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* tyrant, taking up the sweet but hard pot with both his hands, • flung it down again with all his force upon my face; by the vio• lence of which blow, imagining the house had fallen upon my head, • 1 lay sprawling without any sentiment or judgment, my forehead, ‘pose and mouth, gushing out with blood, and the latter full of bro•ken teeth and broken pieces of the can.

• From that time forward, I ever abominated the monstrous old *churl, and, in spite of all his flattering stories, could easily observe how my punishment tickled the old rogue’s fancy.

• He washed my sores with wine, and with a smile, what sayest thou, (quoth be,) Lazarillo; the thing that hurt thee, now restores 'thee health ? Courage, my boy!—But all bis raillery could not *make me change my mind.'

The portraiture of the Squire, his third master, is an admirable full length of a Spanish hidalgo, with no other inheritance than bis name and a sword-of pride truckling to a neat's foot. Indeed, it is so complete and finished, that we shall give nearly the whole of it. Hogarth never struck off a more felicitous picture, and we think it partakes of his manner in some of his pieces. In other hands it would have been purely gloomy and miserable; but here the abstract wretchedness is so redeemed and relieved by the spirit of the author, that we fancy it a positive enjoyment. “Dost thou want a master, boy?" said the 'Squire, a grave and stately person, “Yes, sir,” answered Lazarillo; "Then follow me,” said the 'Squire, “and surely thou hast said some very

efficacious prayer

this morning, or art a particular favourite of heaven, since 'tis thy fortune to fall in my way.”—Lazarillo blessed his stars and followed. * * * *

[He gets nothing to eat for the whole day, except some pieces of bread which he had in his own pocket.]

The next day, the 'squire leaves home to take his usual rounds. Lazarillo waits in vain for his return until two o'clock, till he is, at last, driven, in order to satisfy the yearving of an empty stomach, to walk forth and solicit the charity of well-disposed persons.

• After this manner I went from door to door, demanding a mor. sel of bread, with my hands joined, my eyes looking up to heaven, "and the names of all the saints in my mouth, and was always sure 'to stop at the houses of best appearance. I had suck’ in all the

niceties and secrets of my profession like my mother's milk, in the service of my blind master, and so effectually did I exert my faculties on that occasion, that before four o'clock, though the sea• son was then very bad, and charity as cold, I had four pounds of good bread in my belly, and at least two pounds in my pockets. 'In my way home, going through the market, a butcher-woman

gave me a piece of an ox foot and some boiled tripe. "'squire was got home before me, and having already laid aside bis cloak, was walking at a great rate in the yard. He made up to

The poor

me when I came in, as I thought with a design to chide me for

staying so long; but God had made him of a more peaceable temper : his business was only to ask me where I had been. I told him, that having stood it out till two o'clock, and not seeing him come home, I had been to the city to recommend myself to the

charity of well-disposed persons, who had given me the bread and tripe, which I then showed him; and though I could easily observe he was rejoiced at the sight, Poor boy, (quoth he,) seeing thou wert so long a coming, I dined alone. Better beg in God's 'pame than steal; only take care, for my honour, that nobody know

thou art in my service, which 'tis very easy for thee to do, since I ‘am so little known in this town, and wou'd to God I had never seen

it.—- Alas! sir, (said I,) why should you trouble yourself about that? Nobody asks me such questions, and I have no occasion to "talk to any body of it.-Well, poor Lazarillo, (quoth he,) eat thy

dinner. We shall be in a better condition, an't please God, in a O little while; though, to tell the truth, this is a most unlucky house;

nothing has prospered with me since I came to it; it must certainly 'be situated under some unhappy planet; there are several such houses, which communicate their unluckiness to those that dwell in them, of which, doubtless, this is one ; but I promise thee, as soon as this month is out, I will bid adieu to it.

· I sat down upon the end of the stone seat, and began to eat, that he might fancy I was fasting; and observed, without seeming to take notice, that his eye was fixed upon my skirt, which was all the plate and table that I had.

• May God pity me as I had compassion on that poor 'squire; daily experience made me sensible of his trouble. I did not know whether I should invite him; for since he had told me he had dined, I thought he would inake a point of honour to refuse to eat; but, in short, being very desirous to supply his necessity, as I had . done the day before, and which I was then much better in a cou. dition to do, having already sufficiently stuffed my own guts, it

was not long before an opportunity fairly offered itself; for he taking occasion to come near me in his walks, Lazarillo, quoth

he, (as soon as he observed me begin to eat,) I never saw any body • eat so handsomely as thee; a body can scarce see thee fall to work without desiring to bear thee company; let their stomachs be ever so full, or their mouth ever so much out of taste. Faith, thought • I to myself, with such an empty belly as yours, my own mouth • would water at a great deal less.

But finding he was come where I wished him; Sir, (said I, good stuff makes a good workman. This is admirable bread, and here's an ox foot so nicely drest, and so well seasoned, that 'any body would delight to taste of it.

• How! cry'd the 'squire, interrupting me, an ox foot? Yes, sir,

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(said I,) an ox foot. Ah! then, (quoth he,) thou hast, in my

opinion, the delicatest bit in Spain; there being neither partridge, • pheasant, nor any other thing, that I like near so well as that.

Will you please to try, sir? (said I,) putting the ox foot in his hand, with two good morsels of bread; when you have tasted it, ' you will be convinced that 'tis a treat for a king, 'tis so well • dressed and seasoned.

• Upon that, sitting down by my side, he began to eat, or rather • to devour what I had given him, so that the bones could hardly

escape. Oh, the excellent bit, (did he cry,) that this would be * with a little garlick. Ha! thought I to myself, how lustily thou * eatest it without sauce. Gad, (said the 'squire,) I have eaten this

as heartily as if I had not tasted a bit of victuals to-day; which • I did very easily believe. He then called for the pitcher with the • water, which was full as I had brought it home; so you may 'guess whether he had eat any."

Our hero's master being one day in better humour than ordinary, because he had had a tolerable dinner, was pleased to give him the following account of his affairs.

He told me, that he was of Old Castile, and that he had left his country only because he would not pull off his hat to a person of quality of his neighbourhood. But, sir, (quoth I, if he was 'your superior by his birth and estate, as you seem to own he was, 'you might well enough have saluted hiin first, without any injury to yourself, since he did not fail to make you a civil return.

All that's true enough, answered the 'squire. He was a greater man than I, and returned my civilities; but he should have begun • once, and forced me to let myself be saluted first, by taking me .by the hand when he saw me carrying it to my head to pull off my hat.

For my part, sir, (quoth I,) I should not have minded things so nearly.

* Yes, that's well enough for thee, (interrupted he.) Thou art but young, and so a stranger to those sentiments of honour, in which the riches of those that now profess it do principally consist. But thou must know, that, a simple 'squire as I am, if I met a prince in the street, and he did not take off his hat to me right, (I say, stake it off right,) gadzooks, on the first occasion I would find a

way to go into some house, under pretence of business, or slip "away into the next street before he came near me, that I might not be obliged to salute him. Look ye, (continued the 'squire,) except God and the king, a gentleman is inferior to none, and ought not to yield an ace to any.

“I remember, (added he,) I taught an officer good manners once, and had like to have caned him for saluting me with a God save you. Learn to speak as you ought, Mr. Scoundrel, (said 1,) and

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don't use me like sach a clown as yourself, with your God save ‘you! And after that, he never failed to salute me as far as he could see me, and to speak when he came near me, as became • him.

Here I could not avoid interrupting him. What, sir, (said I,) is it an offence to say, God save a man?

•What a foolish boy is this! (answered the 'squire.) That's well senough for ordinary people; but for a man of my quality, the • least that can be given is, your most humble servant, sir; or at • least, your servant, if it be a gentleman that speaks to me: and 'you may see by that, whether it was fit for me to submit to the behaviour of my noble neighbour, who, to tell you the truth, did • likewise use to plague me, upon all occasions, with a God save 'you, sir! No, by St. Anthony, I'll never take a God save you at any body's hands but the king's, if they were to add, my lord, at the end of the compliment, to sweeten it.'

This production, which was printed in 1586, is attributed to D. Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, who was not only a soldier, philosopher, historian, and statesman, but a poet; who, in his vernacular language, was second to none of his age. It is by some, also, ascribed to John de Ortega, a monk.*

The work being left incomplete by the author, a second part was added by H. de Luna, which is much inferior to the first.–Lazarillo, after having served all sorts of masters, been water-carrier, public crier, Indian merchant, sea-monster, gentleman-usher, &c. died a recluse. His being converted into a sea-monster is vastly extravagant. As he is returning from South America, he is wrecked off the coast of his native country, and escapes on a plauk to shore, but so intangled and covered with sea-weeds, that certain fishermen, by whom he is found, conceive the idea of showing him about the country as a sea-monster, which they actually put in execution.

The translation, as our readers have no doubt remarked, is executed in a masterly, spirited, and excellent style.

Art. VII. Various Prospects of Mankind, Nature, and Provi

dence ; London, 1761. [Review-August, 1820.]

Mr. Wallace, the author of the work before us, was of the number of those speculators who have delighted to form schemes of ideal felicity for their species. Men of this class, often despised as dreaming theorists, have been found among the best and wisest of all ages. Those, indeed, who have seen the farthest into their na

* Vide Bibliot. Hisp. Nova, tom. 1. p. 291.

ture, have found the surest grounds of hope even for its earthly destiny. Their gentle enthusiasm has been, at the least, innoxious. The belief, that humanity is on the decline that the energy of man is decaying—that the heart is becoming harder—and that imagination and intellect are dwindling away-lays an icy finger on the soul, confirms the most debasing selfishness, and tends to retard the blessedness which it denies. We propose, therefore, in this article, very cursorily to inquire how far the hopes of those who believe that man is, on the whole, advancing, are sanctioned by experience and by reason.

But we must not forget, that, in the very work before us, an obstacle to the happiness of the species is brought forward, which has subsequently been explained as of a dreadful nature, and has been represented as casting an impenetrable gloom over the brightest anticipations of human progress. We sball first set it forth in the words of Wallace-then trace its expansion and various application by Malthus--and inquire how far it compels us to despair for man.

• Under a perfect government, the inconveniences of having a family would be so entirely removed, children would be so well ta"ken care of, and every thing become so favourable to populous'ness, that though some sickly seasons or dreadful plagues in par'ticular climates might cut off multitudes, yet, in general, mankind ' would increase so prodigiously, that the earth would at last be overstocked, and become unable to support its numerous inha•bitants.

• How long the earth, with the best culture of which it is capable * from human genius and industry, might be able to nourish its 'perpetually increasing inhabitants, is as impossible as it is unnecessary to be determined. It is not probable that it could have

supported them during so long a period as since the creation of 'Adam. But whatever may be supposed of the length of this pe'riod, of necessity it must be granted, that the earth could not 'nourish them for ever, unless either its fertility could be continually 'augmented, or, by some secret in nature, like what certain enthusiasts have expected from the philosopher's stone, some wise adept in the occult sciences should invent a method of supporting man'kind, quite different from any thing known at present. Nay, though some extraordinary method of supporting them might possibly be found out, yet, if there was no bound to the increase of mankind, which would be the case under a perfect government, 'there would not even be sufficient room for containing their bodies

upon the surface of the earth, or upon any limited surface what'soever. It would be necessary, therefore, in order to find room 'for such multitudes of men, that the earth should be continually enlarging in bulk, as an animal or vegetable body.' * * *

How dreadfully would the magistrates of such commonwealths

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