tails of social life; the valor, and the great appetite of the hero; the palace of Armida, and an inn; the enchanted princesses, and Maritorna."

"These considerations may account for the fact that some persons have considered Don Quixote to be the most melancholy book that was ever written. The ground-work and moral of the romance are, in fact, of a mournful character. Cervantes has, in some degree, exhibited the vanity of noble feelings and the illusions of heroism. He has described, in Don Quixote, an accomplished man, who is, notwithstanding, the constant object of ridicule; a man brave beyond all that history can boast of, who affronts the most terrific, not only of mortal, but of supernatural perils; a man whose high sense of honor permits him not to hesitate for a single moment in the accomplishment of his promises, or to deviate in the slightest degree from truth. His most generous enterprises, however, end only in blows and bruises. His love of glory is the bane of all around him. The conclusion which we draw from the perusal of Don Quixote is, that a high degree of enthusiasm is not only prejudicial to the individual who nourishes it, and is thus resolved to sacrifice himself to others, but that it is equally dangerous to society, the spirit and institutions of which, it counteracts and throws into disorder."*

It is difficult to believe that the main object of Cervantes, in the preparation of his Don Quixote, was any thing but what he himself avowed: "to overthrow the ill-compiled machine of books of chivalry." The deep design which Sismondi ascribes to him seems to us to be out of the question. We are compelled to concur in the general judgment of the world, and hold, with Hallam, that "Cervantes had no more profound aim than he proposes to the reader. If the fashion of reading bad romances of chivalry perverted the taste of his contemporaries, and rendered their language ridiculous, it was natural that a zealous lover of good literature should expose this folly to the world by exaggerating its effects on a fictitious personage."+ It is not improbable, however, that Don Quixote contains allusions to some abuses of the age, which we do not fully comprehend. Señor Castro thinks that there are such, and that, among other abominations, the Spanish Inquisition is covertly assailed. Anaya pronounces a similar judgment, when he says, that the object of Cervantes was not merely to criticise books of chivalry, but that he also had in view the

*Literature of Europe, II., p. 220. + History of Literature, II., p. 235.

manners of his time, which he did not dare to describe openly."*

To a critic of the analytical school, bent on originating a new theory of Don Quixote, it would not be difficult to suggest some other interpretation equally plausible. It might, we think, be shown with considerable probability, that the aim of Cervantes was to illustrate the inconveniences which beset a man who is "behind the age,"for the knight of La Mancha was confessedly in the rear of his, or the folly of self-conceit, or, perhaps, on a general scale, and for the edification of posterity, to show

"What dangers do environ

The man that meddles with cold iron."

We are satisfied with the author's own explanation. The readers of this incomparable work-and they are found the world over-may differ in respect to the specific aim of the author; but here all doubt and differences must end. All unite in admiration of the genius, and commiseration for the misfortunes, which have made Cervantes at once the glory and the shame of his country.

As no English translation of El Buscapié has yet appeared in America, it may be as well briefly to delineate the plan and structure of the work before us, We shall, therefore, attempt a brief analysis of the story, but must admonish the reader that we do not design, like the wiseacre in Hierocles, to exhibit a brick as a sample of the building. To appreciate the Buscapié, he must read it for himself. And now for our outline.

It chanced on a certain occasion, as Cervantes was on a journey to Toledo, that he met, not far from the bridge of Toledo, a bachelor of law, who was mounted on a wretched nag, which, according to the description of our author, might have been near akin to Rozinante, blind in one eye and not very sound in the other, and so stiff in his legs. that he stumbled at almost every step. The travellers exchange salutations, and the bachelor urges along his frightful-looking beast, "burdened with years and scars," and tries, by spurring and hallooing, to stir him up to a trot, very much to the amusement of Cervantes, but little to his own relief; for the surly animal takes offence at this

* Essay on Spanish Literature, London, 1818, p. 48.

treatment and resolves to go backward instead of forward. At this the bachelor flies into a towering passion, and, dropping his cloak that his arm may have fair play, belabors the stubborn brute most furiously, but not with the result he anticipated; for the nag resents the heavy blows which are showered upon him, begins to kick, and, after divers extraordinary flourishes of his hind legs in the air, throws his unfortunate rider to the ground. Cervantes pricks up his mule, and, approaching the unhorsed bachefor, as he lies wallowing in the dirt and venting his passion in cries and imprecations, alights, and begs him to be calm, to arise and proceed on his journey, adding, by way of condolence, that nothing better could be expected from such a miserable hack. The bachelor, however, dissents from Cervantes on this point, and thinks that the accident is to be ascribed to the high mettle of his courser. Cervantes suppresses, as well as he can, the merriment which is excited by the remark of the bachelor, assists him to rise, which is a matter of some difficulty, as he is badly bruised, and, on surveying him more attentively, finds him to be one of the oddest-looking fellows he had ever beheld. He had a diminutive body, surmounted by a huge hump, and supported by legs which, from the cir cumstance of their being crooked, were marvellously like two slices of melon, and other things to match.

The discomfited cavalier, being once more upon his legs, raises his hands to his head to see that his crown is safe, and then examines into the condition of his bones. Taking Cervantes for a doctor, because he rides a mule, he begs him to prescribe for his ailments; to which Cervantes replies that he is no doctor, but he would, nevertheless, recommend to him rest and sleep, and offers to accompany him to the shade of some trees near the road. Whereat the bachelor is greatly pleased. But, instead of proceeding at once to the shade, the bachelor, who proves to be a very loquacious personage, begins to express his indignation and surprise at the injuries inflicted by that "ferocious beast" upon him-"a graduate of the University of Salamanca, and not of Alcalá."

"Wo's me," he exclaims, "what a disaster! But they told me at the inn that he was a fiery fellow, and somewhat vicious, although, in every other respect, a noble animal." And here he favors Cervantes with an elaborate

enumeration of the excellencies of his steed-a thing more appropriate in a jockey than in a limb of the law-to which the latter replies that he sees no such excellencies as he has described, that, on the contrary, the nag is a poor, attenuated beast, full of bad humors within, and scars without.

The bachelor takes no offence at the freedom of his companion, but attemps to account for his extravagant praise of his nag, by alledging his short-sightedness, an affliction to which he was doomed in his tenderest years, and which has been greatly aggravated by "much reading and no little writing. And I would inform your worship," he continues, "that I left the inn, with a very excellent pair of spectacles; but for my miserable sins, this colt . . .

"Well, let it be hack, if that's This hack, as your worship is to-day, gave four or five bounds,

“Hack, you mean," says Cervantes. the word, or if you desire it so to be. pleased to call him, at leaving the inn (for I am not certain as to the precise number of them) and as I was not in a condition to prevent it, they tumbled me over into a stream, from which I came forth in an evil plight, with the loss of my spectacles. And that was the worst of all the falls, which in consequence of some evil demon having taken possession of this animal, I have received on this tragical morning."

"This is not the first time then," continues Cervantes, "that you have been thrown by that nag, that walking pannier of bones."

Here the bachelor fetches a sigh from the very bottom. of his heart, and assures his companion that he has suffered dreadfully--that, on crossing the bridge of Toledo, had he not seized the mane of his horse, he would have gone down to the ground with a velocity which would have finished his journey before it was begun."

It now occurs to the bachelor that, instead of wasting his time in idle talk, he had better seek the shelter of the trees. The travellers, accordingly, secure their animals by the reins, to the trunks of the trees, and seat themselves on the ground to enjoy the cool and refreshing shade. For the purpose of passing away the time, the bachelor opens his leather wallet, and producing a couple of volumes, begins to comment upon their literary merits. The first is a collection of poems by Pedro de Ezinas. Having learned the opinion of his fellow traveller, and given his own, he lays the volume aside, and says "that other book is not

worth two coppers, for it is full of ignorance and madness, and other things void of reason and judgment, and is, in fact, the quintessence of the folly and nonsense which characterize the works of its class, so pernicious to the commonwealth." Whereupon he opens the leaves, and Cervantes beholds, to his great surprize and confusion, the title of Don Quixote. But soon recovering, he suggests to his companion that the book is a very pleasant performance, excellent in matter and style, and free from all personalities, and that the author deserves credit for his ingenuity and discretion in attempting, in that way, to banish from the commonwealth those pernicious books of chivalry.

The object of Cervantes in the Buscapié is now fairly before us. The bachelor and the author argue the case with interest, and a keen encounter of wits, the former endeavoring to show that books of chivalry had never produced the evils which the latter ascribes to them-that even if they had, if was a poor way to mend the matter by composing one which was a great deal worse than all the rest. To the objections of the bachelor, Cervantes replies, as we have intimated in a previous portion of this article, by citing numerous instances of persons whose heads had been turned by these books, and who had, in consequence, sallied forth in quest of adventures.

The bachelor is a queer compound of skepticism and credulity. He denies the existence of knight errants, yet tells the most marvellous and incredible tales about the achievements of his father in the German wars; persists in maintaining the harmlessness of books of chivalry, yet shows, by his conversation, that his own head is turned, and that he himself is reading to attempt adventures. In fact, the bachelor of law is almost as mad a fellow as Don Quixote himself. He resembles the famous Manchegan also, in his happy ignorance of his own defects, in the facility with which he persuades himself that his blemishes are beauties, and that his very hump, is a most valuable and ornamental supplement to his fair person.

The travellers continue to argue the case, when the discussion is suddenly arrested by a most unexpected and lamentable accident. The bachelor's horse having got loose, and being moved and instigated by the wicked demon within him, made an attack upon the mule, which she resisted with such vigorous and well-aimed blows, that the first