whole scene was very novel and striking to me, as the miners and villagers lay extended and lounging, on the earthen seats wrapped in their variously-striped serapes; while five of the "milicia" moved about in the crowd to preserve order. The following is descriptive of one of those exhibitions, which are too common in Roman Catholic countries-especially in Spain, and its dependencies--and which can never be witnessed by a Protestant without extreme disgust: It being a saint's day, a number of women were seated on the ground in prayer at the shrines; some of them having a row of lighted candles stuck in the earthen floor in front of them. The padre, who appeared and spoke as if very tipsy, took us behind the altar to see an image of our Saviour, which, except on particular feast-days, is never exposed to vulgar gaze. The figure was as large as life, ill proportioned, of a ghastly yellow colour, and having indications of the veins painted black. An apron of red damask, garnished with gold tinsel roses and tawdry ornaments, was tied round the waist, and a wig of immensely long hair covered the shoulders. The whole figure reminded me forcibly of the horrid creation of Frankenstein. It is, however, celebrated for the miracles it has performed: and having, according to the priest, been found by some soldiers so immediately after the conquest as to do away with all probability of human agency, is considered as being sent from heaven. "A Pilgrimage in Europe and America, leading to the Discovery of the Sources of the Mississippi and Bloody River, &c.; by J. C. Beltrami, Esq.," in two octavo volumes, constitutes a very sprightly and interesting narrative. Mr. Beltrami, with considerable affectation, and too great a fondness for theory, possesses much acuteness of observation, and much felicity in his transfer of ideas. His notices of natural history are often new and curious; his descriptions of scenery are beautifully picturesque; his views of savage life are striking, impressive, and true to nature. Mr. Beltrami's discovery of the sources of the Mississippi is likely, we think, to attract much attention. We could readily offer many extracts from these volumes, but can find room only for one-one that is highly characteristic-a description of the countenances, &c. of the American Indians: Though every meeting is attended with pretty nearly the same forms, though the Indians al || ments. ways preserve the same taciturnity, the same melancholy and sombre countenance, yet very interesting varieties and incidents sometimes occur. Their faces and attitudes are far beyond the reach of the most picturesque or poetical imagination. I have seen many Hells and Purgatories, Limbos and Paradises, Deluges and Last JudgI have seen the camere, the logge, the sale of Raphael and his scholars at the Vatican, and his cartoons in England. I have seen the frescos of Dominichino, Guido Reni, Guercino, Giotto, Cimabue, &c. I have seen Salvator Rosa's Conspiracy of Catiline, and all the most beautiful or most extravagant productions of the Flemish school; but all that is most sublime, horrible, original, and grotesque in them united, cannot equal the strange and extraordinary mixture which is found in the faces, gestures, and attitudes of these savages. They would alone suffice to characterise a new world. Some wrapped in skins with their faces resting on their hands, remind one of the gravity of the senators and magistrates of Greece and Rome: others, when addressing their father or their children, unfold their pallium with such dignity, their attitudes are so imposing, and their gesticulations so energetic and expressive, that they would be really awfully grand, if one could forget that they are savages. I was forcibly struck with the resemblance of the chief Wamenitouka to that famous statue of Aristides, in the Museum at Naples, which has so often held me captive for hours to see-almost to hear him harangue the corrupt Athenians. In the chief Cetamwacomani I beheld that of Cato predicting to the Romans that their vices, their luxuries, and their avarice would soon reduce them to slavery. Among those who surround the orator, some listen with signs of ap probation, some maintain a haughty and eloquent silence, others appear to attend very little to what he says, and to ridicule both the listening father and the haranguing son. Some, resting their right elbow on the ground and smoking their pipe with an affected nonchalance, seem as if they despised the whole ceremony; others remaining neutral, like the deputies of the centre, sleep quietly through the business of the nation, and leave care for the future to those who like it. The faces of some are like palettes filled with every variety of colour, while others, besmeared wholly either with white or black, look like coalheavers or millers; some paint their bodies with winged angels, others with horned devils: every man according to his taste or his devotion. Some decorate themselves with the bones, teeth, and claws of wild beasts, the tufts of the buffalo's head, or the feathers of birds; others, with necklaces of glass beads, with ribbons, bracelets, rings, and crosses. Some mingle the exotic with the indigenous; others preserve the naked simplicity of nature; and these, though not the most grotesque, are the most interesting. A duodecimo volume, bearing the title of "Narrative of a Three Years' Residence in Italy, 1819-22; with Illustrations of the present State of Religion in that Country," will prove very acceptable to the more pious class of readers; though we think that to many of them even it will be found overloaded with religious observations and sentiments, not only misplaced, but intrinsically unimportant to all but the writer, or the writer's friends and connexions. From her long residence in the country, however, the lady author has been enabled to collect a considerable portion of useful general information. In that eminently-useful and very-ably conducted publication, "The Annual "The Annual Biography and Obituary for the Year 1828," we find memoirs, all of them more or less interesting, of the following individuals :His Royal Highness, the Duke of YorkMr. Canning-Sir James Brisbane-William Gifford, late Editor of the Quarterly Review-Flaxman, the Sculptor-Lord De Tabley-John Nichols-The Rev. Dr. Daubeny-Charles Mills-Ugo FoscoloMiss Benger-Dr. Evans-Dr. Kitchiner -Holloway, the Engraver-Mr. Cradock -Lord Hastings-Mr. Rundell-Sir W. Stewart, &c. The character of this work is too well known to require illustration or eulogy from us; and, for extracts, we have at present no room. Turning again to Mr. Crofton Croker's delightful volume of "Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, Part Two," we must repeat our former opinion, that it is quite a treasure of its kind. I lustrative of Irish superstitions, it is divided into tales and legends, some in prose and some in verse, of the Merrow or Mermaid-of the Dullahan, or Headless People of the Fir Darrig, or Red Menof Treasures-and of Rocks and Stones. The effect is greatly heightened by some charming wood-cuts from the designs of Brooke. All that our limits permit us to offer are the chief passages of a highlyhumourous tale, entitled the Wonderful Tune: Maurice Connor was the king, and that's no small word, of all the pipers in Munster. He || could play jig and planxty without end, and Ollistram's March, and the Eagle's Whistle, and the Hen's Concert, and odd tunes of every sort and kind. But he knew one, far more surprising than the rest, which had in it the power to set every thing dead or alive dancing. Not a fair, nor a wedding, nor a patron in the seven parishes round, was counted worth the speaking of without "blind Maurice and his pipes." His mother, poor woman, used to lead him about from one place to another, just like a dog. ・・・ Here it was that Maurice's music had brought from all parts a great gathering of the young men and the young women-O the Darlints !— for 'twas not every day the strand of Trafraska was stirred up by the voice of a bag-pipe. The dance began; and as pretty a rinkafadda it was as was ever danced. "Brave music," said every body," and well done," when Maurice stopped. "More power to your elbow, Maurice, and a fair wind in the bellows," cried Paddy Dorman, a hump-backed dancing master, who was there to keep order. ""Tis a pity," said he, "if we'd let the piper run dry after such music; 'twould be a disgrace to Iveragh, that did'nt come on it since the week of the three Sundays." So, as well became him, for he was always a decent man, says he, "Did you drink, piper ?" "I will, Sir," says Maurice, answering the question on the safe side, for you never yet knew piper or schoolmaster who refused his drink. "What will you drink, Maurice ?" says Paddy. "I'm no ways particular," says Maurice, "I drink any thing, and give God thanks, barring raw water; but if 'tis all the same to you, Mister Dorman, may be you wouldn't lend me the loan of a glass of whiskey ?" "I've no glass, Maurice," says Paddy; "I've only the bottle." "Let that be no hindrance," answered Maurice; "my mouth just holds a glass to a drop; often I've tried it, sure." So Paddy Dorman trusted him with the bottle more fool was he; and, to his cost, he found that though Maurice's mouth might not hold more than a glass at one time, yet, owing to the hole in his throat, it took many a filling. "That was no bad whiskey neither," says Maurice, handing back the empty bottle. "By the holy frost, then!" says Paddy, "'tis but could comfort is in that bottle now; and 'tis your word we must take for the strength of the whiskey, for youv'e left us no sample to judge by ;" and to be sure Maurice had not. "Twas really then beyond all belief or telling the dancing. Maurice himself could not keep quiet; staggering now on one leg, now on the other, and rolling about like a ship in a cross sea, trying to humour the tune. There was his mother, too, moving her old bones as light as the youngest girl of them all; but her dancing, no, nor the dancing of all the rest, is not worthy the speaking about to the work that was going on down upon the Strand. Every inch of it covered with all manner of fish jumping and plunging about to the music, and every moment more and more would tumble in and out of the water, charmed by the wonderful tune. Crabs of monstrous size spun round and round on one claw, with the nimbleness of a dancing-master, and twirled and tossed their other claws about like limbs that did not belong to them. It was a sight surprising to behold. But perhaps you may have heard of father Florence Conry, a Franciscan Friar, and a great Irish poet; bolg an dàna, as they used to call him a wallet of poems. If you have not, he was as pleasant a man as one would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day, and who has rhymed out all about the dancing fishes so neatly, that it would be a thousand pities not to give you his verses; so here's my hand at an upset of them into English. The big seals in motion, Or gouty feet prancing, Came heading the gay fish, Crabs, lobsters, and cray fish, Determined on dancing. The sweet sounds they follow'd, The gasping cod swallow'd; "Twas wonderful, really! And turbot and flounder, 'Mid fish that were rounder, Just caper'd as gaily. John-dories came tripping; To frisk it seem'd given ; Bright mackrel went springing, Like small rainbows winging Their flight up to heaven. The whiting and haddock This dance to be put in : Where skate with flat faces Edged out some odd plaices; But soles kept their footing. Sprats and herrings in powers All number out-number'd; And great ling so lengthy Were there in such plenty, The shore was encumbered. No. 38.-Vol. VII. The scollop and oyster With laughter were splitting. In the height of all these doings, what should there be dancing among the outlandish set of fishes but a beautiful young woman—as beautiful as the dawn of day! She had a cocked hat upon her head; from under it her long green hairjust the colour of the sea-fell down behind, without hindrance to her dancing. Her teeth were like rows of pearl; her lips for all the world looked like red coral; and she had an elegant gown, as white as the foam of the wave, with little rows of purple and red sea-weeds settled out upon it, for you never yet saw a lady, under the water or over the water, who had not a good notion of dressing herself out. Up she danced at last to Maurice, who was flinging his feet from under him, as fast as hops for nothing in this world could keep still while that tune of his was going on-and says she to him, chaunting it out with a voice as sweet as honey I'm a lady of honour Who live in the sea; And be married to me. You shall have, and shall be When you're married to me. Drink was strong in Maurice's head, and out he chaunted in return for her great civility. It is not every lady, may be, that would be after making such an offer to a blind piper; therefore 'twas only right in him to give her as good as she gave herself so says Maurice, I'm obliged to you, Madam: I could dine in great state. Would'nt do so with me! The lady looked at him quite amazed, and swinging her head from side to side like a great scholar, "Well," says she, "Maurice, if you're not a poet, where is poetry to be found?" When Maurice's mother saw him, with that unnatural thing in the form of a green-haired lady as his guide, and he and she dancing down together so lovingly to the water's edge, through the thick of the fishes, she called out after him to stop and come back. "O then," says she, as if I was not widow enough before, there he is L going away from me to be married to that scaly woman. And who knows but 'tis grandmother I may be to a hake or a cod-Lord help and pity me, but 'tis a mighty unnatural thing! and may be 'tis boiling and eating my own grandchild I'll be, with a bit of salt butter, and I not knowing it! Oh Maurice, Maurice, if there's any love or nature left in you, come back to your own ould mother, who reared you like a decent Christian!" [Maurice, however, liked the lady better than he did his ould mother; and so away he went, to be king of the fishes.] Sea-faring people have often heard, off the coast of Kerry, on a still night, the sound of music coming up from the water; and some, who have had good ears, could plainly distinguish Maurice Connor's voice singing these words to his pipes : here detailed, succeeds in convincing Mr. Morton that nothing but his marriage with his daughter can save him from irretrievable ruin. Agnes generously consents to sacrifice herself for the welfare of her parents, and Lacy enters into a conditional engagement with another lady, Miss Hartley. The time has nearly arrived for the celebration of the marriage between Sackville and Agnes, when the intrigues and villanies of the former are brought to light, and the latter is absolved from her promise. Miss Hartley at the same time elopes, and every obstacle to the union of Lacy and Agnes is removed. Such are the materials of which Mr. Lister has availed himself for the construction of Herbert Lacy, a novel, from the perusal of which the reader will derive instruction as well as pleasure. To its pages we have more than once referred with great satisfaction. "Beautiful shore, with thy spreading strand, Thy crystal water, and diamond sand; Never would I have parted from thee, But for the sake of my fair ladie." "Herbert Lacy; by the Author of Granby," in three volumes, is a novel We have been somewhat disappointed upon which we can bestow unqualified in reading "The English in India, by praise, though it may be difficult to conthe Author of Pandurang Hàrì, and the vey to the reader a satisfactory idea of its Zenana." From the spirited delineations merits. The plot is simple, the characters of native manners and customs, displayed are few, the incidents are neither forcible in the former of these productions, we nor striking:-in what then does the took up the present volumes in the anticicharm consist? In a domestic story of pation of meeting a no less faithful repremuch interest, in a delicate perception || sentation of Anglo-Indian character and and delineation of character, and in events society. So great, however, are their inrising naturally one out of another. The feriority, that we can scarcely believe interest is well sustained unto the close; them to have emanated from the same the style is lively and elegant; and the pen. The story, intricate, though equally author is evidently at home in the scenes destitute of ingenuity or novelty, is someof fashionable life which he has pourtray- what to this effect. A Major Carroll, after ed. The work is dedicated to Thomas a long residence in India, returns to his Lister, Esq., the author's father; and its estates in Ireland, at the time of the Reobject, avowedly, is to "afford some ex- bellion. A female child, of whose birth emplification of filial duties, and convey and parentage he is ignorant, is entrusted my own [the author's] sense, however to his charge. The introduction of the imperfectly, of the devotedness and re- stranger, which is attended by some spect which are due to the parental cha- mysterious circumstances, is a constant source of discontent in his family, and he determines upon sending her to a friend in India. On her voyage, the details of which occupy nearly the whole of the first volume, Eleanor falls in love with Lieutenant Onslow, a fellow-passenger. Colonel Hawes, to whose guardianship she is entrusted, has a more splendid alliance in view; and she is consequently racter." Herbert Lacy and Agnes Morton, the hero and heroine, heir and heiress of two hostile families, are mutually attached, and have nearly succeeded in overcoming the scruples of their parents, when their happiness is destroyed by the interference of a designing villain, Sackville, one of the|| guardians of Agnes. With the view of securing to himself her immense fortune, he, by means of forged documents, &c., and law-proceedings, too intricate to be subjected to all the persecutions, which heroines, from time immemorial, have been heir to. De Castro, a most approved villain, a very demon incarnate, seeks her hand, and upon her refusal vows the deepest vengeance. She escapes a plan for carrying her off from a masked ball, by an accidental exchange of dress, and another young lady is borne off in her stead. This incident, with the law-proceedings attendant upon the apprehension of the parties, fills the second volume. Colonel Hawes at length consents to her union with Onslow; but this proves only the signal for fresh disasters. Eleanor accompanies her guardian to the interior, and on the journey is way-laid by the emissaries of De Castro, and hurried away to a fortress in the heart of a mountain in Dowlatabad. With the assistance of an Englishman, she descends the mountain in a wine-cask, and rejoins her friends. In the fortress, she, under most extraordinary circumstances, discovers her father, in a fellow-prisoner confined there through the machinations of De Castro. Fitzmaurice is subsequently released, and relates his history, by which Eleanor is proved to be the heiress of Major Carroll's estates. De Castro is hurled down a precipice by one of his colleagues in infamy, Eleanor is married to Onslow, and with her husband, father, the Colonel, &c., returns to Ireland. The story is confused, and void of interest; the style is feeble ; and, as an attempt to convey a true and faithful account of the mode of life in the Presidencies of India," we cannot consider the work otherwise than as a decided failure. How different are the sketches of Anglo-Indian life and manners given in "Forty Years in the World, or Sketches and Tales of a Soldier's Life." time ago, has been changed as above; and that it consists of two tales totally independent of each other; the one being a novel of the present times, the other a romance of a period somewhat earlier. | The first, called "Coming-Out,” is by Miss Anna Maria Porter, and gives a lesson to both sexes, on that formidable débût on the stage of the world, in this our day. The second, called "The Field of the Forty Footsteps," by Miss Jane Porter, reports itself to be founded on a curious legend yet extant, concerning a certain spot of ground in the near neighbourhood of Russell Square; and some traces of which may still be found, even with the "awful mark" it registers, in a green remnant of field lying at the top of Upper Montague Street, to the north of the Square.-A paling divides the end of the street from the unoccupied space; and the "marks" in question, in zig-zag positions, may yet be made out, at least a few of them, amongst the broken-up ground of the field. Lord Normandy, a nobleman not unknown to literary fame as the author of "Matilda," has produced another interesting novel, entitled "Yes and No, a Tale of the Day," in two volumes. This work, the plot of which is very simple, is entitled to great praise. It is seldom that its incidents are striking or original; but they are always natural; and its feeling of quietness and repose, occasionally contrasted with the utmost sprightliness and brilliancy, are extremely delightful. The characters are sketched with a light, a free, a spirited pencil; and the dialogue is, at all times, most happily dramatic. "Herbert Milton," a novel in three volumes, attributed to Colonel Leach, has been produced in its second edition under the title of " Almack's Revisited.” Little can be said in favour of the first volume, which, in fact is, exceedingly prosy; but, in its progress, the work gains surprisingly upon the reader-exhibits striking views of nature, life, and fashion "Coming-Out, and The Field of the Forty Footsteps;" two novels, in three volumes, by Jane and Anna Maria Porter, reached us at too late a period of the month to permit of our entering upon a full examination of their merits. Intending to take up the work for our succeed--and ultimately proves the writer to be ing number, we shall now briefly remark, that the former title, "Summer Nights at Sea," by which it was advertised some Vide LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE, vol. ii. page 80. exceedingly well qualified for the task of producing a work in which modern morals and manners may be contemplated with amusement and advantage. The writer of "De Lisle, or the Distrustful Man," in three volumes, is, we |