'The Life and Correspondence of Dr. Arnold,' by ARTHUR P. STANLEY (now dean of Westminster), two volumes, 1844, is valuable as affording an example of a man of noble, independent nature, and also as furnishing a great amount of most interesting information relative to the public schools of England, and the various social and political questions which agitated the country from 1820 to 1840. Whether agreeing with, or dissenting from, the views of Dr. Arnold, it is impossible not to admire his love of truth and perfect integrity of character. In intellectual energy, decision, and uprightness he resembled Johnson, but happily his constitutional temperament was as elastic and cheerful as that of Johnson was desponding and melancholy. We add a few scraps from Arnold's letters and diary, which form so interesting a portion of Dean Stanley's memoir.

Few Men take Life in Earnest.

I meet with a great many persons in the course of the year, and with many whom I admire and like; but what I feel daily more and more to need, as life every year rises more and more before me in its true reality, is to have intercourse with those who take life in earnest. It is very painful to me to be always on the surface of things; and I feel that iterature, science, politics, many topics of far greater interest than mere gossip or talking about the weather, are yet, as they are generally talked about, still upon the surface-they do not touch the real depths of life. It is not that I want much of what is called religious conversation-that, I believe, is often on the surface, like other conversation-but I want a sign which one catches as by a sort of masonry, that a man knows what he is abont in life whither tending, in what cause engaged; and when I find this, it seems to open my heart as thoroughly, and with as fresh a sympathy, as when I was twenty years younger.

Home and Old Friends.

These are times when I am least of all inclined to loosen the links which bind me to my oldest and dearest friends; for I imagine we shall all want the union of all the good men we can get together; and the want of sympathy which I cannot but feel towards many of those whom I meet with, makes me think how delightful it would be to have daily intercourse with those with whom I ever feel it thoroughly. What people do in middle life, without a wife and children to turn to. I cannot imagine; for I think the affections must be eadly checked and chilled, even in the best men, by their intercourse with people such as one usually finds them in the world. I do not mean that one does not meet with good and sensible people; but then their minds are set, and our minds are set. and they will not, in mature age, grow into each other; but with a home filled with those whom we entirely love and sympathise with, and with some old friends, to whom one can open one's heart fully from time to time, the world's society has rather a bracing influence to make one shake off mere dreams of delight.

London and Mont Blanc.

In

August 1, 1837.-We passed through London, with which I was once so familiar; and which now I almost gaze at with the wonder of a stranger. That enormous city, grand beyond all other earthly grandeur, sublime with the sublimity of the sea or of mountains, is yet a place that I should be most sorry to call my home. fact. its greatness repels the notion of home; it may be a palace. but it cannot be a home. How different from the mingled greatness and sweetness of our mountain valleys! and yet he who were strong in body and mind onght to desire rather, if he must do one, to spend all his life in London. than all his life in Westmoreland. For not yet can energy and rest be united in one, and this is not our time and place for rest, but for energy.

August 2, 1839.-I am come out alone, my dearest, to this spot, to see the morning

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[TO 1876. sun on Mont Blanc and on the lake, and to look with more, I trust, than outward eyes on this glorious scene. It is overpowering, like all other intense beauty, if you dwell upon it; but I contrast it immediately with our Rugby horizon, and our life of duty there, and our cloudy sky of England-clouded socially, alas! far more darkly than physically. But, beautiful as this is, and peaceful, may I never breathe a wish to retire hither, even with you and our darlings, if it were possible; but may I be strengthened to labour. and to do and to suffer in our own beloved country and church, and to give my life, if so called upon, for Christ's cause and for them. And if-as I trust it will-this rambling and this beauty of nature in foreign lands, shall have strengthened me for my work at home, then we may both rejoice that we have had this little parting.

SIR WILLIAM STIRLING-MAXWELL.

The Cloister Life of the Emperor Charles V.,' 1852, by WILLIAM STIRLING, of Keir (now Sir William Stirling-Maxwell, Bart.), supplies deficiencies and corrects errors in the popular account of the emperor in Robertson's History. He had access to documents unknown to Robertson, and was, besides, more familiar with Spanish literature. This work, it must be confessed, destroys part of the romance of the life of Charles, while it adds materially to our knowledge of it. For example, Robertson states that the table of the em peror was neat and plain,' but Sir William draws a very different picture of the cuisine:

Epicurean Habits of the Emperor Charles V.

In this matter of eating, as in many other habits, the emperor was himself a true Fleming. His early tendency to gout was increased by his indulgeuce at table, which generally far exceeded his feeble powers of digestion. Roger Ascham, standing hard by the imperial table at the feast of golden fleece.' watched with wonder the en.peror's progress through sod beef. roast mutton, baked hare,' after which he fed well off a capon.' drinking also, says the Fellow of St. John's, 'the best that ever I saw; he had his head in the glass five times as long as any of them, and never drank less than a good quart at once of Rhenish wine.' Eating was now the only phy-ical gratification which he could still enjoy, or was unable to resist. He continued. therefore, to dine to the last upon the rich dishes, against which his ancient and trusty confessor, Cardinal Loaysa, had protested a quarter of a century before. The supply of his table was a main subject of the correspondence between the mayordomo and the secretary of state. The weekly courier from Valladolid to Lisbon was ordered to change his route that he might bring, every Thursday, a provision of ees and other rich fish (pescado grueso) for Friday's fast. There was a constant demand for anchovies, tuuny, and other potted fish, and sometimes a complaint that the fronts of the country were too small; the olives, on the other hand, were too large, and the emperor wished, instead, for olives of Perejon. One day, the secretary of state was asked for some partridges from Gama, a place from whence the emperor remembers that the Count of Orsono once sent him, into Flanders, some of the best partridges in the world. Another day, sausages were queen Juana, now in glory, used to pride herself in making, in the Flemish wanted of the kind which the fashion, at Tordesillas, and for the receipt for which the secretary is referred to the Marquess of Denia' although sent to a land supreme in that anufacture, gave great satisfaction. Of Both orders were punctually executed. the partridges. the emperor said that they used to be better, ordering, however, The sausages, the remainder to be pickled. The emperor's weakness being generally known or soon discovered, dainties of all kinds were sent to him as presents. Mutton, pork, and game were the povisions most easily obtained at Xarandilla; but they were dear. The bread was indifferent. and nothing was good and abundant but chestnut the staple food of the people. But in a very few days the castle larder wanted for nothing. One day the Count of Oropesa sent an offer.ng of game; another day a

pair of fat caives arrived from the archbishop of Zaragoza; the archbishop of Toledo and the Duchess of Frias were constant and magnificent in their gifts of venison, fruit, and preserves; and supplies of all kinds came at regular intervals from Seville, and from Portugal. Luis Quixada, who knew the emperor's habits and constitution well, beheld with dismay these long trains of mules laden, as it were, with gout and bile. He never acknowledged the receipt of the good things from Valladolid without adding some disinal forebodings of consequent mischief; and along with an order he sometimes conveyed a hint that it would be much better if no means were found of executing it. If the emperor made a hearty meal without being the worse for it the mayordomo noted the fact with exultation: and he remarked with complacency his majesty's fondness for plovers, which he considered harmless. But his office of purveyor was more commonly exercised under protest; and he interposed between his master and an eel-pie as in other days, he would have thrown himself between the imperial person and the point of a Moorish lance.

The retirement of the emperor took place on the 3d of February 1557. He carried with him to his cloister sixty attendants-not twelve, as stated by Robertson; and in his retreat at Yuste he wielded the royal power as firmly as he had done at Augsburg or Toledo. His regular life, however had something in it of monastic quiet-his time was measured out with punctual attention to his various employments; he fed his pet birds or suntered among his trees and flowers, and joined earnestly in the religious observances_of_the monks. The subjoined scene is less strikingly painted than in Robertson's narrative, but is more correct:

The Emperor performs the Funeral Service for Himself.

About this time [August 1558], according to the historian of St. Jerome, his thoughts seemed to turn more than usual to religion and its rites. Whenever during his stay at Yuste any of his friends, of the degree of princes or knights of the fleece, had died, he had ever been punctual in doing honour to their memory, by causing their obsequies to be performed by the friars; and these lugubrious services may be said to have formed the festivals of the gloomy life of the cloister. The daily masses said for his own soul were always accompanied by others for the souls of his father, mother, and wife. But now he ordered further solemnities of the funeral kind to be performed in behalf of these relations, each on a different day, and attended them himself, preceded by a page bearing a taper, and joining in the chant, in a very deyout and audible manner, out of a tattered prayer-book. These rights ended, he asked his confessor whether he might not now perform his own funeral, and so do for himself what would soon have to be done for him by others. Regla replied that his majesty, please God might live many years, and that when his time came these services would be gratefully rendered without his taking any thought about the matter. But,' persisted Charles, would it not be good for my soul? The monk said, that certainly it would; pious works done during life being far more efficacions than when postponed till after death. Preparations were therefore at once set on foot: a catafalque, which had served before on similar occasions, was erected; and on the following day, the 30th of August, as the monkish historian relates, this celebrated service was actually performed. The high altar. the catafalque, and the whole church shone with a blaze of wax-lights; the friars were all in their places, at the altars, and in the choir, and the household of the emperor attended in deep mourning. "The pions monarch himself was there, attired in sable weeds. and bearing a taper, to see himself interred and to celebrate his own obsequies.' While the solemn mass for the dead was sung he came forward and gave his taper into the hands of the officiating priest. in token of his desire to yield his soul into the hands of his Maker. High above, over the kneeling throne and the gorgeous vestments, the flowers, the curling incense, and the glittering altar. the same idea shone forth in that splendid canvas whereon Titian had pictured Charles kneeling on the threshold of the heavenly mansions prepared for the blessed. . . .

E.L.V.8-3

The funeral-rites ended, the emperor d.ned in his western alcove. He ate ittle, but he remained for a great part of the afternoon sitting in the open air, and task. ing in the sun, which, as it descended to the horizon, beat strongly upon the white walls. Feeling a violent pain in his head, he returned to his chamber and lay down. Mathisio, whom he had sent in the morning to Xarandrilla to attend the Count of Oropesa in his illness, found him when he returned still suffering considerably, and attributed the pain to his having remained too long in the hot sunshine. Next morning he was somewhat better, and was able to get up and go to mass, put still felt oppressed, and complained much of thirst. He told his confessor, however, that the service of the day before had done him good. The sunshine again tempted him into his open gallery. As he sat there, he sent for a portrait of the empress, and hung for some time, lost in thought, over the gentle face, which, with its blue eyes, auburn hair, and pensive beauty, somewhat resembled the noble countenance of that other Isabella, the great queen of Castile. He next called for a picture of Our Lord Praying in the Garden, and then for a sketch of the Last Judgment, by Titian. Having looked his last upon the image of the wife of his youth, it seemed as if he were now bidding farewell, in the contemplation of his other favourite pictures, to the noble art which he had loved with a love which cares, and years, and sickness could not quench, and that will ever be remembered with his better fame. Thus occupied, he remained so long abstracted and motionless, that Mathisio, who was on the watch, thought it right to awake him from his reverie. On being spoken to, he turned round and complained that he was ill. The doctor felt his pulse, and pronounced him in a fever. Again the afternoon sun was shining over the great walnut tree, full into the gallery. From this pleasant spot, filled with the fragrance of the garden and the murmur of the fountain, and bright with glimpses of the golden Vera, they carried him to the gloomy chamber of his sleepless nights, and laid him on the bed from which he was to ise no more.

The emperor died in three weeks after this time-on the 21st of September 1558. Sir William Stirling-Maxwell's narrative, we need hardly add, is at once graceful and exact. Its author has written another Spanish memoir-Velasquez and his Works,' 1855. There was little to tell of the great Spanish painter, whose life was uniformly prosperous; but Sir William gives sketches of Philip IV. and his circle, and adds many critical remarks and illustrations. He prefers Velasquez to Murillo or Rubens. Sir William Stirling-Maxwell succeeded to the baronetcy and estate of Pollok (Renfrewshire) in 1865. He was born at the paternal seat of Keir, in Perthshire, in 1818; is an M. A. of Cambridge University, and LL.D. of the universities of Edinburgh and St. Andrews.

Velasquez's Faithful Colour-grinder.

Juan de Pareja, one of the ablest, and better known to fame as the slave of Velasquez, was born at Seville in 1606. His parents belonged to the class of slaves then numerous in Andalusia, he descendants of negroes imported in large numbers into Spain by the Moriscos in the sixteenth century; and in the African hue and features of their son, there is evidence that they were malattoes, or that one or other of them was a black. It is not known whether he came into the possession of Velasquez by purchase or by inheritance, but he was in his service as early as 1623, when he accompanied him to Madrid. Being employed to clean the brushes, grind the colours, prepare the palettes, and do the other menial work of the studio, and living amongst pictures and painters, he early acquired an acquaintance with the implements of art, and an ambition to use them. He therefore watched the proceedings of his master, and privately copied his works with the eagerness of a lover and the secrecy of a conspirator. In the Italian journeys in which he accompanied Velasquez he scized every opportunity of improvement; and in the end he became an artist of no mean skill. But his nature was so reserved. and his candle so iealously concealed under its bushel, that he had returued from his second visit to Rome, and had reached

the mature ago of forty-five, before his master became aware that he could use the brushes which he washed. When at last he determined on laying aside the mask, he contrived that it should be removed by the hand of the king. Finishing a small picture with peculiar care, he deposited it in his master's studio, with its face turned to the wall. A picture so placed arouses curiosity, and is perhaps more certain to attract the eye of a loitering visitor than if it were hung up for the purpose of being seen. When Philip IV. visited Velasquez, he never failed to cause the daub or the masterpiece that happened to occupy such a position to be paraded for his inspec tion. He therefore fell at once into the trap, and being pleased with the work, asked for the author. Pareja, who took care to be at the royal elbow, immediately fell on his knees, owning his guilt, and praying for his majesty's protection. The good-natured king, turning to Velasquez, said: You see that a painter like this ought not to remain a slave.' Pareja, kissing the royal hand. rose from the ground a free man. His master gave him a formal deed of manumission, and received the colour-grinder as a scholar. The attached follower, however, remained with him till he died; and continued in the service of his daughter, the wife of Mazo Martinez, until his own death, in 1670.

G. H. LEWES.

MR. GEORGE HENRY LEWES, eminent as a philosophical essayist, citic and biographer, has written two novels- Ranthorpe,' 1847; and Rrose, Blanche, and Violet,' 1848. In the former, he traces the moral influence of genius on its possessor, and though there is little artistic power evinced in the plot of the tale, it is a suggestive and able work. In his second novel, which is longer and much more skilfully constructed, Mr. Lewes aims chiefly at the delineation of character. His three sisters, Rose, Blanche and Violet, are typical dfdifferent classes of character-the gay, the gentle and the decided; and as each of the ladies forms an attachment, we have other characters and contrasts, with various complicated incidents and lovepassages. The author, however, is more of a moral teacher than a story-teller, and he sets himself resolutely to demolish what he considers popular fallacies, and to satirise the follies and delusions prevalent in society. Here is one of his ethical positions:

Superiority of the Moral over the Intellectual Nature of Man.

Strength of Will is the quality most needing cultivation in mankind. Will is the central force which gives strength and greess to character. We overestimate the value of Talent, because it dazzles us; and we are apt to underrate the importance of Will, because its works are less shining. Talent gracefully adorns life; but it is Will which carries us victoriously through the struggle. Intellect is the torch which lights us on our way; Will is the strong arm which rough-hews the path for us. The clever, weak man sees all the obstacles on his path; the very orch he carries, being brighter than that of most men, enables him, perhaps, to see hat the path before him may be directest, the best-yet it also enables him to see the crooked turnings by which he may, as he fancies, reach the goal without encountering difficulties. If. indeed, Intellect were a sun, instead of a torch-if it irraditated every corner and crevice-then would man see how, in spite of every obstacle, the direct path was the only safe one, and he would cut the way through by manful labour. But constituted as we are, it is the clever, weak men who stumble most-the strong men who are most virtuons and happy. In this world, there cannot be virtue without strong Will; the weak 'know the right, and yet the wrong pursue.'

No one, I suppose, will accuse me of deifying Obstinacy, or even mere brute Will; nor of depreciating Intellect. But we have had too many dithyrambs in honour of mere Intelligence; and the older I grow, the clearer I see that Intellect