You ought puy dis pictur. You artist, and know how to clean de dirt off better as me! You make goot ting out of it."

Feeling rather offended at this barefaced attempt to dupe me, I turned sharply round and said, "Why, you know as well or better than I do, this picture has been so much cleaned, that a great portion of the colour used by the original painter has been rubbed away, and that, along the bottom part of the sky, little more than the priming of the canvas remains! The dirt, which you say I can so easily remove, is nothing more than a thin coating of asphaltum, which you have put upon the picture for the very purpose of creating its present dingy and aged aspect!

The Jew seemed to be a little alarmed at this unexpected exposition of one of the mysteries of his craft. He laid his hand in a confidential manner upon my shoulder, and whispered in my ear, "Hush! Hush! Don't say word about it! Do you know anyting better, eh?"

I said the asphaltum seemed to answer his purpose remarkably well. I afterwards learned that the picture had been partially repainted only a few days. A short time after my first interview with the Jew, I had occasion to visit a friend, an artist, to whom I mentioned Moses and his collection. My friend informed me that the Jew had called at his studio, and had succeeded in obtaining from him, in exchange for some slight water-colour sketches, a very beautiful little landscape, a copy after Hobbima. On hearing this, I expressed my opinion that the Israelite would expose the picture for sale as an original production. Shortly afterwards I called on the Jew. The first object that caught my eye was the identical picture I came to look for. A thin layer of asphaltum had reduced its tone a shade or two, and had given it the appearance of being about one hundred and fifty years older than it really was. A piece of paper was appended to its lower edge, on which the word "Hobbima" was written in a distinct and legible hand. After the usual salutations, he exclaimed

"Ah! dere's fine pictur; undoubted original! Vot you tink of it. I get hundred guineas for it! eh?"

I said the picture was very nicely painted, and asked what artist had executed it.

The Jew took fire at this, and exclaimed, with some acrimony, "Original! look at it; does it look like a copy? Original, indeed! An undoubted pictur!" On hearing this, I deliberately commenced narrating the following story:

"In 1834, I saw, in an exhibition of pictures by ancient masters, at Manchester, a very fine painting, by Hobbima. A gentleman, with whom I am very well acquainted, was permitted to copy this picture. The copy which he made I have frequently seen at his house. A few days ago, my friend informed me he had disposed of it to you for a mere trifle! Here it is!"

I kept my eye upon the Jew during the whole narration. His bold, confident look, gradually yielded to an expression of intense and painful anxiety. At the conclusion of my story, his face had become considerably elongated, and he whined out in a most pitiful tone, "Oh! mine Cot, you know!"

It was the fear that he had lost what he hoped would prove a splendid opportunity of driving a profitable bargain, and not any compunction of conscience, that thus humbled the Jew. His, however, was not a nature much addicted to grieving; rage soon conquered his despair. After several false starts,

he at length fiercely exclaimed, "Well, vot de devil matter who paint it! 'Tis goot pictur, isn't it? You say just now 'twas goot pictur! didn't you, eh?"

"Oh, yes," said I, “I have no objection whatever to acknowledge that."

"Vell, den," cried Moses, in a half-supplicating tone, "say no more about it."

I have frequently remarked that the pictures offered for sale as rare and excellent specimens of celebrated artists, and for which dealers often succeed in obtaining enormous prices, are, in a majority of instances, such miserable daubs, that it is astonishing how any but persons grossly ignorant of art can be cajoled into the belief that they possess excellence of any kind whatever. The Jew's collection consisted chiefly of pictures which he had picked up in the course of his itinerations, and for the best of which he had not paid above a few pounds. I could never discover any other means of replenishing his stock, on which he appeared to place much dependence, except his acquaintance with several young men in the different towns which he visited, and whose sketches and copies he purchased for a trifle. Moses employed a friend of mine to partially repaint for him several slight studies of this description. On one occasion, this party, at the request of the Jew, inserted a vessel into a rough sea piece that he had picked up somewhere in the town. Moses was so well satisfied when he saw the work, that for the only time within my knowledge, he abstained from grumbling, and even complimented the young man on his talent!

Whenever Moses was endeavouring to effect a purchase of a collection of pictures, he invariably commenced his bargaining by bestowing his especial animadversion upon the very works he was most desirous of possessing; while on those which he either did not want, or which he despaired of procuring at his own terms, he bestowed the most extravagant and fulsome encomiums.

I asked the Jew how he contrived to keep up his stock, for if he gave picture for picture, on his principle of "swopping," and were continually selling, he would very soon be left without any at all.

"Ah, ah!" said the Jew, with a knowing shake of the head, "I don't do business dat vay. I many time get dree or four pictur for one!"

I observed that this plan must in time detract materially from the quality of his collection.

"Oh, no, not a bit," responded Moses. "I sometime get dree or four pictur for one, and one or two of dem better as mine!"

The Jew was not exaggerating in this; for I knew an instance where he offered thirty shillings or a picture, which he had the impudence to call a Stanfield, for eight small oil paintings, any one of which was as good as, and two or three much superior, to the Jew's. The young artist to whom the pictures belonged declined the exchange, but being short of money at the time, accepted the thirty shillings. Moses, a day or two afterwards, sold one of them for three times that amount!

A messenger called at my house one afternoon, with an intimation that, if I were not particularly engaged, Moses wished me to take supper and a glass of whiskey punch with him that evening. Feeling some curiosity as to what could be in the wind, that caused the Jew to open his heart in so liberal a manner, I accepted the invitation.

He received me with the utmost politeness, ordered a glass of whiskey punch, and commanded supper to be served inmediately. During the first hour of our conversation, Moses did not permit the escape of a single word from which I could gather the slightest clue to his object in sending for me. It was not till supper was despatched, and our glasses

replenished, that he began to break ground upon the subject. At length he very quietly unlocked a large box, from which he produced two or three small figure pictures, and a moderately-sized landscape. My attention was instantly arrested by the latter. Every portion of the picture breathed the pure air of morning, and sparkled with the dewy freshness of spring. Moses, after allowing me a few minutes' uninterrupted view of the picture, said, with assumed indifference, "I should call dat middling pictur; vat tink you, eh?"

"A middling picture!" I exclaimed. "Why, it is by many degrees the best painting I have seen in a collection of yours. The only mystery to me is the means by which you have become possessed of it!"

"Oh, den," rejoined Moses, "you tink it goot pictur, do you? I tought you said me never had goot pictur. Vat you say now, eh?"

I said the picture was very good indeed, and asked where he got it.

"Never you mind vhere it come from," said he, "you know where it is now. I dare say you tink yourself very clever fellow; but I bet you cigar you can't tell me who paint dat pictur!"

I confessed I was not able to tell him by whom the picture was painted.

66

Vat?" said Moses, "don't you know whose style it like; eh?"

"Whose style is it like?" said I, after a moment's reflection. Why, it certainly does remind me very much of an exquisite little picture I saw some time ago, by Pynaker; especially in the minute, yet free pencilling, and the beautiful silvery-grey tints which pervade it."

Pynaker," said the Jew, thoughtfully; Adam Pynaker! Let me see; him pictur two hundred year old! Vhy, him painting very scarce; aren't dey?"

I believe they are. I have never seen, myself, more than two of his productions."

"Dat's de man, dat's de very man I want!" exclaimed the Jew, and so saying, he turned the back of the picture toward him, and deliberately wrote the name of Adam Pynaker on the back of the panel upon which the picture was painted.

"Stop! stop!" said I; "I don't mean to say the picture is painted by Pynaker. You must not attempt to sell it as an original production of his upon my authority."

"Don't trouble yourself 'bout dat," said Moses, "but tell me whose style dese other pictur like." 'Those," said I, indignantly. Why, they are a parcel of contemptible daubs, and have no style about them. That one I know well; it is a copy after Liverseege I have a print of it." "Liverseege!" said the Jew. "Mine Cot, I'll christen it; and he immediately wrote the name of that artist on the back of it.

Perceiving now the Jew's object in inviting me to sup with him was to get me to assist in "christening" his pictures; and not caring to be his accomplice in such practices, I put on my hat and departed.

A

Dealers sometimes, in "christening" their pictures, commit the most egregious blunders, for many of them are very illiterate, and know little or nothing of the history, even of the various schools of art. portrait of Mary Queen of Scots, was once offered to me for sale, the sapient proprietor of which coolly informed me was a production of Gainsborough!

"Oh!" said I, "then it is not an original picture?"

The man bestowed upon me a look of the most profound contempt, at what he supposed to be my lamentably ignorant condition. "Original! What do you mean? Why it's a portrait!" he exclaimed,

with considerable emphasis; "and, of course, he painted it from the lady herself!"

"Really," responded I, with mock humility, "what a remarkably clever fellow he must have been; for if I remember rightly, Mary Queen of Scots, was executed nearly a century and a half before Gainsborough was born!"

During the latter part of the time of our acquaintance, the Jew, perceiving that I had detected a great many of his frauds, would sometimes boldly throw off the hypocritical mask, and candidly confess to some of the impositions with which I charged him. When I remonstrated with him on the unprincipled nature of his calling, he generally, in self-defence, insisted that it was all a matter of business; and that every other person in the trade acted in the same manner. He declared he did, not only without compunction, but with considerable satisfaction, occasionally cheat his own father in matters of picture-dealing. He evidently thought it a highly creditable affair to overreach one so deeply versed in the mysteries of the craft as his worthy progenitor.

Amongst the many artifices practised by picturedealers for the purpose of giving an appearance of age to the works they offer for sale, that which I believe to be the most common, and, perhaps, the most successful, is the one generally adopted by the Jew. I will, as far as I am able, describe the process. Sometimes the picture is, in the first place, retouched in the high lights with stiff colour: a thin couch of asphaltum is afterwards spread over the whole surface. Asphaltum is a rich, brown, bituminous pigment, of a very transparent body, and, as well as the mastic with which it is usually diluted, has a strong tendency to "crack." Sometimes, after this application, the picture is slightly "rubbed down" with powdered pumice-stone, and again revarnished. The tone of the picture by this process becomes considerably reduced. The pumice-stone is used for the purpose of removing a portion of the asphaltum from the higher lights and strong touches of colour, while that which fills the interstices is suffered to remain. This gives the work the appearance of an old picture, imperfectly cleaned.

There are other many plans adopted by dealers; but one of the most barefaced is that of converting a mezzotinta engraving into an oil-painting! The Jew had several pictures of this description, which he scrupled not to offer for sale as original productions. I am acquainted with a person who manufactured a considerable number of this class for him. The print is first rendered very transparent by being saturated with oil or varnish. When this is dry, the local colours of the various objects are applied at the back of the picture. The principal high lights are afterwards touched in with stiff colour, on the front. The picture is afterwards mounted on a worm eaten panel, or a piece of old canvas, and varnished with a thick couch of mastic. Though a little examination will easily enable an experienced eye to detect the fraud, yet the uninitiated are frequently deceived by it. I believe this kind of picture manufacture is called "Florentine painting," and is sometimes practised by ladies as an accomplishment.

In a very able article published in the Art Union, of May, 1845, the villanous practices of parties who professionally offer for sale collections of pictures, by auction, are fearlessly exposed and denounced. The writer asserts that the majority of the collections advertised as the property of a "nobleman," or "private gentleman," are made up from the stocks of different dealers. The principal bidding is done by confederates in their employment; and should no other party happen to make an offer, the pictures are returned to the dealers. It sometimes happens

that an unskilful individual, judging from the apparently eager desire which these parties evince to obtain possession of a picture, that it must be a genuine work of some value, is tempted to bid, when the lot is immediately knocked down to him. The purchase is sent home, and the gulled proprietor generally discovers that, instead of possessing a cheap and clever original picture, he has paid an extravagant price for a very indifferent copy.

The works of living painters, even, are sometimes daringly personated, and exposed for sale within a few hundred yards of the gallery in which the original is placed for public inspection! The following paragraph has gone the round of the papers" within the last two or three months:

"CAUTION TO BUYERS OF PAINTINGS.-A few days ago, Mr. Armfield, an animal painter of rising celebrity, was passing by the shop of a picture-dealer, in a street leading into Oxford Street, London, when he saw two paintings resembling those which he had at that moment for exhibition at the British Artist's Institution, Suffolk Place, and which had recently been purchased by a nobleman. He went into the shop, and asked who was the artist, and the dealer unhesitatingly said they were by Armfield, and that he could vouch for their authenticity, as he had purchased them from the artist himself. Mr. Armfield was much surprised at the statement; and as he had reason to suspect that he was personated among picture-dealers and others by persons who sold daubs to the unwary as genuine pictures, he asked the dealer whether he would give a warranty with them. The dealer replied in the affirmative, and Mr. Armfield agreed to give £22 for the pictures, paying down £2 by way of deposit. As soon as he got the warranty, he announced who he was, and pointed out the fraud that had been practised. The dealer replied that he had bought the paintings of a person who represented himself to be the artist, Armfield; and that was the only explanation he could give. It is stated that if any picture of merit is exhibited, some clever artist is sent to the exhibition, with instructions to sketch the design and notice the colouring. Half a dozen visits generally suffice to complete the manufacture of a painting something similar to the original, but, of course, without its merit. Sometimes a dozen copies are thus made and passed off as originals."

The number of counterfeit pictures regularly disposed of in this country as genuine works of celebrated artists, is so enormous as to be scarcely credible. The writer in the Art Union, previously alluded to, says:—

"Independently of the numerous manufactories in operation in England for the production of paintings by the old masters, within the last five years somewhere between sixty thousand and seventy thousand ANCIENT PICTURES have been imported into England-paying duty at the Custom House in London!"

[A second article will conclude the subject.]

TALES OF THE SLAVE SQUADRON.
THE COUNTERMINE.

THE proceedings before the mixed Commission Court of Sierra Leone, relative to the dashing exploit of the Curlew's boats, narrated in the last paper, were more than usually protracted and vexatious. The chief difficulty regarded the capture of the negroes on shore in the territory, it was pretended, of an independent African Sovereign, for as to the brig the Felipe Segunda, there could be little doubt that she with her dusky cargo would be pronounced a lawful

capture. It was well understood that Pasco, the real assassin of Captain Horton, who, though severely wounded, had contrived to escape in the hurry and confusion of the fight, was the party in whose behalf the resident Portuguese Consul so strenuously exerted himself, although ostensibly that zealous functionary was solely actuated by a patriotic desire of vindicating the commercial rights of the subject of Portugal, and the independence of its flag, trampled upon and outraged, according to him, by the vigour beyond the law, as settled by international treaty, displayed by the British officers. The death, sudden and unexpected, of the lieutenantgovernor, added greatly to Lieutenant-now Commander-King's difficulties, by enfeebling the action of the English authorities till his successor should arrive, an interregnum, by-the-by, of frequent occurrence in days when Theodore Hook's sarcastic jest, published in the weekly organ of the British pro-slavery party, that "Sierra Leone had always two governors, one coming home dead and another going out alive," was almost literally true. From the earliest stage of this tedious and harassing affair, a person of the name of Quintana, recently arrived from Cuba, of which he was said to be a native, interested himself actively in the matter on behalf of one Senor Cadalso, his uncle, who, it was alleged, had advanced a large sum, secured by a bottomry bond on the Felipe Segunda; and without any knowledge or suspicion that she was to be employed in the illegal slave-traffic. This pretended guilelessness was, no one doubted, all a flam; and if otherwise, could have no effect on the legal bearings of the case, and would have excited little notice but for the persistent efforts of the smooth-spoken Creole to cultivate the acquaintance of the officers of the Curlew, the chief claimants in the suit to which he was an adverse and interested party! He succeeded in his purpose partially only as regarded Commander King; but with Lt. Burbage, a frank, warm-hearted young man, his success was complete ;-a result, however, wholly due to the attractions of Quintana's sister, a young and charming Creole, the languishing light of whose dark eyes soon kindled a flame in the susceptible sailor's heart, which I feared all the waters of the ocean would fail to extinguish. That a sinister design of some sort lurked beneath the honied courtesies of both brother and sister, was, for several reasons, clear to me; and very glad I was when the requirements of the service removed the enamoured lieutenant, for a time at least, from such dangerous philandering with a Syren whose smiles and graces were, in my view, but sun-surfaced quicksands in which his professional prospects might, I feared, suffer wreck.

We sailed out of the estuary of the Sierra Leone river on a splendid morning of summer; the varied, picturesque scenery of the British settlement on the one hand, the low, dull line of land still dominated by the savage on the other; the glittering sea around, in which thousands of the brightly-tinted Nautilus and Flying Fish were sailing and disporting themselves, all waving, sparkling, exhaling in the warm, odorous embrace of a cloudless tropical dawn,-a gorgeous, exhilarating spectacle, to the beauty of which the dullest, most preoccupied brain could hardly remain insensible; and I was glad to see that even the pale, wo-begone phiz of Lieutenant BurLage, which had been fixed with melancholy gaze upon the palmy foliage which screened the English quarter of Freetown, where the charming Isabella still doubtless slumbered, till an envious jut of land hid it from view, lightened up after a while beneath its magic influence. I had hopes of him, and should have had more, but that our cruise for this spell was

to be a brief one, Commander King having determined on returning to Sierra Leone in time to hear the decision of the Court of Mixed Commissionadjourned by mutual consent for one monthpronounced.

We rau northward nearly as far as Cape Blanco, peeped into the Rio Grande and the Gambia and Senegal rivers, without success, and doubling on our course, had just reached the mouth of the most southerly of those rivers, the Rio Grande, when we sighted a stout schooner, whose vocation was quite sufficiently indicated to practised eyes, by her long, low, sharply-moulded hull, and the excessive rake of her tapering masts. She was far away to windward, and merely noticing the cannon-challenge of the Curlew by displaying the French ensign, or "tablecloth," as English sailors were in the irreverent habit of styling the spotless banner of Bourbon France, and shaking out a reef or two-it was blowing freshly-she very speedily dropped us, and we had not the pleasure of seeing her again till we made Freetown, before which we found her snugly anchored, with the gaudy colours of Spain trailing at her taffrail,-a flag, that on boarding her, which Commander King did unhesitatingly, she was found to be more entitled to hoist, if her papers were believable, than the "tablecloth" of France. Captain Valdez, as he called himself, a sly, hang-dog looking rascal, was glib enough with his tongue, which if you could trust, the Don Enrique (the schooner hailed, it seemed, from Cuba), was engaged in purely legiti mate traffic, and the fifty or sixty bearded fellows composing her crew, innocent, lamb-like creatures, to whom violence and cruelty were as abhorrent as cow beef to a pious Hindoo. All this was very like a whale," but as there was no legal pretence for seizing her, the commander of the Curlew affected to be quite satisfied with Captain Valdez' story, and took civil leave of the worthy man.

An incident, trifling in itself, which occurred a day or two afterwards, confirmed and pointed the suspicions which it was evident Commander King entertained of Captain Valdez and his handsome craft. Renewed intercourse with Isabella Quintana, had kindled the love-frenzy of Lieutenant Burbage to a flame again; and he, of course, eagerly availed himself of every opportunity of visiting his charmer. He was thus engaged when Commander King despatched me with a message requiring his immediate presence. The outer door of Quintana's dwelling was ajar, and hastening through the passage to a back garden, where I thought I heard Burbage's voice, I ran slap aboard of Captain Valdez and M. Quintana, who were, I saw, in earnest, low-toned conference. They were a good deal startled, and a swarthy flush passed over both their scowling faces. I apologized for the intrusion, and asked for Lieutenant Burbage. is in the front apartment with my sister," sourly rejoined Quintana. I sought him there at once, and we left the house together. "I am glad," said the commander of the Curlew, after I had privately informed him of the foregoing circumstance; "I am glad you said nothing about it to Burbage: there is reason to suspect that; but I shall probably have occasion to speak with you further in the matter in a few days. In the mean time you will keep a still tongue, and both eyes wide open."

"He

On the following morning the Court of Mixed Commission pronounced judgment, by which not only the Felipe Segunda, but the negroes taken on shore were decided to have been lawfully captured, or more properly speaking, rescued. Commander King immediately afterwards sent Lieutenant Burbage with a crew of twenty men, on board the condemned brig, to get her ready to sail for Dublin, the principal