Resident. Two vols.

From the Examiner.

Colburn.

Antoine, Guildhall and Kennington Common, are

Revelations of Spain in 1845. By an English pale by the side of these brown and impassioned faces, these black and wiry locks like the snakes of Tisiphone, these moustaches of Barbary darkTHIS is a very clever book, of which the best por-ness, these ever-moving lines and ropes of facial tions are the non-political. In force and liveliness of manner, we have had nothing that so much reminds us of the late Mr. Inglis' Rambles in the Footsteps of Don Quixote, as the purely descriptive parts of Revelations of Spain.

The book is clearly the result of considerable experience of the things described; and the writer appears to be still resident in Spain. This may account for his speaking with a less startled abhorrence than the casual traveller would display, of the political atrocities and disasters of that unhappy country. But there seems to us also, in that direction of his inquiries, (excepting where he exposes the hollowness of the Carlist pretensions and the false sympathy about them in England,) a certain want of sincerity or of candor. He thinks Espartero an honest and respectable man; and on every occasion sneers at him, or makes more serious objections. He thinks Narvaez a scoundrel; and omits no opportunity of assuring us that his rule has been favorable to English interests. The plain speaking is either too little or too much.

Of the young queen his opinion is most unfavorable. Her defects, moral and physical, are exposed with unrelenting bitterness; and, there is too much reason to believe, with absolute truth. She seems a miniature Ferdinand; but fonder of bonbons than of petticoats or embroidery. He at the same time tells us that her life is far from secure; that scrofula and dropsy have marked their victim; and that the best hopes of Spain rest with her charming and graceful little sister, the Infanta Louisa.

muscle, strangely set off by the peaked black velvet hat which is universally worn; and the cloak, which, even in his rags, the Manolo wears with the grace of a Roman senator, and the dignity (for he thinks himself no less) of a Castilian hidalgo."

A SPANISH REVOLUTION.

"It requires little to decide the Peninsular reformer to rush to the public square and make a new revolution. At times, he is so quick about it that he forgets to put on his shoes; a fact surprising to our northern natures, but familiar to all who have witnessed an alboroto in Madrid, Barcelona, or Seville. A dozen vivas, the beat of a drum, three steps in advance-it is done!"

THE QUEEN AND HER BONBONS.

"The most striking characteristic of the youthful Majesty of Spain is her relish and constant use of bonbons and sweetmeats. Her papers of comfits strew the palace, her bags of sugar-plums visit the council-chamber, her dulces line the throne. The degrees of ministerial favor may be estimated by the number of presents of confectionery, and the minister of the interior is first fiddle by right of four bags of sugar-plums, till the minister of grace and justice produces five sticks of barleysugar. When she despatches business with her ministers, (which she does twice a week,) she despatches a prodigious quantity of sweets at the same time; and the confection of decrees, and discussion of dainties, proceed pari passu.”

NARVAEZ.

This is the pretty young lady whom the farseeing Louis Philippe marked out for his Duc "General Don Ramon Narvaez, the successful d'Aumale; and it is clear that the author, who hero of the day, looks précisely the daring, enerreveals a French propensity among his other reve-getic, obstinate and iron-nerved soldier of fortune lations, would be the last to object to that union; which he is. In habits, manners, and appearance, irreconcilable with any durable pacification of par- he is of the purest military breed; blunt and offties, or a safe constitutional settlement, as it would handed in his address, overbearing in disposition, infallibly prove. This is not an instance of long-slow to take advice, impolitic, violent, and very sightedness. One may be too near as well as determined in his proceedings. His dark moustoo far off, where ambassador's offices are in tache has the rough campaigner's cut, and his the way more especially, to see with much ex- pale, stern, and somewhat cruel countenance, betokens his unbending character. He

actness.

*

Apart from politics the author often writes de-is sumptuous and showy in his habits, but not luxlightfully. That his view is not very deep, we urious in his tastes, and is always ready in his think we can perceive in his insufficient chapters food and drink to rough it like a campaigner. on the clergy. But where manners and customs Those who remember him an outcome in question, the venta or posada, dances and cast two years back, expelled from Portugal upon bull-fights, rogues and beggars, quacks and moun- the requisition of Espartero, a wanderer through tebanks, robbers and innkeepers, or the external the provinces of France, with broken boots that let aspects of life and scenery, nothing can be better, in the wet, a greasy hat and a thin coat, which illnothing more animated, more fascinating than the protected him from the inclemencies of a severe Revelations. We read in them of this strange winter, will appreciate fully the fairy-like change country, as of the picturesque, semi-barbarous in his circumstances." times of our own, five hundred years ago. The book is full of life and color. The observation is quick, the drawing easy, the painting harmonious and fresh.

We could have wished to dwell further on these portions of the book. But even our extracts (rich as the volumes are in quotable matter) must be extremely brief.

RECIPE FOR A PRONUNCIAMIENTO.

"Buy over three or four officers and a dozen sergeants of a regiment. Give twenty dollars to each officer, and a four dollar piece to each of the sergeants; give a peseta to a blind news-hawker, and a well-invented tale of political rascality of any kind; distribute a score of rusty guns and pistols among as many mauvais sujets; appoint a particular hour for an explosion, and the thing "The Porte St. Denis, and the Boulevard St. is almost as infallibly accomplished as the re

A MADRID MOB.

the 6th of the present month arrived in England. After having been seen by Dr. Chowne and Mr. Moore, he was removed to Dr. Sutherland's establishment, Blackland House.

Louis Balbi said he was a keeper at the Hospice de Sante at Milan. Under his care was a person named Austin, who was an inmate of the asylum about three years. He would eat, drink, and sleep, but never spoke. During the three years he never spoke once. When spoken to he never answered, and was incapable of doing anything. He was very much attached to a piece of stick, which never leaves his possession night or day. He never gave any reason for his attachment to the stick. Witness accompanied him from Milan to London.

After further evidence Mr. Austin was brought into Court. In his hand he held a small piece of grape-vine stick, which he kept twirling round, totally unconscious of all that was passing. The commissioner spoke to him three or four times, but he took not the slightest notice. He, however, on the bidding of the keeper, stood or sat down, but beyond that all with him was blank. commissioner giving the order for him to withdraw, he followed the keeper. It was a most painful sight.

On the

The jury immediately returned a verdict "that William Austin was of unsound mind, and incapable of managing his affairs, and had been so since the 15th of September, 1841."

He was adopted when a child, by the late Queen Caroline, to whom she bequeathed by her will a portion of her property.

"When the beggar goes forth to make his rounds, they say: Vase pordiosear, 'He goes to God's-sake-ity,' or to beg alms for the sake of God. No other language has an equivalent for this forcible phrase, which might be paralleled in a multitude of instances. When the beggar proceeds from door to door, he is menudeando, 'littleand-little-afying,' or collecting his fragments and coppers in a bag; and when he comes home, the The Snow-Drop: A Gift for a friend: Edited by neighbors say to each other, (for Spanish women seem to have nothing to do but to gaze out of the window) Ahora vase cucharelear, 'There he goes to spoonify,' (meaning that he is about to convert his scraps into an olla podrida.”)

Mr. Bulwer is often mentioned in the course of the Revelations with admiration and praise.

QUEEN CAROLINE'S WILLIAM AUSTIN.

A COMMISSION has been held before Mr. Commissioner Winslow and a special jury of the country, at the Sheriffs' Court, Red Lion square, to inquire into the state of mind of "William Austin, late of the city of Milan, but now residing at Blackland House, Chelsea, gentleman.'-The commission was taken out at the instance of Sir Thomas Wilde and Dr. Lushington, guardians or trustees of the unfortunate gentleman.

Mr. Walpole said, the subject of this inquiry was Mr. William Austin, a gentleman about forty years of age, but of limited means, his property consisting of about 4,000l. invested in the funds. He had been brought recently from Milan, where he was residing when first attacked with this infirmity; and it was thought advisable to place him in one of the asylums in that city. He was first afflicted with loss of mind as far back as the year 1830. Mr. Austin in 1841 was an inmate of the Hospice de Sante at Milan. The unfortunate gentleman became completely imbecile, and his imbecility was so absolute as to amount almost to idiotcy. The guardians thought it advisable that he should be brought to England, and in February last he left Milan in the care of a keeper, and on

C. W. EVEREST.

THIS is a modest little volume of original prose and verse, just issued by J. S. Redfield, price 37 cents. It is of the same class with "The MossRose" and "The Hare Bell," by the same editor, which the public have received with decided favor. Among the contributors are Mrs. Sigourney, W. H. Burleigh, Aug. Snodgrass, etc. We copy the opening poem:

THE SNOW-DROP.-BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

When infant Spring, with a tremulous ray,
Doth tread in the steps of the Winter gray,
And the prisoned streams on the frosted plains,
Are breaking the links of their icy chains,
Ere yet the Violet hath dared to show
Its timid brow, through the melting snow,
While the Dahlias and Tulips, on couches deep,
In their bulbous night-caps are fast asleep,
Like Beauties fatigued at the midnight rout,
Who shut the sun with their curtains out,-
At the earliest call of the blue-bird sweet,
I put my head through the mist and sleet,-
And haste to bring with my simple cheer
The first glad wish of the new-born year.
But now, from Autumn, a boon I bear,-
Of varied tint, and a perfume rare;
Taste hath trodden the field and bower
The bird to win, and to cull the flower,
And to gather them close in a charmed ring,
And to tie them fast with a silken string;
Friendship doth offer the gift to thee,
Pure and warm may its guerdon be.

New York Tribune.

From a review of Roberts' Life of Monmouth, in The Critic.

THE BUTCHER-JUDGE.

THE butcheries of the soldier sunk into insignificance compared with those of the lawyer. To the Bloody Assizes under the infamous Jeffreys, Mr. Roberts devotes one of the most interesting of his chapters.

The judge is described as "perpetually either drunk or in a rage.' Lord Delamere thus pic

tures him.

He was mighty witty upon the prisoners at the bar; he was very full of his jokes upon people that came to give evidence, not suffering them to declare what they had to say in their own way and method, but would interrupt them, because they behaved themselves with more gravity than he; and, in truth, the people were strangely perplexed when they were to give in their evidence. But I do not insist upon this, nor upon the late hours he kept up and down our city (Chester;) it's said he was every night drinking till two o'clock, or beyond that time, and that he went to his chamber drunk; but this I have only by common fame, for I was not in his company. I bless God I am not a man of his principles or behavior; but in the mornings he appeared with the symptoms of a man that over night had taken a large cup.

At Dorchester he resorted to the trick of tempting the prisoners, by hopes of mercy, to plead guilty.

The thirty persons against whom a true bill had been found, disregarding the judge's threatening, "that in case any did put themselves on trial, and the country found them guilty, they should have but a little time to live,' put themselves on their trials. The judge had at the same time insinuated "that it was better to plead guilty, if they expected any favor."

Bragge; and, by particular directions from the judge, suffered the first of the party. This prisoner had informed the court that little credit ought to be given to the evidence. Jeffreys thundered at him, saying, "Thou villain! methinks I see thee already with a halter about thy neckthou impudent rebel! to challenge these evidences that are for the king." Mr. John Marder had friends to speak of his readiness to forward the messengers from Lyme who gave information of the landing. One of them, an injudicious friend, spoke to his being "a good Protestant." "Oh, then," cried Jeffreys, "I'll hold a wager with you he is a Presbyterian: I can smell them forty miles." Alderman Holliday, the father of Richard Holliday, appeared on behalf of his son, claiming the benefit of the proclamation, as he had surrendered within four days, and offering to be bound for his future good behavior. The judge told him he knew many aldermen who were villains, and that he hoped to beat some fur out of their gowns before he had done with them. When John Bennett, of Lyme, was placed at the bar, some person observed that he received alms of the parish; to which the judge, in a facetious manner, replied, "Do not trouble yourselves; I will ease the parish of that burden."

It is melancholy to reflect that these cruelties were stimulated and applauded by the High Church clergy, who were delighted thus to exterminate, as they hoped, the hated Dissenters. Here is an instance :

Wiseman, an apprentice to a barber at Weymouth, was only fourteen years of age. The people one morning perceived a copy of the Declaration stuck up; not being able to read it, they bethought themselves of this youth, who had the gift, now so common, but then so rare. The whipping commenced at Dorchester, where the The plan adopted to shorten the business at gaoler, pitying the boy's early years, performed Dorchester, and to procure a confession, without his office with as little severity as he could. A which not a tenth part could be legally proved clergyman named Blanchard informed the merciful guilty, was this:-Two officers were sent into the gaoler "that he would do his business for him gaol to call over and take the names of the prison- with the lord chief justice for shamming his seners. They bore with them the sister promises of tence, in not whipping the boy half enough." pardon and execution. If the prisoners confessed, The man, exasperated at this interference, said, they were told they might expect mercy; other-"You talk of the cruelties of the Popish priests, wise not. And as many were induced to accept the proffered mercy, these officers were in a condition to appear as witnesses of their confession, (as the law was then administered,) in the case of their retracting.

The first thirty, mistrusting the cruel judge, put themselves upon their trial, and pleaded not guilty. This was on Saturday. The same evening Jeffreys signed a warrant to hang thirteen on the Monday following; which was punctually performed. The rest followed very soon afterwards, except one Saunders, who was acquitted for want of evidence. The pleading guilty by the other prisoners put an end to further trial.

The judge performed his office in a manner that we hope never to see rivalled or imitated. What a sight did the court-house of Dorchester present, when two hundred and ninety-two persons received sentence of death at one and the same time.

The brutal bearing of this monster is exhibited in the following anecdotes:

Mr. Smith, the constable of Chardstock, who had been compelled by a party of the duke's men to surrender some money belonging to the militia, was hanged upon the same evidence as Mr. 17

LII.

LIVING AGE.

VOL. V.

but commend me to a Church of England priest for cruelty; they are like the country justices, who won't believe a man is burnt in the hand unless they can see a hole through it." It is uncertain whether this clergyman really did inform ; some one sent to Jeffreys, who had the poor boy whipped again the following morning to such a degree that his life was despaired of.

At Exeter thirteen were executed. Thence, still thirsting for human blood, the judge proceeded to Taunton, where no less than 526 persons were waiting their trials. Of these, no less than one hundred and forty-four were executed !!

The reader who has felt interested in the presentation of the colors to the Duke of Monmouth by the Taunton maids, may be desirous of learning how they fared at such a time as this, when the air was tainted with the smell of the quarters of the leaders of the recent pageant, and of their own relatives. One of the Miss Blakes, the schoolmistress, was committed to Dorchester gaol, where she died of the small-pox. One of the young maids (some of whom were only from eight to ten years of age) surrendered herself in court, begging mercy from the judge, who, when she

From Punch.

MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURES.

was produced before him, looked on her with a very fierce countenance, and raving, commanded the gaoler to take her. This struck such terror into the poor girl, that pulling her hood over her CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON.-MRS. CAUDLE face, she fell a-weeping, and the gaoler removing her immediately out of the court, she died, not many hours after, through fear.

INDIGNANT AND CURIOUS.

"Now, Mr. Caudle-Mr. Caudle, I say: oh! you can't be asleep already, I know-now, what At Wells, ninety-seven were sent to the gib-I mean to say is this; there's no use, none at all, bet. And this is the scene the monster left behind him.

in our having any disturbance about the matter; but, at last my mind's made up, Mr. Caudle; I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing to-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the house. No, no; there 's an end of the marriagestate, I think-an end of all confidence between man and wife-if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em. Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel; there's a good soul, tell me what 's it all about? A pack of nonsense, I dare say; still-not that I care much about it-still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh? Oh, don't tell me there's nothing in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle; just tell me a little bit of it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. Well?

Jeffreys' whole progress might be traced by the carnage he left behind him. Every tower and steeple were set round with the heads of traitors. Wherever a road divided a gibbet served for an index; and there was scarcely a hamlet, however obscure, to which one limb at least was not sent, that those who survived might never lose sight of their departed friends, nor the remembrance of their crime or punishments. The following description of the beautiful west country disfigured by Jeffreys is very striking: "He made all the west an Aceldama; some places quite depopulated, and nothing to be seen in 'em but forsaken walls, unlucky gibbets, and ghostly carcases. The trees were loaden almost as thick with quarters as leaves; the houses and steeples covered as close with heads as at other times frequently in that country with crows or ravens. Nothing could be liker hell than all those parts; nothing so like the "Caudle, you 're enough to vex a saint! Now, devil as he. Cauldrons hissing, carcasses boiling, don't you think you're going to sleep; because pitch and tar sparkling and glowing, blood and you 're not. Do you suppose I'd ever suffered limbs boiling, and tearing and mangling; and he you to go and be made a mason, if I did n't suppose the great director of all, and, in a word, discharg- I was to know the secret, too? Not that it's anying his place who sent him, the best deserving to thing to know, I dare say; and that's why I'm be the king's late chief justice there, and chancel- determined to know it. dor after, of any man that breathed since Cain or Judas."

Lord Lowther writes that the stench was so great that the ways were not to be travelled whilst the horror of so many quarters of men, and the offensive stench of them, lasted; of which Ken, the bishop of Bath and Wells, wrote a most pathetical letter to his Majesty.

Besides these butcheries, 850 prisoners were transported to the plantations-in reality, sold as slaves to the planters, in a climate where field labor is certain death to Europeans; so that they are to be added to the number of victims. One of these was the son of a clergyman near Lyme, the Rev. J. Pinney.

The Taunton school-girls, who had worked the banner for Monmouth, were given as Christmasboxes to the maids of honor to the queen; of whom their liberty was afterwards purchased for 7,0002.

It is estimated that Jeffreys cleared no less than 34,000l. by this assize, in bribes accepted for the escape or pardon of wealthy prisoners. From Mr. Prideaux, of Ford Abbey, who was undoubtedly innocent, he extorted the sum of 15,000l.

The total number killed during this rebellion is estimated by Mr. Roberts at 1,810, of whom 392 were executed by Jeffreys after its suppression.

ANECDOTE OF DUNNING.-On Mr. Dunning, the celebrated lawyer, being asked how he contrived to get through all his business, he replied, "I divide my business into three parts: the first part I do myself; the second part I get done for me; : and the third is never done at all."

"But I know what it is; oh yes, there can be no doubt. The secret is, to ill-use poor women; to tyrannize over 'em; to make 'em your slaves; especially your wives. It must be something of the sort, or you would n't be ashamed to have it known. What 's right and proper never need be done in secret. It's an insult to a woman for a man to be a free-mason, and let his wife know nothing of it. But, poor soul! she's sure to know it somehow-for nice husbands they all make. Yes, yes; a part of the secret is to think better of all the world than their own wives and families. I'm sure men have quite enough to care for-that is, if they act properly-to care for them they have at home. They can't have much care to spare for the world besides.

"And I suppose they call you Brother Caudle? A pretty brother, indeed! Going and dressing yourself up in an apron like a turnpike man-for that's what you look like. And I should like to know what the apron 's for? There must be something in it not very respectable, I'm sure. Well, I only wish I was queen for a day or two. I'd put an end to free-masonry, and all such trumpery, I know.

"Now, come, Caudle; don't let 's quarrel. Eh! You're not in pain, dear? What's it all about? What are you lying laughing there at? But I'm a fool to trouble my head about you.

"And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to say you're not? Now Caudle you know it's a hard matter to put me in a passion-not that I care about the secret itself: no, I would n't give a button to know it, for it's all nonsense I'm sure. It is n't the secret I care about: it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the studied insult that a man pays to his wife, when he thinks of going through the world keeping

HEM!-So, Mr. Caudle: I hope you enjoyed yourself at Greenwich. How do I know you've been at Greenwich! I know it very well, sir: know all about it: know more than you think I know. I thought there was something in the wind. Yes, I was sure of it, when you went out of the house, to-day. I knew it by the looks of you, though I didn't say anything. Upon my word! And you call yourself a respectable man, and the father of a family! Going to a fair amongst all sorts of people-at your time of life. Yes; and never think of taking your wife with you. Oh no! you can go and enjoy yourself out, "And then you must go into the shows? with I don't know who go out, and make your- There-you don't deny that. You did go into a self very pleasant, I dare say. Don't tell me; I show. What of it, Mr. Caudle? A good deal hear what a nice companion Mr. Caudle is: what of it, sir. Nice crowding and squeezing in those a good-tempered person. Ha! I only wish peo-shows, I know. Pretty places! And you a mar