denominated punch; but the increasing chilness of the evening made it agreeable, and it served to drink the health of the distinguished Author, as we amused ourselves with repeating stanzas of the immortal ode, "Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going," &c. Julien, too, cheered his jocund circle with some mountain ballads, as they sat munching toasted cheese round the glowing embers.

Evening was drawing on apace, when, on a sudden, we were all roused to our feet by the loud roar of an avalanche, which fell very near us; a prodigious mass of soft, loose snow slipped from the impending heights of the Mont Maudit into the deep narrow valley at the foot of the Grands Mulets. Standing on the height above, near our sleeping shelf, we could watch the rapid motion of the mass, for it continued falling several seconds, and a large cloud of snowy dust rushed nearly half across the valley. We were highly delighted, and even the guides shouted, and seemed vastly pleased, for so large an avalanche, and seen so close, and under so favourable circumstances, was not an every-day occurrence, even to them. It was decidedly one of the grandest I ever saw, but though larger and more sublime, perhaps not more beautiful, than one which we saw gliding down like a stream of liquid silver, from the heights of the Jungfrau, as we stood on the opposite heights of the Wengern Alps. The deep valley between the Grands Mulets and the base of the Mont Maudit is filled with those inmense cubes of snow, which have been called seracs, and a wilder scene no fancy ever pictured.

As evening advanced, the scene around became increasingly beautiful : not merely the round head, but a considerable portion of the snowy side of the Buet, appeared towering far above the line of the Aiguilles Rouges. We saw a considerable part of the Lake of Geneva looking increasingly bright as the surrounding hills grew grey in the shades of evening. On its northern side we could distinctly make out the town of Nion. The horizon was bounded by the long dark line of the Jura. Beneath us lay the quiet valley and village of Chamouni, but we were far too high to hear the slightest sound from below. On the side of the Breven hung a cultivated patch, called, I think, the village of Merlet: then beyond, the valley of Sallenche, and thick masses of mist resting on the bold turrets of the Aiguille de Varens. But the finest point of view was, perhaps, that towards Aix-les-bains in Savoy, or nearly in that direction; it was beautifully clear. I counted, distinctly, no less than eight ranges of mountain-tops, one behind the other, gradually fading away, shade after shade, and at last surmounted by a fine bright evening sky of a very peculiar tinge, between crimson and flesh-colour. It seemed to me that I had never seen precisely that tinge of sky before. Nearer the eye was the summit of the hill that overtops the broken line of the rugged Glacier de Taconnai. Under our feet was the vast plain of snow extending toward the base of the Dôme-du-Gôuté, in various parts of which we could discern immense dark caverns in the snow, near which our morning's path would lie. Far, far above us, the snowy summit of the mountain still receded in distant majesty, so that after a day's progress we really seemed not to have come much nearer the top. Then turning round, you saw several dark rocks deeply embedded in snow, to the whole of which has been given the somewhat indistinct name of the Mont Maudit. Then, directly in front, rose the immense Aiguille du Midi, whose summit had just ceased to reflect the glow of sunset. There was hardly a breath of wind; all was hushed and still as death; we gazed round and round, till the scene grew dim in twilight, and then sat down on our stony couch. A second blanket was spread as a covering; three poles were placed in an inclined position against the rock, and to them was attached a sheet so as to form a rude tent over our heads; yet it was so loose that, had it snowed in the night, we should have been well nigh covered before morning. The song of the guides had ceased; their evening prayers were said, and we all betook ourselves to sleep, as best we could, dozing at intervals: every now and then the low distant roar of an avalanche roused our attention. The stones that formed our couch were uneven and angular enough, and the air was very chill,

was

though less so than we had expected. About five o'clock, on our arrival, the thermometer was at 84 Reaum.; at half-past seven it had sunk to 3o Reaum.; and at a quarter after eight it was at zero, Reaum., and probably not many degrees lower during the night. My amiable companion slept little, being much distressed by continued nausea. During the night I rose, left our rude tent, and reconnoitred the appearance of the weather. The guides were all sleeping, some near the end of the tent, others in a small cavity in the rock below. The dark sky was perfectly clear, and the stars sparkling in the ebon vault. To complete the sublimity of the scene, the bright moon shining on the top of Mont Blanc, and throwing strong masses of light and shade over the wide waste of snow. This scene alone was worth a pilgrimage! No words can convey an adequate impression of the solemnity and awful wildness of this moonlight picture! Far above, the cold beams were playing on that fatal spot where rest the bodies of the three brave guides embalmed in ice. Yet it was not certain that, from the annual movement of the glacier, the bodies might not be slowly descending toward the valley, and perhaps much nearer us than we were aware. With this thought another insensibly mixed itself. Did not these men sleep the night before on this very ledge? Were they not as full of alacrity and hope as ourselves? What, if to-morrow evening's rising moon should find us as they are? If it should be so, what is beyond?-When long chained down to the tiny, contemptible vanities of men, the contracted spirit shrinks from the vast contemplation of Eternity, and fears to think itself immortal. The majestic truths of Revelation are too mighty for its puny grasp. But here, amidst the awful monuments of a Power that works unseen, escaping away from man and all his futilities, the dreams of infidel philosophy seduce no more: they are no longer congenial to the heart. Man feels himself a worm, an insect, an atom; but he bethinks himself that Heaven's wide regard still rests individually on him, a speck in creation. Then he is not afraid.

SANDOVAL, OR THE FREEMASON.*

THERE is a combination of attractions in the title of this historical novel, which will very rarely be found in works of the class to which it belongs. It is a Spanish tale, written by a Spaniard, who has already made a successful début in our literature with another novel, "Don Esteban." It gives us reason to expect that our curiosity will be gratified, by the history of freemasonry in Spain, (about which so little is known,) of its influence over her risings and revolutions--the display, in their real colours, of the characters that figured in them, which derive an additional interest from belonging to our own day; and, combined with all this, the right we have to expect from a Spaniard, those lights and shadows of Spanish life which none but a native is qualified to give us. We have been so much accustomed, in Spanish novel-writing, to the insipidity of pastoral life, to impossible adventures, or to the absurd and disgusting feats of beggars and Picaros, that we are somewhat surprised, on opening Sandoval, to find the Author talking so much like folks of this world, and the authors of our own generation. Our Spaniard writes in English, and in singularly good English too, which is more than can be said of many worthy authors whom we could name. Sandoval is a young Spanish officer, belonging to the third Spanish army, which, after the battle of Toulouse, has received orders to return to Spain. Previous to the departure of the army from France, letters

Sandoval, or the Freemason; a Spanish Tale. By the Author of "Don Este3 vols. 12mo. London, 1826.

bau."

have been received by several of the officers, announcing the violation of the constitution by Ferdinand and the servile faction, which creates a prodigious sensation in the army and hastens its dissolution. Sandoval, who is represented as an enthusiastic liberal, is particularly indignant at the King's treachery; and his feelings on the subject acquire additional strength from a letter which he receives from his beloved and betrothed Gabriela, informing him of the ascendency of the monks under the "absolute king," and the accusations of heresy and infidelity which have been insinuated against him, into the superstitious ear of her worthy mother, Doña Angela. As soon as the army is dissolved, Sandoval hastens to Spain, and finds all the evil news communicated by his Gabriela, confirmed: he is received with insult and coldness by Dona Angela, and with proud contempt by Father Lobo, the family confessor, and his nephew, Don Aniceto Artimana, the Comisario regio of Logroño, who hopes, through the agency and influence of his worthy uncle, to dispossess Sandoval at once of his family estate, and the affections of Gabriela. In the first of these laudable projects, he is favoured by the flight of Sandoval's father, who has withdrawn himself from prosecution for alleged political offences, and whose house and possessions have been seized on and confiscated to government ;-in his designs on the fair Gabriela he conceives himself warranted, by the possession of certain graces of person, of which a very whimsical catalogue, somewhat in Washington Irving's caricaturing vein, is given in vol. i. p. 161.

A scene which follows, in which this seducing person and his uncle are represented as doing penance in the Dominican convent, to which the holy confessor belongs, on hams, capons, and wine of Valdepeñas, is very edifying.

Sandoval is now called from Logroño, by a letter from his exiled father, who enjoins him to become a member of a society of freemasons. Sandoval complies, and the first order he receives from the society is to join the rising under Gorriz and Mina, at Pamplona. The spirited account of this unfortunate attempt, given by our author, we cannot quote at length, and should injure by giving in fragments.

The mutiny of the soldiers totally frustrates the plans of Mina, who is forced to retreat. Sandoval, unable to endure a longer separation from Gabriela, determines to return to Logroño, and on his way thither, stops for a night at the house of a Spanish farmer, a tenant of his father's, where a very amusing scene is presented to us. The village Cura has just paid a visit to the farmer in search of tithes, and is succeeded by a Franciscan, a Capuchin, a lay-brother, a mercenary, a missionary, &c. begging for their convents.

At the house of the farmer, Sandoval discovers that the monk and bis nephew have succeeded in prevailing upon Dona Angela to compel her daughter to take the veil. The ceremony is just about to conclude, when Sandoval interrupts it by rushing into the church, on the floor of which he falls senseless. During his swoon he is borne off by order of the monk to a frightful dungeon, of the interior of which we have a very powerful and animated description.

From the horrors of this prison he escapes, in consequence of the rebellion of its inmates, and the massacre of the gaolers, and hastens to join the gallant Riego at Oviedo. Of this General and his family, all the members of which have excited so much interest in this country,

we have many curious particulars, and anecdotes which will be read with peculiar interest. At Coruña, Sandoval joins in the unfortunate effort to revive the constitution, which ended in the death of the heroic Porlier. This part of the narrative is given with great spirit.

The dissolution of the Madrid lodge of freemasons had been greatly lamented by some of its members, and a plan was in progress for its reorganization. This, however, had almost completely failed, in consequence of the arrest of Van Hallen, one of the society's agents, whose examination and torture in the dungeons of the Inquisition, his final escape, and the gaiety of heart which leads him to mingle imprudently in the gaieties of Madrid, are all detailed with great vivacity and talent. Sandoval, who had aided Van Hallen in his escape, accompanies him to Paris and London, on the business of the Masonic Association; and the third volume opens with his return to Spain. He is impatient to learn tidings of all that had befallen Gabriela since his departure; and, unable to find his servant, Roque, at his lodging, he determines to proceed in search of him to Lavassie, that part of Madrid which is characterized by the author as "the place from whence the Circus gets its bull-fighters, the ladies of the higher circles their beaux, and those of the lower their bullies." The scene to which we are here introduced by the author is so admirably described, and the personages are so new to all English readers, that we cannot help transferring it to our pages:

"Sandoval proceeded with all possible haste, till at last he came to a lane where he heard not far off the twanging of guitars, and the sound of voices singing the lively and favourite dances of the manolas, called manchegas, and observed some of their women just entering the house from which the merry sounds issued. He hastened to the place, and knocking at the door demanded admittance in the usual way. May I crave the favour of being admitted to participate in your pleasure?'

By all means,' said an old sibyl who opened the door to him, and gave him, in their common ridiculous style, soine necessary directions, that he should not mistake his road. The first passage, however, was so dark, that Sandoval was obliged to grope along as if he had been blindfolded, his head now and then touched the ceiling, from which fragments of it crumbled down, and covered him all over with dust, while his feet occasionally stuck into the holes and crevices of the floor, from which, with great difficulty, he got his boots out. On reaching a small court, his way became a little more discernible, both by the twilight which lent it its dim light, and by the clamour and din that issued from the room where the dance was kept up. As he entered the second passage, he heard more distinctly the obstreperous laugh and loud talk of the men, who graced every other word with an oath or an obscenity, and the shrill and penetrating voices of the women singing their manchegas, and cutting their jokes at each other, mingling with the confused sounds of timbrels, guitars, one or two violins, and spirited stamping of the feet. He was almost tempted to turn back; but the hope of finding his servant there prevailed, and he proceeded towards the room, in which he discerned a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, and scattering just light enough to enable thein to see each other's faces. The door of this room was so small, that Sandoval was obliged to stoop till his head nearly touched his knees; and as there was a step to be descended which he did not notice, he came into the room with that part of his body foremost, and his heels cutting a caper in the air. Chica, put out the light, for the gentleman is now a bed,' said one of the manolas, suddenly turning to one of her friends.

* Corresponding in English to "I say," or " My dear."

"A burst of laughter followed this sally, while the confused Sandoval endeavoured to disentangle himself from his cloak, and recover his upright position.-Tis the custom here, my darling, to pay for the bed on which we lie,' said another, approaching him with one hand fixed on her hip, and the other stretched out, and surveying him from head to foot, her head bent on one side, and nodding with a saucy, impudent look, while she beat time with her toes on the ground.

"And pray what may your charge be?' inquired he.

"The more you give us the better, my beloved,' she said, but we'll be reasonable, and have it in the right juice; Valdepenas, I trow you like. Well, then, slacken the strings of your pouch, and I'll send for an azumbre.” "Sandoval thought it prudent not to object to this, and pulled out his purse (which happened to be tolerably well furnished, and on which more than one eager glance lighted) to take out a silver piece, which he gave to the manola. I see you love the king's face,' said she: he is a good-looking man enough in the yellow ones, but d-n me if I would exchange my Pepehillo for his royal person.'

"Saying this, she took the piece, and beckoning to a tall majo, who was in earnest conversation with several others, gave him the silver, and spoke to him in a low voice, of which Sandoval only caught the two or three last words; but of which he did not know the meaning, as they were spoken in their peculiar slang. She then invited our hero to sit down, while the wine came, on one of the wooden benches which stood against the wall, where, once installed, she began to pour forth a volley of witticisms, which she occasionally seasoned with an oath to render them more expressive. Most of it, however, was lost on Sandoval, whose eyes were glancing from one corner of the room to another, endeavouring to discover whether Roque was among the revellers.

"The room, which might be about thirty feet wide by thirty-five long, was evidently too small for the company who were assembled in it, and who amounted to about sixty persons, some of whom were sitting squat on the floor, round a bota,t which they occasionally lifted up to their lips, and kissed with the devotional fervour peculiar to the manolos. Another group was seen sitting on a bench near a blind fiddler, whom they accompanied with their guitars, while some of the girls who stood by added their own voices, and the regular sounds of their timbrels, to that of the numerous castanets of the dancers, who were in the middle of the room, executing, with the graceful attitudes peculiar to this kind of people, their manchegas in sets of four persons of both sexes to each, all of whom joined to really fine shapes and well-formed limbs the utmost elegance in their movements, and vivacity and expression in their countenances. The dress of the women was in their usual style. A mantilla pinned on the large knot of hair, which they wear on one side of the head, and falling gracefully, one end of it as low as the neck, and the other over the shoulder and arm. On their head, and between the plaits of the mantilla that conceal part of their ebony hair, peeped a rose or a pink of large size. Their small waists were tightly laced, and clothed with a silk spencer, fitting close, and having a variety of silk and silver fringes, and buttons of the same colour, at the shoulders and cuffs. Their petticoats, of different colours and stuffs, reaching only about the lower part of the calves of their legs, showed beautiful net-work stockings of exquisite whiteness; while their small feet were inclosed in very small shoes, all of coloured silk, graced with large bows, and just covering the toes. Their eyes, which they cast with such a roguish expression of conscious power as rendered them almost irresistible, were large, dark, and lively; their countenances oval and regularly formed; and their complexions, though brown, were sufficiently pleasing, and free from that yellow tinge which bespeaks ill-health and the effects of intemperance in a southern climate. With respect to the men, their dress corresponded in every respect with that of

*Two quarts.

+ A small leather bag for wine.