10 A. M.-Marched up the City Road singing

By dawn to the downs we repair.”

Looked sharp to the right and left, and saw a hen and two chickens peçking under a wheelbarrow on the road-side. Jack Juniper seized the three dogs by the collar that they might not run in and frighten the game. Kit and Tom stole upon tip-toe to within six yards of the barrow, when the Tally-ho Paddington coach sent hen and chickens scampering into a front garden in Pleasant Row. Swore that Tally-ho should never see another eighteen-pence of my money. Halted to rest ourselves upon the bridge on the Regent's Canal. Looked over the parapet and pointed our guns downward to nab the sea-gulls as they came through the arch. Saw something red steal out: took it for a pheasant, and cocked: proved to be a bargeman's cap: grounded arms again, and saw him steer his vessel into a sort of water pound. Asked baker's boy about it: boy said it was in the lock, and that the bank on the other side was the key. Threatened to shoot him if he gave me any more of his sauce. Kept an eye on barge, and saw it begin to sink. Wondered at the coolness of the Father Red-cap, who walked from stem to stern, smoking his pipe as if nothing was the matter. Kit Cursitor said they had scuttled it on purpose to chouse the underwriters, and that he had known the captain of a Dutch schooner hanged for similar practices. Kit talked of advising the underwriters to defend the action, and pay the premium into court: when lo and behold the barge took a lower level and slid off through the farther water-gate. Strolled on to Sadler's Wells, and halted at a lamp post to read play-bills. Betted Jack Juniper a shilling that he would not hit the words "Water fiend" at ten yards off:-fired, and lodged two shots in the W. Stood for ten minutes looking into the New River, and counting the straws that floated down it, with now and then a child's paper-boat by way of a change. Tom Tiffany chucked a boy's hoop-stick into the stream-black poodle jumped in after it, and brought it out, wagging his tail-shook his coat and splashed my nankeens:-thought of calling Tom to account for it, but did not like the looks of his horse pistol.

11 A. M.--Pushed our guns under an old woman's wheelbarrow, and started a Tom cat-game made for Pentonville, we following-fired my piece, and brought him down in the chapel-yard-looked about for churchwarden to borrow keys-luckily, Deputy Dewlap's funeral just then entered at South gate: followed in the wake of mourners, picked up cat and popped him into Cursitor's blue bag. Trotted on to Islington, swerved to the right, and entered fields at the back of Canonbury-house saw five strange-looking birds trying to hide themselves in a glass case. All four fired: Tom's pistol flashed in the pan, but the guns went off: down went the birds, and up ran a tall fellow in a blue apron, swearing that we should pay for shooting his stuffed birds. Found to our surprise that they were dead before we came near them. Man in blue apron asked for our license, but Lawyer Kit gave it as his opinion that none was legally requisite to shoot a dead bird. Subscribed for a purse of nine and sixpence, to quiet the proprietor, and resolved to be more cautious in future.

12 M.-Strolled up Highbury-place, wondering at the beauty of the

gentlemen's seats on our right, which lay so thick that you could not push a brick between: charmingly contiguous to the city nothing wanting but a speaking-trumpet to ask the news at Batson's. Heard a rumbling in our rear: looked round, and beheld the Highbury coach, which stopped alongside of us, and let loose a woman from the inside and a boy from the box. Woman with luggage enough to stock the Barnet van. Saw her give a canary-bird in charge to the housemaid: loitered about premises, and in about two minutes saw the cage stowed on the dresser of the kitchen: peeped down area: half-cocked uncle's legacy, but could not get rid of confounded cook chopping parsley in the window. Scrambled over five-barred gate to join my companions, who had made a short cut for Holloway: obstructed by a dry ditch; took a run to leap it; forgot my spurs, which caught in each other and sent me on my hands and knees on the opposite side of the gap. Piece went off in my fall, and killed a duck. Crammed the defunct into my havresack, and came up with my cronies close to the turnpike. They took the pathway, but I followed the Bedford coach through the gate. Stopped by gate-keeper, who demanded three half-pence: would not pay, and referred it to Lawyer Kit, who gave it in favour of gatekeeper, pointing to the board upon which rate of tolls was printed, viz. "For every horse, mule, or ass, three half-pence." Tossed down the coppers and walked on. Halted at corner of Duval's Lane: drove of geese called a council of war: Jack Juniper offered the driver two shillings to let him fire among the flock: bargain made: Jack let fly, and missed geese set up a general hiss, and Kit advised us to discontinue the action.

1 P. M.-Turned down a green lane on our left, thinking that the game on the high road might be too wild. Drove a gander before us, holding out our guns in a slanting direction, while Tom Tiffany with his horse pistol kept the dogs at bay. Looked over our shoulders, and, when we found ourselves out of view from the road, fired a volley. All missed: gander screamed, and was making past us back to the highway, when, with admirable presence of mind, I knocked him on the head with the butt end of my piece. Gave him a thump each to secure ourselves of his demise, and crammed him into Kit's blue bag, which he filled choke full, like a bill in Chancery.

2 P. M.-Steered on towards Pancras, wondering at the romantic beauties that met us at every turning: caught a peep at the Small-pox Hospital, and longed for a pop at a patient. Put up a couple of gipsies and a donkey: recovered arms just in time: had my fortune told, viz. that I should stand upon some boards that would slip from under me : walked back to Kit for a solution: could make neither head nor tail of it resolved to ask the exciseman at the club: determined to make a knot in my handkerchief as a memorandum, and found gipsies had eased me of my yellow Barcelona. Walked back to shoot them for the larceny, but found, as Kit expressed it, the writ returned non est inventus. Arrived at Holywell Mount: read printed notice, "It is lawful to shoot rubbish here:" took the hint, fired, and blew Jerry Bentham off a book-stall.

3 P. M.-Dinner at the Adam and Eve, Camden Town. Pigeonpie at top, and lamb-chops at bottom. Tom Tiffany in the chair,

and I deputy. Asked Tom for a piece of the pie: carving-knife slipped, and in went his fist through the top crust, penetrated the pigeon, and stuck in the beefsteak sod at the base. "Now your hand's in," said Jack Juniper, "I'll thank you for some of that pie." Tom wiped the gravy from his wristband, and did not seem to relish the joke, but all the rest of us laughed ready to kill ourselves. Asked the waiter if he had any ginger beer: answered " Yes, Sir," and rushed out, returning instantly with a stone bottle. Began to loosen wire: bottle hissed and spit like a roasting apple: all looked on in awful silence: at length out bounced the cork and hit Tom Tiffany on the bridge of his nose: Tom cocked his pistol to return his adversary's fire: but the other bawling "Coming, Sir," bolted through the door like lightning: poured out foaming liquor in a glass, meaning to take a delicious draught, and found that I had swallowed a concern in which vinegar, brickdust, and soapsuds, were the working partners.

4 P. M.-Prowled round the brick-fields near the Newington-road, to start birds that love a warm climate. Saw a hopping raven with its left wing clipped: went up within a yard of it and brought it down: clapped the black game into my havresack, and told a milk-maid that the brood came over from Norway every autumn. Eyed Deputy Firkin's apple-tree that hung over the New River: felt very desirous of bringing down a leash of pippins, but saw a little man in black on the watch. Jack Juniper shut both his eyes and pulled his trigger: down dropt the man all took to our heels, with our heads full of the new drop. At length says Lawyer Kit, "Let's go back and get him an apothecary; if he dies after that, it will be only felo de se.' Back we stole, in sad tribulation, and found to our great relief that Jack had shot a scarecrow. Tom changed trowsers with the deceased, his own being a little the worse for wear: Canonbury clock began to toll, and we made the best of our way towards the Shepherd and Shepherdess, firing in the air to take the chance of whatever might be flying that way. Saw a fine turkey under a wicker enclosure: rammed down cartridge presented and pulled trigger: no effects: remembered Gargle's prescription as to pills

"If one won't do,

Why, then, take two:"

and rammed down another cartridge; still no effects: ditto with four more: at last bang off went my musquet: thought there was an end of the world fell senseless upon my back, and when I opened my eyes found Tom Turpentine smacking my palms with an old shoe, taken from an adjoining dust-heap, and Jack Juniper pouring water into my mouth taken from an adjoining ditch.

5 P. M.-Felt much soreness about my left shoulder, and determined to poach no more upon Finsbury Manor. Climbed up an Islington coach: took a seat upon the box, and put my fire-arms between my legs and my bag in the boot. Descended at the back of the 'Change, crossed into Lombard-street, and, having arrived safe and sound in Bush-lane, gave Molly the game to dress for supper, and walked upstairs to drink a comfortable dish of tea with Mrs. Swandown.

VISIT TO THE MUSEUMS OF SEVILLE IN 1822.

SPAIN has furnished a brilliant epoch in the history of painting, and amongst the various schools that flourished in that country none occupied a more deservedly distinguished rank than that of Seville. But the glory of Spain, with regard to the Fine Arts, has been long on the wane, and, instead of witnessing the creation of new chefs-d'oeuvre in painting, she has for some time back been fated to deplore the loss of those left her by her gifted children of former days. The long-protracted ravages of the destructive war into which she was goaded by Napoleon have occasioned her greatest losses in this way. An immense number of pictures fell, either by fair or foul means, into the hands of the French marshals and generals, and other powerful amateurs, who, through motives of curiosity or profit, followed the head-quarters of the French armies. A not inconsiderable number has been purchased by English travellers, which are now dispersed over England, and serve to add another charm to the splendid country mansions of Great Britain ; where it is to be hoped they are secure from such rapacious wholesale collectors as those who despoiled Spain, at least until the Holy (lucus à non lucendo) Alliance shall have more fully matured its philanthropic plans.

However, notwithstanding these multiplied losses, Seville is, of all the cities in Spain (not excepting Madrid), the one which still possesses the richest pictorial treasures. God and the French army only know if she will long have this remnant of her glory to boast of! If the magnanimous leader of the French deliverers should, in the intoxication of unaccustomed triumph, remember that the walls of the Louvre are but scantily and scurvily covered, poor Seville may be forced to furnish the necessary canvass, and this in the course of events may lead to a second stripping of that long gallery; and so the eternal wheel goes round.

In the possibility of such an event, let us here record the most remarkable paintings, which were to be seen at Seville in 1822 and the commencement of 1823. This unpretending list may enable those of our readers who may visit Seville in 1824 to denounce the robbery. Let our first visit be, as Christians, if not good Catholics, to the Cathedral, where are assembled the productions of the principal masters of the Sevilian school. A short time back there was placed in the sacristy one of the most remarkable works of Pedro de Campagna-a Descent from the Cross, which formerly adorned the church of Santa Clara. Campagna was born at Brussels in the commencement of the sixteenth century, and came to reside at Seville in 1548. His style appears to have been partly modelled upon the works of Michael Angelo; but in the simplicity of his composition, his colouring, and the stiffness of his figures, he resembles the painters of the old German school. On each side of the crucifix, which occupies the middle of the picture, Joseph of Arimathea and another person are mounted upon ladders, and employed in gently lowering down the body of our Saviour, whilst Mary Magdalen and Saint John are at the foot of the Cross endeavouring to console the Virgin Mary, who is in a half-kneeling posture, with the

*

This is a very common attitude with the Irish female peasantry during the celebration of mass, or at the graves of their relatives, by which they endeavour to recon

body inclined backwards. It is on tradition that the celebrated Murillo used to remain for whole hours absorbed in admiration of this picture; and that on one occasion, the sacristan, having lost all patience, roughly demanded of him what kept him from quitting the church? To which the enthusiastic artist replied "I am waiting till these holy men have lowered the body of our Saviour." Murillo is buried in the church of Santa Clara, under the very spot where he was accustomed to stand whilst contemplating this picture. This is a glorious instance of the "ruling passion strong in death," and a fine practical illustration of the line-"even in our ashes live their wonted fires." It was an act of sacrilege against the divinity of genius to have removed this picture from the church of Santa Clara. The Cathedral contains also several fine pictures of Louis de Vargas, who was born and died at Seville, but who during a sojourn in Italy studied under the great masters of the time. Raphael appears to have been amongst the number, for traces of his instruction are sometimes discernible in the beautiful colouring and expression of Vargas's pictures, which also exhibit something of the grand ⚫ and severe style of Michael Angelo. There is in a little side-chapel an Adoration of the Shepherds by Vargas. The Virgin is clothed in white, with her face towards the spectator; she is pointing out the child in the crib to the shepherds, some of whom are on their knees offering presents, and others behind them bending forward in an attitude of respectful curiosity. Another of his pictures is known under the name of La Gamba (the leg), from a very beautiful leg which the painter has conferred upon Adam, and of which Perez de Alesio said, when finishing his Saint Christopher, that this leg was infinitely more precious than the whole body and limbs of his Saint. The defect of this picture consists in there not being enough of light thrown upon the principal group. Another subject treated by Vargas is the Presentation in the Temple. The Virgin in this picture is represented with the same celestial expression of countenance as that which characterises the Virgin of the first-mentioned picture. It is evident that both have the honour of no very remote degree of relationship with the Madonnas of Raphael. The Saint Christopher of Pedro de Alesio, of which we have just spoken, is a colossal figure forty feet high, so that the compliment paid to Adam's handsome leg was by no means a trifling one. This enormous Saint was painted in fresco, but the colours being now altogether faded, it is only with the eye of faith that we can form any opinion of its merit. Pedro de Alesio studied under Buonarotti; he died at Rome in 1600. Another pupil of Buonarotti's, Ferdinand Sturm, furnished the pictures which decorate the chapel de los Santillanos. Amongst them is a Resurrection, and several Saints. But the tints have become as brown and swarthy as the holy originals would have become, had they lived ever since under the burning sun of Andalusia. A minor altar in this chapel

cile their devotional respect with their love of ease; being apparently kneeling, while at the same time the weight of the body rests upon the upturned heels. It is also this attitude that Canova has chosen for his celebrated statue of the Magdalen, now in the possession of the Marquis de Sommariva, at Paris. This the finical petitmaitre posture-master Parisian critics call ungraceful and ignoble. They cannot see that it is finely and simply indicative of utter prostration of strength, and faintness from extreme anguish. They had never seen an opera-dancer kneel thus; therefore it was hors les règles du beau.