of a lash applies his perpetual toe to Rawney's abutment, and the lob within sits on his knuckles to keep his breeches from wearing out the cushions that feel as if stuffed with potatoes! That's something like jaunting; a man feels that he's getting the worth of his money. But to slidder over the arable like a Laplander in a sledge, to have your streets as smooth and soaporiferous as a schoolboy's phyzzonomy,-Booh! I'd as soon tumble down Greenwich Hill with a feather-bed for my partner! Will you lend me the loan of a page or so in your "truly excellent and widely-circulating" periodical. Mr. What-ever-your-name-is, to make this case properly public? Sure, I know you will!-Besides the beauty and gentility of pebblement which I have already noticed, I have two or three observations to make in its favour which I'd thank any Macadamite between this and himself to answer. I'll make him eat,-not a potato,—but a paving-stone if he dosn't confess himself knocked down by the arguments I've brought to silence him. Firstly and foremost. I, and the rest of us, that is, all who live at present upon paving-stones, must now begin to starve with all possible alacrity upon nothing. Irishmen can't live like cameleopards* upon air, no more than an Englishman on potato and point. But if the streets are to be thrown holus-bolus into the hands of nobody but stone-crackers and level lers, what is to become of the professors of the Noble Art of Paving,—me and the rest of us! Or does Mr. Macadam (the son of an original sinner!) think we'll dishonour the cloth by turning manufacturers of jackstones and shovellers of shingles ? Does he think (the sand-piper!) that gentlemen of the paving-profession will descend to get up on a little heap of pebbles and keep cracking there all day for his honour's advantage?— Och the gander! He knows a little less than nothing if he thinks to bamboozle us in this way! Secondly and foremost. The nobility and gentry will be no such gainers after all by exploding the pebblement-system. We all know that every one is thought of exactly in proportion to the noise he or she makes in the world. Now if my lady this and my lord that, are to whistle through the city as softly as Mr. Macadam would make them, without kicking up a continual row in their carriages, why they'll never be heard of! But they can never do the latter without the help of paving stones. When the Duchess of Devilment's barouche and four rattled down Regent-street pommelling the pebblement,and knocking fire from the flints, with her fullbottomed, flour-pated,rosy-nosed,threecocked-hat-covered coachman joggling from side to side of his box, and her silk-stockin'd, sleek-cheek'd, slyeyed brace of livery-men bumping and bobbing up and down on the footboard as the vehicle chattered along; then indeed was her ladyship something more in our eyes than a motherape in petticoats; then indeed was she heard and seen, though perhaps neither felt nor understood;-in short, she was somebody. But now, if the King himself were to sweep from Carlton House to the Crescent we should think him little better than a biped like one of ourselves! Thirdly and foremost. I see nothing the Macadamites have brought with them in exchange for our pavingstones but dust in one hand and dirt in the other. If the new system of streetification goes on, London will shortly be nothing but a criss-cross of high-roads, and the houses will be worse than so many citizens' country boxes, built on the brink of the roadside, and enveloped like the Lord Chancellor's head in a wig-full of dust and confusion. In summer the streetwalkers and flag-hoppers of every description and denomination will be covered from head to foot with surtouts a la poudre, and look like a population of millers just turned loose from the hopper-loft. In winter they * Our correspondent probably forgets the exact distinction between cameleopards and cameleone; he, however, we think, fully supports the national character, as given by Hudibras As learned as the Wild Irish are.--Ed. 66 will be over the boots in mud and slip- minster, in the tick of a death-watch, slop; they'll be as cleanly bespattered may not a blind beldame of any sex, as if they had stood the brunt of Fleet- age, or condition, be torn from the demarket in the pillory; they'll be taken lights of this life and in a manner by the pigeons, tailors, peripatetic cat- kicked into the middle of the next, erwaulers, and all the other odd fish without so much as By your leave" that frequent the house-tops, for noth- or "Beg your pardon"? Or do we ing but gigantic gutter-snipes and expect an old woman to run like a magnified mud-larks!* And our rows lamplighter when she sees the pole of of shoppery too! Why they'll be filled a carriage within an inch of her beard? to the tip-top shelf with whirlwinds of or to skip like a hen on a hot griddle powdered jackstones! ribbons and when she feels a couple of coachbobbins, laces and braces, caps and horses treading on her toes, and pertraps, petticoats and waistcoats, all haps whipping off her wig like hay their paraphernalia and strumpetry,tag- from a pitch-fork? Even with all the rag-merry-derry-periwig-and-hat-band, "notes of preparation" which paving will be dredged with ground-pepper dust! and the prentices within will be choaked extempore before they can whistle Jack Robinson !-'Twont do, Mr. Nobody! By the powders, it wont! Lastly and foremost. We shall lose all our old women! Think of that Mr. Thingumbob! We shall lose our old women as fast as hops !-A friend of mine let me into this secret t'other day behind a pot of Whitbread. The blood of all our old beggar-women will be on Mr. Macadam's head, if he goes on with his pippin-squeezing system of streetification! He will be guilty of universal aniseed! In a few years if the Macadamites should supplant the Paving-Board, we shall not be able to get an old woman for love or money. Why?-I'll tell you. Won't they be sure to be run over wherever they are to be found crossing a crossing! When the coaches and cavalry travel on velvet, when the rattle of a wheel or the tramp of a quodrapid‡ shall be drowned in the dust,-will any old woman but a witch be able to hear what's coming upon her? When the streets are so soft and smack-smooth that one may drive from No. any thing in any place, St. Paul's, or to West stones could give, our coachmen generally contrived to demolish some dozen of sexagenerian pedestrians every twelvemonth. Aniseed is great fun of an opera night for the big-wigs on the boxes; and even gentlemenwhips have been known to practise this interesting kind of murder when they wished to show how quietly they could trot over an old woman without losing their balance. For all these reasons, Mr. MyFriend, and a great many worse ones, I think Macadamization is very superiorly un-preferable to pebblement. So do all the profession. We are about to get up an address to the Parliament, which is to be called-The Pavior's Petition, in which we pray for paving stones, and show that the new system of streetification comes under the penalty of the Chalking-Act,being a capital innovation upon the long-established customs of the country. As for Mr. Macadam, we are determined to take the law into our own hands, and stone him the first time we catch "his honour in London. No more at present from your loving and affectionate BILLY O'ROURKE. * Gutter-snipes and mud-larks, poetical names for pigs, in Ireland. We do not profess to know the precise difference between them. Our learned correspondent perhaps only makes use of the rhetorical figure-pleonasmus, to fill up his period.-Ed. We thought ourselves tolerable philologists, but this word we acknowledge sets our ingenuity at defiance.-Ed. + Sic in MSS. § I'd a grand-aunt that was kilt once in this fashion; she died above twenty years after with the mark of a horse-shoe on her-The gentleman that kilt her gave her a penny. MR. FORGET ME NOT. A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S PRESENT FOR 1825. R. ACKERMANN was the first publisher in England to adopt the continental plan of providing a work of this class worthy of being of fered to the refined and intelligent, at the season when we are in the habit of reminding our young and fair friends, by such gifts, that we Forget them not." 66 We most willingly copy part of a tale entitled The Alcazar of Seville, by the Author of Doblado's Letters. The scene is laid in Seville. The author has before described the Alcazar, originally an Arch palace, and rebuilt by Peter the Cruel, of whom and Maria Padilla he gives an interesting sketch, and thus continues : "I once asked Don Antonio's opinion of the real character of Peter. 'Some have of late represented him, (said my friend) as a man of great severity of character, but not cruel by nature. That he was goaded into ferocity, I have already told you. But it cannot be denied that in the latter part of his reign he grew faithless and treacherous to his friends, and a bloodthirsty monster to his enemies. Even in his best years, he at times gave way to fierce anger; though there still appeared to be a mixture of candour and justice in his character. Every body in this town knows the bust of Peter the Cruel, which still marks the spot where he killed a man in a chance affray, while walking in the night alone and in disguise. To believe the traditional story, the murderer would never have been suspected but for an old woman, who, hearing the clash of swords, looked with a lamp from her window. She soon withdrew the lamp in great fright, without seeing the man who had slain his adversary. When questioned by the magistrates the next day, she declared her persuasion that the murderer was no other than the king himself, whom she had discovered by the wellknown rattling of his knees. Peter heard the accusation with composure, and neither contradicted nor injured the poor woman. Unable, however, to remove the suspicion which lay at his door, he ordered his own bust to be fixed in a niche upon the spot, as the heads of malefactors are set up to mark the scene of their crimes. The name of the narrow street which opens in front of the bust bears "still, as we all know, the name of Candilejo, from the lamp said to have been brought out by the old woman. He "The state of public morals at that period, and the weakness of the law against the privileged orders, may be conceived from another traditional story which the annalists of Seville have preserved. A prebendary of the cathedral was, in the early part of Peter's reign, trying to seduce a beautiful woman, the wife of a mechanic. The frequency of the lover's visits roused the jealousy of the husband, and he desired the clergyman to desist from troubling the peace of his household. The prebendary, incensed at what he conceived to be an insult, waylaid and killed the man. then took sanctuary in the cathedral, and was soon after set free by the archbishop under a very slight punishment. A son of the murdered man, who, though young and poor, possessed a high spirit, appeared before the king, in an open space with seats, built of stone, near one of the gates of the palace, where he used daily to hear the complaints and petitions of his subjects. The structure I allude to was pulled down so lately as the middle of the seventeenth century. The orphan youth complained bitterly of the archbishop, who had allowed the murderer of his father to go unpunished. Peter heard the lad with great attention, and, taking him aside, asked him if he felt courage enough to avenge his father? The lad declared, he wished for nothing so ardently. after from the orphan's dagger. He was hotly pursued to the palace, where, being given in charge to the cross-bowmen, a day was appointed for the trial. Peter, in open court, heard the archbishop's counsel against the prisoner; and asked the sentence of the ecclesiastical judge against the prebendary. He was, please your highness, (answered the prosecutor.) suspended a whole year from his of fice.' "What is your trade or occupation, young man,' said the king. I am a shoemaker,' was the answer. Then let it be recorded as the sentence of this court, that, for the space of a whole year, the prisoner shall not be allowed to make shoes.' "On another occasion I questioned Don Antonio concerning a report of a large serpent having once attacked Peter the Cruel. You mistake the story, my young friend, (said he.) The allusion you have heard is to a very grave charge of sorcery, preferred by some writers of the fourteenth century against Maria Padilla. They assert that Blanche of Bourbon gave Peter, at their wedding, a beautiful belt, with which he was highly pleased. Maria, if we believe these writers, fearing to lose the king's affection, put this belt into the hands of a Jew, a great magician; and replaced it in her lover's wardrobe, after having had it exposed to the influence of a powerful spell. In full court the next day, the king, wearing the belt, was receiving the homage of the grandees, who came to congratulate him upon his marriage; suddenly a hideous serpent appeared coiled round the middle of his body. During the first alarm the monster glided rapidly out of sight with it the king's belt, the gift of his bride, had disappeared. It is added, that from that moment Peter could not endure the sight of Blanche.' "It would be desirable, (said I,) to have a collection of tales of enchantment, from the traditionary legends of this part of the country.' It would, indeed, (answered Don Antonio,) and this quarter of the town would, I am sure, furnish a considerable contribution. All the streets to the south-east of the Alcázar were, from the con quest of Seville, allotted to the Moors who wished to remain under the dominion of the Christians. There is another portion of the town, on the same side, which, as you know, is still called the Jewry. The superior knowledge possessed by these two classes of people, when the Spaniards were almost exclusively employed in the arts of war, exposed them to the suspicion of their ignorant neighbours. Medicine, I believe, was at one time practised in Spain by none but Jews and Moors; and, as this science is intimately connected with chemistry, the vials, alembics, and furnaces of a laboratory, could not fail to confirm the prejudices of the Christians on the score of magic. These prejudices were, besides, industriously kept alive and strengthened by imposters, who, finding themselves already suspected, were glad to derive some profit from popular fear and credulity. I recollect that in one of the plays of Lope de Rueda, (the first who introduced acting in Spain,) a Moriscoe is consulted as the regular magician of the place. In later times, when all the descendants of Spanish Moors were, with as much cruelty as impolicy, expelled from the country, the notion that they had left their money concealed and secured by supernatural means became general. Stories of enchanted treasures are as common among us as in some parts of Germany. We are just in view of a house which, in my youth, I saw for a long time uninhabited, because it was said to be haunted by an unfortunate Moorish woman, whose ghost was bound in suffering to a concealed treasure.'-'I know the house very well, (said I,) but having heard it called Cosca del Duende,* was led to believe that the supernatural story connected with it, belonged to the ludicrous part of the world of spectres.'-By no means, (replied my friend,) the story whether of itself, or from my having heard it when a child, has something melancholy or impressive to my mind. I will tell it you as we walk home.' *The Goblin-house. TALE OF THE GREEN TAPER. "Among the unfortunate families of Spanish Moriscoes who were forced to quit Spain in 1610, there was one of a very rich farmer who owned the house we speak of. As the object of the government was to hurry the Moriscoes out of the country without allowing them time to remove their property, many buried their money and jewels, in hopes of returning from Africa at a future period. Muley Hassem, according to our popular tradition, had contrived a vault under the large Zaguan, or close porch of his house. Distrusting his Christian neighbours, he had there accumulated great quantities of gold and pearls, which, upon his quitting the country, were laid under a spell by another Moriscoe, deeply versed in the secret arts. "The jealousy of the Spaniards, and the severe penalties enacted against such of the exiles as should return, precluded Muley Hassem from all opportunities of recovering his treasure. He died, intrusting the secret to an only daughter, who, having grown up at Seville, was perfectly acquainted with the spot under the charm. Fatima married, and was soon left a widow, with a daughter whom she taught Spanish, hoping to make her pass for a native of our country. Urged by the approach of poverty, which sharpened the desire to make use of the secret trusted to her, Fatima, with her daughter Zuleima, embarked on board a corsair, and were landed secretly in a cove near Huelva. Dressed in the costume of the peasantry, and having assumed Christian names, both mother and daughter made their way to Seville on foot, or by any occasional conveyance which offered on the road. To avoid suspicion, they gave out that they were returning from the performance of a vow to a celebrated image of the Virgin, near Moguer. I will not tire you with details as to the means by which Fatima obtained a place for herself and daughter in the family then occupying her own paternal house. Fatima's constant endeavours to please her mas38 ATHENEUM VOL. 2. 2d series. ter and mistress succeeded to the utmost of her wishes: the beauty and innocence of Zuleima, then only fourteen, needed no studied efforts to obtain the affection of the whole family. "When Fatima thought the time was come, she prepared her daughter for the important and awful task of recovering the concealed treasure, of which she had constantly talked to her since the child could understand her meaning. The winter came on; the family moved to the first floor as usual, and Fatima asked to be allowed one of the ground-floor rooms for herself and Zuleima. About the middle of December, when the periodical rains threatened to make the Guadalquivir overflow its banks, and scarcely a soul stirred out after sunset, Fatima, provided with a rope and a basket, anxiously awaited the hour of midnight to commence her incantation. Her daughter stood trembling by her side in the porch, to which they had groped their way in the dark. The large bell of the cathedral clock, whose sound, you are well aware, has a most startling ef fect in the dead silence of the night, tolled the hour; and the melancholy peal of supplication (Plegária) followed for about two minutes. All now was stiH, except the wind and rain. Fatima, unlocking, with some difficulty the cold hands of her daughter out of hers, struck a flint, and lighted a green taper not more than an inch long, which she carefully sheltered from the wind in a pocket lantern. The light had scarcely glimmered on the ground, when the pavement yawned close by the feet of the two females. 'Now, Zuleima, my child, the only care of my life, (said Fatima,) were you strong enough to draw me out of the vault where our treasure lies, I would not intreat you to hasten down by these small perpendicular steps, which you here see. Fear not, my love, there is nothing below but the gold and jewels deposited by my father.'' Mother, (answered the tremulous girl,) I will not break the promise I have made you, though I feel as |