cross appears, it produces some good, or averts some evil from him. He becomes a robber and a murderer; he forces his way into a convent in order to violate his mistress, but the mysterious cross appears upon her bosom, and he is saved from the actual guilt of incest; he at length expires at the foot of the cross, his spirit is therefore allowed to return to the body to confess and be absolved; Julia, his sister and mistress, embraces the cross near his grave, and flies away, the remaining spectators exclaiming, A miracle! Surely M. Sismondi's expression of frightful morality,' moralité affreuse, is not too strong. Ludovico Enio, in the Purgatory of St. Patrick, is almost as atrocious a criminal, and is converted by entering the cave of St. Patrick's purgatory. Both these pieces are indeed curious, as records of the popular religion of Spain: the audience which could listen with delight to such views of Christianity must indeed have been worthy subjects of that darkest of bigots, Philip II. The most extravagant tales of puritanical or methodistic conversion are harmless in comparison with such lessons of sinning in order that grace may abound;' their wildest absurdities are light, and truth, and wisdom, when opposed to the darkness and the ignorance of real religion, implied in these representations. It is not in this manner that we would wish to see the spirit of Christianity allied with poetry. It may be, and it has been powerfully introduced, to awaken the conscience of the murderer, and to appal him during his crime, so that the 'Amen' should stick in his throat; it has darkened the horror round the death-bed of the proud and obdurate man, who died and made no sign;' it may be represented as pouring its dews upon the wounded spirit; as strengthening the fortitude of the suffering saint, and encircling the brow of the martyr with a brighter halo.

We should not do perfect justice to Calderon, if we omitted to acknowledge his great comic powers. Intrusive, and often misplaced as they are, there is a vivacity and readiness in his Graciosos; a broad and humorous vein about his more vulgar characters, which, though sometimes, from their speaking in a strange dialect, obscure and almost unintelligible, is frequently irresistible. There is a most amusing mistake in the Señora y la Criada,' in which a vulgar country wench is carried off by a lover instead of her high-bred mistress. We were much diverted in a classical play on Ulysses and Circe, by being reminded of our old friends Stephano and Trinculo, with their monster. One of the graciosos has been transformed into a monkey, the other has caught him, and is estimating how much he shall make by his prize on his return home; the poor monkey labouring all the time to get back into a man. Indeed the graciosos seem to enjoy a perpeJual Saturnalia; no misfortunes of their masters are sacred against

their burlesque; all their most courtly language is parodied, though sometimes the poor wit pays the penalty of his joke, by enduring all the ill-humour and resentment of his disappointed lord. The Spaniards take great delight in little humorous tales, with which the jester of the piece is always ready; in the Dicha y Desdicha del Nombre,' there is a conflict of petites contes' between the prolific lacquey and unwearied chambermaid; of this species of wit, the lamentation of the unfortunate valet may serve as a specimen, who relates that he once went to consult a witch about some charm, to procure him the affections of his mistress. The cunning woman commands him to obtain a lock of his fair one's hair, assuring him that having that in his possession, the owner shall come to him at midnight. He accordingly rifles his Belinda of this treasure-and the real owner does indeed visit him, but unfortunately it is a ghost-some of whose hair had been adopted by his deceitful charmer.

Of our author's tragic powers, confining the term to the poetical expression of human suffering, we do not think so highly. He is too fond of representing rather acute bodily pain, than the anguish of the mind. He moves us by putting his characters to the torture. We shudder at cruelty, rather than sympathise with distress; and he often surprises us with a violent and terrible catastrophe when we are not in the least prepared for it. In 'El Medico di su honra,' a jealous husband bleeds his wife to death; and his only punishment is being obliged to take a second, whom he had before wronged: and, though no one will question either the moral or poetical justice which condemns the hero, in the Tres Justicias en uno,' to the hangman, yet his crimes have not been related with that seriousness and solemnity, which would induce us to expect so dreadful a doom. El Pintor di su Deshonra' is another of these tales of hatred and undisguised horror; in which the husband shoots his wife: while in the 'A secreto Agravio secreta Venganza,' there is a dreadful disproportion between the offence and the manner in which it is visited. The base and extravagant cruelty of Gomez Arias, on the other hand, revolting as it is, we are almost inclined to forgive, on account of its bringing out the touching and tender character of the deserted Dorotea, who, we must confess, betrayed us into an emotion, to which, in all our knowledge of Calderon's works, we had been almost entirely strangers. El Alcaide di Zalamea also deserves very high praise, for its picture of homely and severe country justice; there is an untainted simplicity of manner, and an inflexible firmness of character, above all an appearance of truth and nature in the whole drama, which make it appear among the works of Calderon like a chaste and unpresuming, yet substantial country dwelling

B 4

dwelling among his crowds of fairy palaces and fantastic temples, overlaid with all the richness of Arabesque and Gothic ornament, and capriciously heaped together in wild but splendid confusion.

On the whole, then, the reader will have perceived that our estimate of Calderon approaches much nearer to that of Sismondi than that of Schlegel. His boundless and inexhaustible fertility of invention; his quick power of seizing and presenting every thing with dramatic effect; the unfailing animal spirits of his dramas, if we may venture on the expression; the general loftiness and the purity of his sentiments; the rich facility of his verse; the abundance of his language, and the clearness and precision with which he embodies his thoughts in words and figures, entitle him to a high rank, as to the imagination and creative faculty of a poet: but we cannot consent to enrol him among the mighty masters of the human breast.' Though there are few of his plays which are not read with unremitting interest, there are none to which we recur, and dwell upon with deep and increasing delight; he has neither profoundness of thought nor intenseness of feeling; he places us indeed in another world, and that world is gay and animated, and perpetually excites our wonder: but we feel a want of kindred sympathy with its inhabitantstheir language is not our language; their feelings are not our feelings; their hearts not our hearts. Of the golden keys, which are the inheritance of the true poet, Calderon has received but one; he can unclose to us the gates of joy; he amuses us without ceasing; but within that of horror and thrilling fear, he cannot admit us, and the sacred source of sympathetic tears flows not at his command. In the great poet, there must be a harmony of truth and fiction; Calderon has only the latter: his grandeur and strength must be governed and regulated by propriety; Calderon riots without restraint or control. But while we recognize the genuine principle of heroic tragedy, that fatal rock upon which Dryden foundered, in the Spanish stage; while we acknowledge the Almanzors and Maximins of his day, the lineal descendants and inheritors of their forefathers' extravagance, and thus convey our opinions as to the characters represented, with tolerable accuracy; we can compare the style of Calderon to nothing more appropriately than a Chinese paper, on which flowers, and trees and birds, and all that is glowing and brilliant in nature, are profusely scattered, but with little either of order or meaning. Calderon therefore may create an ardent burst of enthusiasm; but it will soon burn itself away: he will have many admirers, but few lovers of his poetry. He will have appeared before us like a splendid procession, which we should lament not to have seen, but which, when the novelty is passed and curiosity satiated, we shall scarcely wish to pass again before us.

ART.

ART. II.-1. A Narrative of Travels in Northern Africa, in the years 1818, 19, and 20; accompanied by Geographical Notices of Soudan, and of the Course of the Niger. With a Chart of the Route, and a variety of Coloured Plates illustrative of the Costumes of the several Natives of Northern Africa. By Captain G. F. Lyon, R. N. companion of the late Mr. Ritchie. 4to. pp. 382. London. 1821.

2. A Dissertation showing the Identity of the Rivers Niger and Nile; chiefly from the Authority of the Ancients.-By John Dudley, M. A. Vicar of Humberston and Sileby, in the county of Leicester; and sometime Fellow and Tutor of Clare Hall, Cambridge. 12mo. London. 1821.

"THE world,' said Doctor Johnson fifty years ago, is now not contented to be merely entertained by a traveller's narrative; they want to learn something.' The world, we suspect, is somewhat more fastidious at present than when the good Doctor made his observation; and yet, though the 'Narrative' before us has no claim to merit as a literary composition, no pretensions whatever to abstract science, antiquarian research, or discoveries in natural history; though it frequently returns on itself, and sets all arrangement at defiance; yet, with all these defects, we are not afraid to hazard an opinion, that it will not only be read, but be found to afford both entertainment' and instruction.' There is so much natural and unaffected simplicity in relating the incidents, so much good feeling apparent in the statements, and withal so much information scattered over its desultory pages, that the reader is irresistibly carried on to the conclusion, and rises with a wish that the details had been more expanded, and particularly those relating to the personal sufferings and adventures of our countrymen; which, severe and perilous as they were, appear to have always been borne with uncomplaining resignation. The manners are well described, the traits of character are lively and amusing, and the costume of the several natives is illustrated by a number of interesting prints. A neat chart of the routes explains at the same time the nature of the surface in different parts of the country.

Our author was serving as one of the lieutenants of the Albion, bearing the flag of Sir Charles Penrose, when the late Mr. Ritchie arrived at Malta. Weary of a life of inactivity, and anxious to visit new countries, he volunteered his services to accompany that gentleman, then proceeding on his mission into the interior of Northern Africa from Tripoli; as did also John Belford, a carpenter of the dockyard at Malta. On assembling at Tripoli, in November, 1818, they found there the Bey of Fezzan, who was about to proceed to Mourzouk, the capital of that country, (which

may

may be considered as a province of Tripoli;) and under whose protection our travellers, by order of the Bashaw, were to commence their arduous expedition. As, however, a very considerable delay was likely to occur in the preparations of Mukni, (so the Bey was named,) Mr. Ritchie thought a short excursion to Benioleed, by the way of the Gharian mountains, might tend to habituate them to the mode of travelling and the manners of the Arabs, as well as enable them to gain some information of the state of the interior of the Tripolitan dominions.

Captain Lyon gives some details, which this journey furnished, respecting the domestic economy of the Arabs; but as they differ not materially from the accounts already before the public, we shall only notice his description of the subterranean villages, or nests of caves, inhabited by the tribes of the Gharian. On reaching the summit of these mountains, through narrow, rugged and intricate passes, a table-land opened upon the travellers, apparently in a high state of cultivation; extensive fields of corn and saffron, mingled with olive, apple, and almond trees, formed a lively contrast with the arid deserts on all sides beneath :-but no human dwelling was visible, all the habitations lying below the surface. A hole of about twelve yards square is dug in the limestone rock, to the depth of twenty-five or thirty feet. At the bottom of this, excavations are made into the perpendicular faces of the rock according to the number and size of the families they are to lodge. The only access to this area is through a sloping passage, the entrance of which is at the distance of 90 or 100 feet. It is rudely arched with stone, and secured by a ponderous door. Through this their cattle are driven, and securely shut up within the square during the night.

A few years ago the present Bashaw of Tripoli made war upon these mountaineers. For some time they defended their passes with great bravery, and destroyed numbers of the Tripoline army; they were at length forced back on their subterranean abodes, when the Bashaw's people collected heaps of straw, set them on fire, threw them blazing into the areas, suffocated the inhabitants, men, women and children, and returned in triumph to Tripoli, with twelve camel-loads of heads! Notwithstanding this, the Bashaw, we are told, is considered as a mighty good sort of man for a Turk, and much less bloodthirsty than his brother despots of Tunis and Algiers and, in fact, though in his younger days he openly rebelled against his father, and murdered his elder brother in presence of their mother, as related in the interesting letters of Mrs. Tully, (Vol. XV.) he is unquestionably the most liberal of all the sovereigns who have wielded the blood-stained sceptre of Tripoli,

Before he made this excursion, however, Captain Lyon, who had assumed the dress of the country, and duly qualified himself for

passing