pleasure are just those which I have most difficulty in recollecting, and for this reason that they had no one marked and decided expression. One cause doubtless is, that the illusion is more complete; for strong passion or expression vary every instant, and no fixed, immovable representation of these can give the impression of reality. Another, that our pleasure is always keenest when the imagination does not receive passively a fixed definite impression, but is actively employed co-operating with the artist, and weaving the materials of thought and fancy with which he supplies us into a fresh succession of ever-changing images. Hence music is to those who understand its language beyond all comparison the most delightful and enchanting of arts, for it is of all arts the one whose impressions are most vague, indefinite, and evanescent. We must remember, however, that the amount of pleasure received from a work of art is not the only test of genius in the artist. Man lives not for pleasure alone; and even in art, the chief object of which is to give pleasure, we catch glimpses of something higher, nobler, and more enduring. Music is not a higher art than poetry, a symphony of Beethoven's is not a greater work than a play of Shakspeare's, although for the moment it gives incomparably greater pleasure. So in painting, although I gaze with more delight on the Madonnas in the Pitti Palace than on the frescoes of the Vatican, I should never think of placing them in the same line as works of genius. There is another Madonna of Raffaelle's in the Tribune sweetly beautiful, and with all the angelic purity which is the charm of his earlier works, but in other respects very inferior to the production of his maturer age.

When I see these exquisite lovely Madonnas, which are the poetry of Christian art, I feel half inclined to thank the Catholic religion for a superstition which has borne such beautiful fruit. If indeed we may call a superstition that which, if rightly considered, is but the embodying and giving a name and habitation to all that is most heavenly in human nature. What have the Greeks to show in their Olympus which can compare for a moment with the deep and touching beauty of this fiction of Catholic mythology? A mother's love, a virgin's purity, blended into one image, and hallowed by religion. The worship of the Madonna was the salvation of Christian art, which would otherwise have run out altogether into the grotesque and horrible, and filled the churches of Italy with nothing but rude, barbarous legends of savage saints and martyrs. Her gracious image, like a ray of light on troubled waters, softened down the stern fanaticism which proscribed every thing bright and lovely, and stood like a wall of brass between the hearts of men and the genuine spirit of Christianity, and afforded thus another instance how fiction may pave the way for truth, and poetry prevail when the voice of reason and philosophy would remain unheard.

Of the lesser artists, Carlo Dolce has risen most in my estimation since I came to Florence. He constantly repeats himself, and can only paint one expression - but that is a very true and beautiful one-an expression of fervent earnest prayer, softened by touching sorrow and resignation. There is one picture of his here, a Magdalene, which is perfectly beautiful, and one of the truest images painting has produced of the loveliness of Christian piety. There is a Madonna also by Sasso Ferrato, exceedingly beautiful, pure, and cold as the morning air, but almost too passionless and inexpressive.

These are, I think, the most remarkable pictures in the Florence galleries, though there are an endless number of others, each good enough to make the fortune of a common collection. Nine or ten Raffaelles, all show

ing the hand of the master, though of different degrees of excellence; a portrait of a lady by Leonardo da Vinci, which I almost think the best portrait, without exception, I ever saw; Andrea del Sartos, Fra Bartolomios, Alloris, Cigolis, and other pictures of the Florentine school without end, and some of them very good, though none first-rate; Titians in abundance, if you like looking at plump, juicy flesh and sleepy voluptuous beauty; a Musical Party, by Giorgione, a most admirable picture, full of the truest life and feeling; five or six large landscapes of Salvator Rosa's, who is no great favourite of mine; for though he paints trees and rocks to perfection, he cannot paint air, which is the charm of landscape painting; some beautiful little Gaspar Poussins, and a host of others, which if I were to attempt to mention, my letter would degenerate into a mere catalogue of names; so, for the present, adieu to Florence, adieu to painting, and to the galleries where I spent so many delightful hours.

THE POET'S MISSION.

THE World's cold malice-Mammon's bitter smile-
And Sleep's undreaming brother, Rigid Power!
Wage ceaseless war upon the poet's dower,
And strive his sacred mission to beguile

By fiendish mockeries : — Poets, heed them not;
But, with thy Father's holiest music fraught,
Waste not one grain of thy Immortal Thought

On their oblivion: they are Nature's blot !

Then straightway to your harps; for had death sealed
Our Milton's lips, ere he had tuned his tongue,

And that Olympian lay of Eden sung,

How had upon his parting moments prest
The unborn rapture, stifled in his breast,

And all that weight of glory unreveal'd !

THOMAS POWELL.

TO A FAIR COUSIN.

CAROLINE ANNETTE.

LADY! I've watched thee from thine infant years,
And seen thee as a bud unfold, till now
The pride of womanhood is on thy brow
Yet in that pride no haughtiness appears,
But a meek consciousness of maiden power.
Rightly thou deemest virtue is a dower
More to be prized than rank or golden treasure:
Cherish that sacred gift, that every hour,
Still left thee, be as cheerful and serene

As now thy present is thy past hath been:
For thou hast bloom'd beneath a mother's eye,
Whose wondrous love for thee no thought can measure;
And thou hast felt, o'er every youthful pleasure,

A Father's presence shed its sanctity!

THOMAS POWELL.

THE MONJA ALFEREZ. *

A STRANGE HISTORY; EDITED BY DON JOAQUIN MARIA DE FERRER, PRESIDENT OF THE COUNCIL OF MINISTERS, AND LATE PRESIDENT of the PROVISIONAL JUNTA OF MADRID.

"Humantesa izâtecó jâyó-ninzan;

Banan bídé gaitzean galdú-ninzán.”—Ancient Basque Ballad.

"I was born to be a cloister'd nun,

But alas! I lost myself along a bad road."—Literal Translation.

In the baptismal registry of the parish of San Vicente, in the city of San Sebastian, may be found an entry, of which the following is a translation: "Catalina de Erauso was baptized on the 10th of February, in the year 1592. She was the legitimate daughter of Miguel de Erauso, and of Maria Perez de Gallaraga. Her sponsors were Pedro de Gallaraga and Maria Velez de Araualde. The officiating priest was Alvisua, the vicar." The individual whose name is thus registered, seems to us not the least extraordinary amongst the phenomena which history has preserved; and we doubt much if in the annals of any country, varied and wonderful as are the records of the ferocity, the civilisation, the baseness, or the pride of mankind, of the strength of human intellect or the hardihood of enterprise, there be any character illustrated which presents to the physiologist or the philosopher a subject for deeper meditation than the strange individual who forms the subject of the baptismal extract we have just quoted, and who, with her own pen, and in a style most remarkable for vigour, and a naked strength reminding us not rarely of the "Divina Comedia," and rising, in one or two passages, to an appalling sublimity, has left the story of her crimes, her savage virtues, her talents, and, with one single exception, the fiery passions of her nature.

The memoirs of the Monja Alferez were first published in Seville, in the year 1625. Not a copy of that impression, however, has been found, notwithstanding the diligent researches of the distinguished editor in the libraries of Madrid, Paris, Brussels, Germany, and Switzerland. The present memoir is printed from a manuscript in the possession of D. Felipe Bauzá, formerly director of the marine hydrographic department in Madrid. This MS. was itself a copy from another, which still exists in the Royal Academy of History, amongst the collection of Indian MSS. made by Muños, the author of the "History of the New World," and who transcribed it with his own hand in 1784, from a MS. volume in the possession of the Spanish poet Trigueros. The perusal of this document in 1815, and the fact of the subject, as well as the author of the history being his own. countrywoman, made at the time a strong impression on the mind of M. Ferrer, which was subsequently weakened or obliterated by the political events which soon after distracted his native country. During a residence in Paris, several years afterwards, he was, however, again reminded of its existence, by reading a passage in Davila's History of the Life and Times

Historia della Monja Alferez, Doña Catalina de Erauso, escrita per ella misma, y ilustrada con notas y documentos, per D. Joaquin Maria de Ferrer. Valencia. 1839. (Nueva edicion.)

of Philip III. of Spain, in which the name of Catalina de Erausa is most honourably mentioned. His curiosity being a second time powerfully excited, he made renewed exertions to procure the necessary materials to give to the world the present memoirs, illustrated by such additional information respecting this strange being, as his own researches, and his personal knowledge as a native of the province in which she was born, enabled him to afford. It may be necessary to observe, however, that the memoir, though containing a series of curious adventures, narrated in a terse and forcible style, is not continued beyond the year 1626, when the subject of it could not have been more than 34 years old. The adventures through which she passed after her second departure for America, and the theatre of which were the plains and the mountains of Chili and Peru, are for ever perhaps buried in obscurity, though her name casually occurs in the despatches communicated by more than one viceroy to the court of Madrid.

Though we almost despair of being able to transfer into the few passages we give the force and simplicity which distinguish the original narrative, we shall yet permit the Monja Alferez to tell in her own way the story of her birth and parentage:

"I, Doña Catalina de Erauso, was born in the city of San Sebastian in Guipuzcoa, in the year 1585*, daughter of the Captain Don Miguel de Erauso, and of Doña Maria Perez de Gallaraga y Ara, natives and inhabitants of the said city. My parents kept me at home with my brothers until I was four years old; in 1589, they placed me in the convent of the Antiguo at San Sebastian, which is one of Dominican nuns, under the care of my aunt, Doña Ursula de Unza y Serasti, eldest sister of my mother, who was prioress of the same convent, where I remained until I was fifteen years old, at which period they proposed that I should take the vows as a professed nun. It being about the end of my year of noviciate, it chanced one day that I had a dispute with a professed nun, named Doña Catalina de Aliri, who had been a widow on her entering the convent. She was very robust, and I was but a slight young girl, and she gave me several blows this I felt deeply. On the night of the 18th March, 1600, being the eve of Saint Joseph, the nuns rising at midnight to matins, I entered the choir, and there found my aunt on her knees. She called me, and giving me the key of her cell, bid me bring her breviary. I went for it, opened the door, and found it; and, whilst doing so, I saw the keys of the convent hanging on a nail. I left the cell open, and brought the key of it to my aunt, as well as her breviary. The nuns were already in the choir, and matins were begun with all due solemnity. After the first lesson, I approached my aunt, and asked permission to retire, as I found myself indisposed. My aunt, touching me on the head with her hand, said, Go, and put yourself to bed.' I left the choir, took a light, went to the cell of my aunt, took a pair of scissors, some thread, and a needle. I also took a handful of reals, which I also found there. I then took down the keys of the convent, went out, and passed through all the doors, one after the other, until I came to the gate which opened into the street. There I left my scapula, and I went out without knowing where to go, nor where to wander. I entered a grove of chestnut trees, which stood near the convent, and there I hid myself during three days, contriving to fit out some sort of dress for myself. With a petticoat of blue cloth which I wore, I made a pair of drawers; with another under garment I made a sort of coat and a pair of spatterdashes, and my nun's habit I left there, as I did not know what to do

* A discrepancy is remarked in the date she herself gives of her birth; that stated in the registry alluded to above being 1592.

with it. I cut off my hair and threw it away, and I left the grove on the third night, without knowing where to go; I avoided the high roads, and passed several places, to keep myself at a distance, and I came on the fourth day to Vittoria, which is distant from San Sebastian about twenty leagues, on foot, wearied and without having eaten any thing but small herbs, which I picked up on the road-side. I entered Vittoria, not knowing where to betake myself: in a few days, however, I chanced to find out one Doctor Francisco de Cerralta. He received me kindly, without knowing who I was, and he gave me decent clothes. He was professor in the university, and was married to an elder sister of my mother, as I had been told, but yet I did not make myself known to him. I remained in his house a matter of three months or so, during which time, perceiving that I was able to read Latin pretty well, he wished that I should study it regularly; but for this I had no great relish, and I accordingly refused. He wanted to compel me by force, and was even going to lay hands on me; I immediately made up my mind to leave him. I took from him a small sum of money, and set off for Valladolid, which was-forty-five leagues distant, having made a bargain for twelve reals with a certain muleteer who was going there."

In Valladolid, where Philip III. then held his court, she managed to introduce herself, as page, to the family of Juan de Ideàquez, secretary to the king, and a native of San Sebastian. Whilst in this occupation, she was one day astonished by the arrival of her father to pay a visit to her master, for the purpose of informing him that the object of his journey was to search for his daughter, who had, some time before, escaped from the convent of the Antiguo. Fearing she might be recognised, she, the same night, packed up her trifling effects, and at daybreak the next morning set off for Bilbao, which was about forty leagues distant. Here she had a quarrel with some young men of the place, the result of which was that she was thrown into prison, where she remained a month. After obtaining her liberty she set out for Estella, in Navarre, where she was again engaged as a page by a nobleman named Arellano. In his house she lived two years, which she spent in the most agreeable manner, having nothing to do, and in the enjoyment of every luxury. Her restless disposition, however, prevented her from enjoying with continued comfort this life of tranquillity. A passion for a wandering and perilous existence was so strong within her, that the idea of passing her days in peace was to her the greatest torture imaginable. She at length quitted Estella, and paid a visit to San Sebastian, "where," as she says, "I was so well dressed, and had the appearance of so dashing a gallant, that nobody recognised me." She embarked in a short time afterwards at Passages, near San Sebastian, for San Lucar, from whence she proceeded to Seville. An expedition was at that period prepared to sail under the orders of the two celebrated generals, Luis Fernandez Cordova, and Luis Fajardo, for New Andalusia. The object of the large force then sent out by the Spanish government was to punish the Dutch buccaneers, who, with a fleet of twenty-five ships, had obtained forcible possession of the valuable salt mines of Araya, on the coast of New

Andalusia.

The period of which we speak was that when the produce of those rich lands, whose discovery was the fruit of the genius of Columbus, flowed, with an abundance which seemed inexhaustible, from the New to the Old World. It was the period, also, when the younger and impoverished members of the nobility, the daring and enterprising traders, the bold buccaneer, and the unprincipled, the infamous, and the needy of every class, issued forth in