The Sun.
London, England, 1844-03-15 00:00:00

LITERATURE:
WANDERINGS IN SPAIN. 2 Vols.
Newby, London, 1844.

Mr. Haverty, to wfiom we are indebted for these
volumes; was, it appears, for some months last year a
wanderer in Spain, and made such good use of his
time, that there was scarcely any city, town, or dis-
trict of consequence that he left unexplored. Of
Cordova, so well known in the Moorish annals of the
Peninsula, and still more celebrated, perhaps, as being
the birth-place of the great captain, Gonsalvo, he
gives us a most graphic and eloquent description; and
was never • weary of visiting its famous mosque,
" the effect of whose inextricable multiplicity
of graceful arcades and colonnades," he tells us, " where
at every step new vistas of matchless beauty and in-
terest meet the eye, was that of an edifice called into
existence by an enchanter's power rather than by the
labour of human hands." In the course of his wan-
dsrings in the romantic neighbourhood of the Sierra
Morena, Mr. Haverty unexpectedly encountered as
old travelling companion, an artist, whom he had parted
with some years before in Italy ; and this little incident
gives him an opportunity of introducing an interesting
anecdote respecting another artist, who had been
taken prisoner by some bandits while rambling over
the Sierra Morena, and only effected his escape by
sticking two of the foot-pads with a knife, blowing
out the brains of a third, and walking off with the
daughter of a fourth, by way of guide: The anec-
dote is related with remarkable spirit and dramatic
skill, but we take for granted that it is a
little embellished in its details, for the sake
of effect. Arrived in the provice of La Mancha,
which no reader of Cervantes can ever think of with-
out interest, our author was surprised to find how '
extreme was the poverty and wretchedness under
which its inhabitants laboured ; "it is the native
country," he says, "of nearly all the lame and blind
paupers, street-criers, and wandering musicians, who
are to be met with in the capital, and in a great part
of Spain besides." Of course, while stationary for
a time in Madrid, Mr. Haverty did not miss
the opportunity of getting a peep at the young
Queen ; he was fortunate enough to see her go down
in state to open the session of the Cortes, and describes
her as being abrupt and petulant in her manners, and
resembling her royal father—the blessed Ferdinand,
who looked so like an Angola baboon—in a certain
coarseness of expression about the mouth and chin,
if not in the general outline of her features.
Our author's sketches of the Spanish capital, of
the scenery in its immediate vicinity, of the man-
ners and customs of its inhabitants, its public build-
ings and fine picture galleries—these sketches are hit
off with great raciness and felicity of touch ; but in-
deed throughout his volumes Mr. Haverty exhibits
descriptive powers of no common order; and his
" Wanderings in Spain " are the most entertaining
volumes we have read on this subject since thedays
of Inglis. We quote a portion of his sketch of a
bull-fight at Madrid :--
" A flourish of drums and trumpets now gives the sigaal
for a new change in the performance.' One of the bande-
rilleros comes forth with a pair of light shafts armed with
barbed darts at the ends, and ornamented, as I have already
said, with ribands of cut paper. He approaches the bull in
the centre of the arena, and while the enraged brute stoops
in order to toss his rash tormentor in the air, the intrepid
banderillero plants the pair of darts in the bull's neck, just
behind the horns. Now the agony of the tortured animal is
truly piteous. He tosses his head with rage to get rid of the
shafts which cling to him ; but the barbs keep their hold,
and he only increases his own torture. Thus another, and
still another pair of banderilleros are planted in his bloody
mane ; and along each shaft a stream of blood comes trick-
ling down. The picadores now leave the field, and the
chubs make the final effort to harass the bull, until the sig-
nal is sounded for the last act of the tragedy.
" All the interest which the sanguinary exhibition hitherto
possessed, was nothing to what was then to come. The ma-
tador came forth singly from among his companions, holding
in one hand a red flag, and in the other a long two-edged
sword of the best tempered steel. He approached the bull,
concealing for awhile the sword behind his back, and
holding the flag forward to provoke the animal to the as-
sault. •Although wearied with the numerous desperate efforts
he had made, his movements were less brisk, the fury of the
bull was, nevertheless, at its highest pitch, and he prepared
to meet the new enemy with fresh vigour. Recoiling a few
paces, and stooping with his head to the earth, he steadily
observed the matador, seeming to feel that his deadliest foe
was now before him ; while the latter, leaning forward on his
left foot, held the sword on a level with his head, having the
point bent slightly downward. There was a moment of ter-
rible suspense. At length the bull lashed forward, but the
matador received the charge on his red flag, and, turning on
his heel, like Montes, allowed the bull to'pass him. The
people were disappointed. Some called him a coward, whilst
a few applauded him for the graceful style in which he
evaded the charge; and as every one delivered his opinien
as loudly as he could, the din of fierce voices was literally
deafening.
" Again the bull was brought to the attack, and the mata-
dor awaited him with the same firm and well poised attitude ;
the poor brute dashed furiously to the assault, but this time
he carried with him the sword plunged up to.the very hilt in
his withers, whilst some inches of its point appeared through
his chest below.

" The vociferations of the people were terrible, but the
word barbaro ! was the only one I could distinguish. In fact,
the pass was a bad one, for the sword should have gone in
another direction, so as not to have appeared on the opposite
side. The appearance of the noble animal as he now moved
about with the sword through him, and the barbed and
bloody shafts dangling about his forehead, was truly harrow-
ing. The life-torrent, at length, came gushing from his
chest, and formed a steaming pool beneath, in which, for a
white, he dabbled with his muzzle, for the purpose, perhaps,
of quenching his burning thirst with the only liquid he could
find—his own heart's blood."

THE BATTLE OF LONCARTY.
Churton, London, 1844.
-
• The subject of this poem is the Battle of Loncarty,
which, it ,appears, took place in Scotland about the
end-of the tenth century, when a peasant and his
two sons, who chanced to be ploughing in a field near
the place of battle, stayed the flight of the Scottish
army, just as it was on the point of being destroyed,
and thereby saved their country from subjection to
the Danish yoke. After stating this anecdote
in his preface, the author of the poem before. us goes
on to remark, " I saw no reason why this instance of
heroic patriotism in ancient Scotland should not have
a place in the rolls of fame, as well as the defence of
the Pass of Thermopylae by the Greeks, or that
of the bridge at Rome. by Horatius Cceles,
which, considering •-the --neglect into which the
history it is recorded in has fallen, I saw
no way of effecting without a touch of the pencil of
poetry." It is highly creditable to the author's sense
of patriotism that he should be anxious to give the
" Battle of Loncarty a place in the rolls of
fame ;" but we fear he has not gone the right
way about it, for his poem on this celebrated battle.
is likely to have " a place " nowhere bid on its pub-
lisher's shelves, where, if we mistake not, it is destined
to be stationary, until, in due course of time, it is
transferred from thence to the trunkmaker's. The
" Battle of Loncarty " is, in truth, a very ordinary
production; as far as mere versification• goes, it is
passable enough ; the sentiments, also, are such as do
the author credit ; but the poem is destitute of fresh-
ness and vigour, and contains not a few descriptive
passages which are diffuse and languid, and provoca-
tive only of slumber.