"Who painted it ?" "Ay! pecador de mi! Ah, sinner that I am! There it is-it is not painted at all !" "Hombre! What do you mean, then ?" "Verrá usted. You shall see, sir. When our blessed Lord was on the cross, (here he made the sign upon his person) and his face sweated with agony, the Most Holy Virgin wiped it with her pocket-handkerchief, and the image of the Divine Countenance was impressed on the handkerchief so as to look like a picture; and there it has remained to this day, and that very handkerchief is now in Jaen Cathedral." Do you believe this to be true ?" A doubt of the authenticity of the miracle seemed scarcely before to have crossed the simple fellow's mind, for he hesitated a moment, and then replied, "Dios sabe, yo no,—God knows, not I." I relate the above and similar stories to show the gross superstition which formerly prevailed in this country-formerly, I say, because such absurdities are now credited by few except women, who are generally more tenacious of their religious belief than the other sex. Yet many females, though otherwise good Catholics-regular attendants at mass and the confessional,--give little credence to such ridicu lous miracles and legends; and their number is likely to increase, owing to the expulsion of the monks, and the declining influence of the priests. I hardly imagine that Juanico himself, with all his simplicity, was capable of swallowing the absurdities he related with so much solemnity, but rather consider the air which he, in common with many of his countrymen, assumed in such narrations, as the effect of long-formed habits, a lingering reverence for the mysteries of the mother religion, increased, perhaps, for the time, by the consciousness of addressing a heretic. Thus I have heard stories pregnant with the most absurd superstition, issue with the greatest solemnity from the lips of those who at other times would avow themselves entire disbelievers in revelation, or even atheists. In fact, habits are not so readily changed as opinions; the mind may for some time continue to produce the same effects under contrary influences, just as the ocean preserves its swell long after the tempest has subsided. When we reflect, however, that such gross credulity, such abject blindness to priestcraft, was, at no distant period, almost universal in Spain, we cannot but rejoice at the present altered state of things, and hail any events which are likely to induce a still further enlightenment of the minds of the people. The inhabitants of Seville appeared to me to retain more reverence for the Catholic faith than those of any other city of Andalu. sia that I visited, if their attendance at public worship be a fair test; for, whereas in every other city, few, and females alone, were to be seen at mass; in Seville, the congregations at the churches were comparatively numerous, and comprised a fair sprinkling of males. Besides, I observed at Seville an unusual number of those branches of date palm consecrated by the priests on Palm-Sunday, which are so often seen in Andalusia, fancifully wrought into little baskets, and fixed in the gratings of the balconies as preservatives against lightning. Yet even in Seville Catholicism is on the decline, as is sometimes evinced by little things. For instance, the old custom of uncovering the head, signing the cross, and muttering a petition common to the gay crowd on the Prado when the bells tolled la oracion— the hour of evening prayer-which, according to Inglis, was still preserved in 1830 at Seville, is now in entire disuse. Let it not be forgotten that Seville, to use the words of an old chronicler, Rodrigo Čaro, "was the first (city) that with ardent zeal for the purity and preservation of the Catholic faith, raised the tremendous and fearful wall of the Holy Office of the Inquisition against heretical depravity and apostasy." The court was first held January 2nd, 1481, in the Dominican Convent of San Pablo. Does this fact redound to the honour of Seville, as Caro would have us believe? Audi alteram partem! Within one year from its establishment this tribunal had burnt at the stake two thousand persons, and reconciled seventeen thousand more, or, in other words, had inflicted on them fines and confiscations, subjected them to torture, or condemned them to imprisonment, in many instances perpetual !* The Cathedral of Seville is famed for its treasures, which, being removed to Cadiz on the invasion of the French in 1810, escaped the rapacity of those harpies. The custodia, or temple, in which the Host is carried in procession through the city, is of solid silver, twelve feet high, and of enormous weight. A cross, and pair of candlesticks of massive gold, are interesting as being formed of the first of that metal brought from America by Columbus. An immense crown, with a star, ten or twelve feet in diameter, and numerous tall and massive candlesticks, all of solid silver, have already been mentioned as used to decorate the high altar on special occasions. In the sacristy are also deposited the vestments of the priests-some of the most superb description; of the richest damasked silks, fringed with gold, and literally covered with precious stones. In fact, they are so loaded with ornaments as greatly to fatigue the wearers. Gazing on all this wealth, I could not but regret that it should lie here useless, instead of being advantageously employed for the benefit of the country, in the formation of roads and canals-the thing above all others required to promote the civilization of Spain-in the suppression of banditti; in the education of the rising generation; or even in the extinction of the civil war, which will most probably be its ultimate use. The above is not the only wealth of which this cathedral can boast -it is equally rich in sacred relics. The particulars of this exhibition have almost slipt my memory, but I can remember an arm-bone of St. Bartholomew, a thorn of the Saviour's crown in a glass bottle, and a large fragment of the true cross. The most precious and marvellous morsels, however,-the tit-bits of the collection-are not exposed to heretical eyes. This fragment of the cross, by the by, according to Juanico, once proved its own genuineness. When thrown into the flames by some unbelieving monarch, it took fire indeed, but sent forth such an odour as to suffocate the king and all his followers, and, on being extracted from the flames, resumed immediately its original appearance of unburnt wood. The only interesting part of this exhibition is the ancient keys of Seville; one, said to be the key delivered to Ferdinand by the Moors at the surrender of * Vide Mariana and Zurita. the city in 1248, has words in the shape of Arabic characters; the other, of gold, is worked in the same manner with the words, "Dios abrirà ; "God will open, I was struck with the apparently slight protection afforded to these relics. Though pious thefts are now almost out of fashion, though the relics themselves might offer no temptation, yet the precious caskets and cases in which they are inclosed-the shells, if not the kernels would prove a valuable booty. In one small court a few wooden bars alone served to protect them from robbery, and though the court is only legitimately accessible through the iron gates of the sacristy leading into the cathedral, yet a daring house-breaker might easily find his way over the roofs, and descend into it. A great nuisance is the host of beggars who at all times infest the cathedral. They select this spot, doubtless not from selfish motives, but wholly out of regard to the souls of the faithful; that these may not want continual opportunities of putting into practice the charity inculcated by their priests, and thus swelling the creditor side of their account with Heaven. "The maimed, the halt, the blind," the dumb, and cripples of every description, the most hideous distortions of humanity, the victims of every fearful accident and disease, are here in swarms; and they appear as proud of and as anxious to display their deformities as most of us are to conceal them. Whoever visited the cathedral in the summer of 1836 must remember one frightful little urchin squatting on the ground, with his bare legs, withered to mere twigs, twisted up in a hideous manner before him. Nevertheless the little man was not deficient in activity of locomotion. I had never entered the building many minutes before quick shuffling noise warned me of his approach, and there he was, working his way towards me, perhaps from the further extremity of the aisle, by the rapid motion of his hands along the pavement. Objects such as these cannot fail to excite compassion as well as disgust; it is impossible to steel one's self against their petitions, strange as these often are. "Deme usted, caballerito, una limosnita, un ochavico, por el amor de Dios !-Give me, cavalier, a little alms; but a mite, for the love of God!"—or, por las angustias del Santo Christo -by the agonies of the Holy Christ!" or, por los dolores de la Santissima Virgen-by the pangs of the Most Holy Virgin!" and sometimes is added as a further inducement, "el bendito San Antonio que está arriba en los cielos se la pagará á usted—the blessed St. Anthony, who is above in heaven, will repay your mercy!" or some quaint proverb, as, "El dar limosna Nunca mengua la bolsa !" 66 66 "Alms to the poor a We are apt to imagine that the "native pride" of Spaniards would prevent them from begging. No such thing. This pride is displayed, however, in another way, especially by the men, in the authoritative tone in which they demand rather than petition for charity. Their matchless effrontery is equalled only by their filth. I have frequently observed them, even in the Cathedral, perform ing friendly operations on each other's heads and rags. In fact, the observation of Beckford on the mendicants of Portugal would ap ply with more force to those of Spain; "no beggars equal them for strength of lungs, luxuriance of sores, profusion of vermin, variety and arrangement of tatters, and dauntless perseverance." Beggars of all classes are numerous enough in every part of Spain, and since the expulsion of their patrons, the monks, have transferred their attendance from the convents to the churches; but never do I remember witnessing such an assemblage as within and around the walls of Seville Cathedral. The eye is never weary of beholding, nor the mind of contemplating, this magnificent temple. Every day of my short stay in Seville, I spent many hours within its walls, besides frequently availing myself of it as a passage from one part of the city to the other. Apart from its intrinsic charms, the grateful coolness, and tender twilight within, made it a delicious retreat from the intolerable heat and glare of the burning streets. It is an epoch in one's life to see Seville Cathedral. Its outlines, forms, and hues, once beheld, are indelibly impressed upon the memory, remembered with a reverential love, and in after years will haunt the imagination with a vividness and reality almost startling. Has the stranger visited it at break of day, when the earliest rays of the sun played high on the columns and groined roofs, leaving all below still buried in shade; when the matin prayer and chaunt arose, wreathed in incense, from the suppliant few before the altar?-as he watched the light creeping down the pillars, and increasing in brilliancy, till what was before obscure became definite and distinct; till the noon-day blaze, softened, mellowed, and tinged, was diffused throughout, penetrating the darkest recesses of the building, and making the whole stand forth in its fairest proportions, a wondrous creation of art with almost the sublimity of nature ?— Has he beheld the long train of priests, marching in stately procession through the aisles, with glimmering tapers, glittering banners, and clouds of incense?-Has he visited it at the hour of evening prayer, when the dying light of day accorded so well with the exercise of devotion; when the blaze from the high altar threw a more mysterious gloom around, dimly and doubtfully revealing the rest of the church; when the organ pealed unseen from above, a chorus, as it were, of celestial music ?-Or, still later, when, as the shades of twilight deepened, the soaring roofs were lost to the eye, and the huge columns seemed to stretch up into boundless space; and when the tapers before some far-off shrine seemed burning at an indefinite distance ?-Or, in the hour of silence, solitude, and darkness, has he paced the deserted aisles, and experienced the tremendous sense of remaining alone with the Deity? Has he witnessed and felt all this?-his mind must have been irre sistibly and profoundly impressed, and he must have owned "That in such moments there was life and food THE HEARTH OF SCRIVELSBY COURT. A MEMORIAL FOR THE SEASON. BY EDMUND CARRINGTON, ESQ. AUTHOR OF "CONFESSIONS OF AN OLD BACHELOR," ETC. THE hearth of Scrivelsby! the Christmas hearth of the "Good Old House"! what jocund associations does it awaken! mingled too with that "pleasing pain," that "sweet-bitter," due to the cherished memories of the past. Percy, Ritson, and Evans! many a sweet and simple legend illustrative of our old English annals, of the outlawed Robin, and his compeers of Sherwood, of the feuds of Chevy Chase, have ye given to the world; but there are melodies which yet vibrate through the family circles of some of our best old English houses, to which ye have not had access, but whose echoes now reach us at this festive season of their annual revival, and to a participation in which we gladly invite our readers. Whose is the eye that will not sparkle to peruse a tale of the house so celebrated by our favourite British minstrel, Scott-the house of Marmyon, of old seated at Scrivelsby, and at present represented by the Dymokes ?* Let us hie then to the venerable halls, quick as thought can snatch us -for steam has not yet found them out, nor set their old timbers buzzing to the vibration of its drone. Look out on the forest grounds! their hoary sweep around presents one frozen sea of snow, except here and there a green speck, where the deer cower beneath the bare arms of those gnarled oaks, and with their vital warmth thaw for themselves a spot of herbage, for which they contend with the desolating spirit of the season. The jocund horn of the huntsman is mute; its throat frozen up, and all its merry notes dormant and ice-bound, till a more genial change of weather awaken their glad clamours again,--as in the instance of the horn of the redoubted Munchausen! The foxhunter, debarred from the joys of the chase, soothes his impatience, as best he may, by the associations of it which are recalled in the bay of the hounds that echoes on his ear from the kennel across yonder dreary lea! But, turn from those old diamond panes of the hall-casement, barred up, as they are, by the icicles, that droop spirally over them, and gleam chilly through the frozen atmosphere; turn from that void of Nature's nakedness, where monotony and dearth are the gaunt phantoms that haunt its gloom; turn from these, to greet the bright-blazing hearth within, and the more cheering associations it kindles in the bosom! Do honour to the season, and celebrate the festivities of that ancient hearth which has cheered in its merry gleam how many a long and wintry night, through how many a revolving year from the far past to the now. dawning era of Christmas! All swept away like shadows are the joyous forms that have disported through their by-gone day of pleasure and Christmas round that hearth! They are swept away as the sear leaves of the by-gone year through yonder forest-mazes, and new forms raise the laughter-shout in their place ;-but we forget! Our regrets (albeit brief and transient) are leading us away from the present joy: yet worthy regrets are they, and due to cherished names; and, if a |