full ecclesiastical costume. The several scenes in the passion of the Saviour were represented by groups of wooden figures the size of life, clothed in drapery, and bedecked with tasteless ornaments. These figures, which were carried on moveable stages or platforms, were for the most part very coarse specimens of carving, though some of them possessed a certain degree of artistic merit. The best of the wood-sculptors are natives of Cadiz and Seville, and at the head of them is Montañes, a native of the latter city. His figures are imbued with no inconsiderable share of the natural expression and life-like effect which characterize good marble statues. At distances of from two to three hundred paces the platformbearers set down their burthens, and rested themselves. Then the whole procession made a halt, during which a military band played a slow march or hymn, and at intervals was heard a flourish of trumpets most distressingly out of tune. The trumpeters wore on their heads high-pointed caps, shaped like paper-cornets, and slouched over their faces; their figures were enveloped in cloaks or dominos, confined at the waist by leather girdles. The caps and cloaks were white, black, or brown, according to the colour of the habit worn by the brotherhood to which the trumpeters severally belonged. Next followed the brotherhoods, or hermandades, as the Spaniards term them. They wore the colours of their respective orders, though they were dressed up in masquerade, some as buffoons, others as penitents, &c. Now came a party of Roman soldiers, with swords and helmets, followed by a train of Jews and Pharisees. These were followed by a living representative of Pontius Pilate; whilst the Virgin Mary, the Saviour, and St. Peter, were pourtrayed by wooden figures, but all were the size of life. At intervals walked the almoners of the several orders of monks, holding up baskets to receive the pious donations which were ever and anon thrown from the windows of the houses. My attention was particularly attracted by a gay and martiallike figure, habited in monkish costume. Turning to a Spanish friend, who kindly officiated as my cicerone on this occasion, I said, "Pray who is that personage? He has more the air of a soldier than a priest. Methinks a uniform would befit him better than the cowl." "Even so," replied my friend, "that man served long in the Carlist army. He has seen some hard service in the ranks of the facciosos, and he has had his share of fighting in several of their battles. But after the treaty of Begara he determined once more to return to the peacefulness of monastic life; and accordingly here he is. His moral character, like that of many of our clergy, does not stand very high. But since the suppression of the inquisition, the Spanish clergy have sadly degenerated." "How!" I exclaimed, with no little astonishment, "is it possible that you, or any man in the present age, can regret the downfall of the inquisition. Surely you, as a Spaniard, must well know the mischief wrought by that terrible institution!" "I do not "You misunderstand me," resumed my interlocutor. regret the loss of the inquisition. That its whole machinery demanded reformation is beyond a doubt. In its blind zeal for upholding absolute monarchy, for disseminating the catholic faith, and preserving in their pristine purity the doctrines of that faith, the inquisition doubtless proceeded to odious extremes; especially during the latter period of its existence. But let us judge the inquisition as it was on its establishment in 1484. During several years I was engaged in examining the national archives at Simancas, where I had access to many rare and curious documents relating to inquisitorial An attentive perusal of upwards of thirty circumstancial narrations of such cases, has convinced me how usefully and earnestly the efforts of the inquisition were directed to the suppression of immorality among the clergy. Priestly delinquencies form the subjects of not less than nine-tenths of the processes detailed in the archives of Simancas, in which are also recorded the punishments awarded to the offences. The mode of procedure observed by the tribunal was this: when the holy office received information of an offence committed by a priest, the evidence was written down, but the names of the accusing parties were not affixed to it. A single denunciation was not always deemed sufficient to establish ground for an investigation, which, in most cases, was not set on foot until after repeated denunciations. The accused was then cited to appear before the tribunal. He was tried and sentenced without ever being made acquainted with the names of his accusers. All human institutions are subject to corruption and abuse; and so it happened with the inquisition on which history has heaped a great amount of unmerited odium. No," pursued my intelligent friend, "I do not regret the suppression of the inquisition; but I think we may lament that the principles which presided over the birth of the institution, were in the latter years of its existence lost sight of or perverted. It is unfortunate that we have now no tribunal possessing the requisite authority for checking the licence of the priesthood, more especially at the present time when we are not on terms of perfect accordance with the head of the catholic church." The procession having passed, we turned our steps in the direction of the cathedral, where we were informed we should hear the performance of some fine old church music. The cathedral was illumined by wax tapers fixed in massive tripod candelabra, but the lateral chapels were not lighted up. The pavement of the nave, was overspread with straw matting, and there a devout assemblage was already congregated. According to the Spanish custom, the women, whatever their rank or condition, all sat on the ground, close together; the men being at a little distance from them, some sitting, and others standing. All were listening with deep earnestness to the solemn and awe-inspiring strains of a Miserere, which the choir was then singing. It was the composition of an old Spanish master, a native of Cadiz, a city always celebrated for the cultivation of good church music. After the conclusion of the Miserere, a sermon was preached. I could understand but little of what fell from the preacher, who possessed a fine sonorous voice. His delivery was, however, accompanied by much gesticulation, together with that restless movement of the head and hands peculiar to the Italians, which though it may impart animation to a public discourse, certainly detracts from its dignity. An observance peculiar to the solemnities of Passion Week in Spain is that termed the Monumento. In every church there is erected a small wooden temple, within which is deposited the custodia, containing the Host. This Monumento, as the temple is called VOL. XXIV. F is illuminated from Holy Thursday till Good Friday with a countless number of wax-lights, and it is customary for people to go about from one church to another to see the show. We, of course, followed the custom, and perambulated the town to see the Monuments, which everywhere attracted throngs of admirers, who, whilst they gazed at the object of their devotion, muttered an Ave Maria or a Pater Noster, and then hurried away to the nearest church to see the same sight and perform the same ceremony. Early on the morning of Good Friday we had another solemn procession, which, however, did not differ in any material point from that which I have already described. I was assured that the archbishop very much disapproved of the processions in Passion Week, and would most willingly prohibit them, were it possible to do so. These mummeries are in many respects exceedingly objectionable; for, instead of inspiring feelings of religious devotion, they are regarded by the populace as mere masquerade buffooneries provided for their diversion. To put them down would be no very easy, and, possibly, no very safe measure. They have taken firm root in the tastes and habits of the people, and have become interwoven with temporal and commercial interests. On the other hand, some plausible arguments are advanced in their favour. In Andalusia, religion partakes of the nature of the climate, and it differs widely from the spirit of Catholic piety in colder climes. In Spain, as in Italy, faith penetrates to the hearts of the people only through the senses; the sacred mysteries work on the imagination through the medium of earthly objects. Having gratified our curiosity by witnessing some of the principal religious solemnities of the Holy Week, we prepared to quit Cadiz and to pursue our journey. Our plan was to cross over to Africa, and to visit some of the remarkable places on the coast of Morocco, commencing with Tangiers. The best course was to proceed by the steamer from Cadiz to Gibraltar, but to our disappointment we learned that it had departed that very morning. To have waited for the next would have detained us five or six days; we therefore determined to go by land to Gibraltar. Our friends in Cadiz warned us of the bad roads and unpleasant accommodation we should encounter on the journey, but, nevertheless, we resolved to act on our own plan. We obtained a conveyance to Chiclana, a little town situated at the distance of a few miles from Cadiz. There we parted from one of our travelling companions, M. Eintrat, the French Secretary of Legation, who was on his way to Madrid. In his stead we were joined by Count Munster, who had passed the winter in Cadiz. Our travelling party now consisted of three gentlemen and a servant. Like all the small towns in the south of Spain, Chiclana has narrow, ill-paved streets, and white, flat-roofed houses. Here many of the inhabitants of Cadiz have country residences, whither they repair on Sundays to enjoy what they are pleased to term the charms of rural life. But as there is not, with the exception of the Alameda, a single shady spot in the surrounding neighbourhood,-as there are no vineyards, no fresh fountains, no public gardens,-it is difficult to discover in what the attractions of the place consist; possibly in dancing with unrestrained mirth to the sound of castagnets, and in promenading on the Alameda of Chiclana instead of the Alameda of Cadiz. We had letters to an eminent merchant residing in the town, and we called on him shortly after our arrival. He received us in his garden. Having heard from his friends in Cadiz that he was a great amateur of floriculture, and that his garden was quite celebrated, we requested that he would show us over it. No wish that we could possibly have expressed would have afforded our host so much pleasure to gratify, and he proceeded with an amusing air of complacency to direct our attention to every spot and nook in his garden, and to every plant it contained. To our surprise we found this much vaunted garden unadorned with the beauties of tropical vegetation: we saw absolutely nothing in it to admire, though we politely concealed our disappointment. There were no tall stately palms (which, in this country, grow in the open air), no shady broad-leafed fig trees, no blooming myrtles, no cedars or sycamores. Instead of cool walks, overarched by spreading foliage, and bordered by margins of fragrant shrubs and flowers, we passed through little avenues, edged by dwarf walls, and paved here and there with coloured stones. As to the flowers, most of them were grown in pots, and the place altogether resembled a nursery-ground where plants are reared for sale, rather than a garden laid out by a private gentleman for his own pleasure. The Spaniards, like the Portuguese, seldom shew good taste in their gardens. They adhere more or less to the old French style. Trees cut in fantastic shapes, paths traced out in geometrical lines, here a terrace and there a fountain, and at intervals the unseemly form and grinning face of a grotesque sculptured figure-such are their notions of beauty in the art of gardening. Having favoured us with a view of his garden, our host led us into the house, where we found a party of gentlemen assembled in the dining-room, and engaged in smoking their cigaritos. All were dressed in the ordinary style except one, who wore an Andalusian costume. This proved to be Montes, the celebrated matador. He was not dressed in the silken suit which he is accustomed to wear in the bull-ring, but he wore a jacket of brown cloth, (tricked out with ornaments of coloured velvet on the collar and sleeves,) small clothes of brown cloth, and short leather gaiters. Montes is a man of middle height, and his well-formed figure bears evidence of the strength and activity with which he is so peculiarly endowed. He has a gallant soldier-like bearing, and his manner is at once frank and polite. He entertained us by relating many curious particulars of his life. Before he became a matador he used to frequent the slaughter-houses, in order to make himself acquainted with the anatomy of the bull, and he studied the character of the animal by living much in the country, among herds and herdsmen. He described to us some of the narrow escapes he had had in the bullfighting circus, where nothing short of almost miraculous presence of mind and dexterity had saved his life. Occasionally it had been his fate to encounter bulls which, instead of attacking the flag he held in his left hand, would make a fierce onset at the person of the matador. These attacks, he informed us, never came quite unawares; it being always possible, by attentively watching the eyes of the bull, to know his intended movements. But Montes declared these movements to be sometimes so rapid and sudden as barely to afford him time to plant his foot firmly between the horns of the bull, and by a vigorous effort to spring forward over his head, at the very moment when the infuriated animal was about to toss him in the air. It was often supposed that he performed this feat merely for effect; but he assured us he never attempted it except in the last extremity, to save his life. He mentioned, in proof of his hairbreadth 'scapes, that the bull's horns had oftener than once ripped up his silken jacket, and dragged the handkerchief from his pocket. A matador rarely dies a natural death. Montes is rich enough to retire from his dangerous profession; but he is so passionately devoted to it that he cannot be present at a corrida, or bull-fight, as a mere spectator, without being irresistibly impelled to take an active part in the sport. We promised to meet him at a corrida, which he informed us would take place in Seville about the time when we expected to reach that city. Evening was now approaching. We took leave of our host and his company, and sauntered to the Alameda, to inhale the fresh atmosphere, which, in this part of Spain, is peculiarly genial and salubrious. I have often wondered that patients suffering from pulmonary complaints are not more frequently sent to the south of Spain. Cadiz is sheltered from the bleak northerly wind of winter, and the heat of summer is tempered by the marine exhalations and refreshing breezes continually wafted from the sea. But, with all its advantages, this paradisian climate is not without its evils. During summer there are intervals of intolerable sultriness, occasioned by the hot stifling wind, called the solano, which comes from the African shore. Wind it cannot correctly be called; it is the burning breath of the desert. During the prevalence of the solano a heavy stillness hangs on the atmosphere; and its elasticity seems to be annihilated. The solano is identical with that which the Italians term the sirocco. It occasions great tension of the nerves, and other unpleasant sensations. Its effect is felt even by animals, who, at its approach, manifest every symptom of uneasiness and fear. THE OLD MONUMENTAL URN. I FOUND an old grey urn, on a pale still autumn day, In a lonely wood, where shadows threw a sombre lingering ray; The hallow'd record bore the name of one of ancient race, Rear'd by the hand of kindred love, beside a favourite bower, |