BOOKS.

UNTRODDEN SPAIN.*

TEE author of this remarkably interesting work appeals to the indulgence of his readers in a preface which relates the manner of its execution. His sketches, he says, were "simply, roughly written, dashed off -very often with a full, sometimes with an aching heart ;" and as the post reaches his lonely home among the Spanish mines only once a week, he has not corrected his proofs. We take exception to this mode of proceeding, which, in the first instance, when the Sketches appeared in a magazine, was excusable, but is not so in the case of a big book in two volumes. Mr. Rose would have done more wisely if he had waited for his proofs, revised them carefully, rearranged his materials according to dates, removed the redundancies which injure the effect of his really admirable work, and so saved himself from the tender mercies of a publisher who has done his least and printers who have done their worst for him. The vital interest and worth of the book may be fairly tested by their victory over slovenliness in arrangement, constant irrele- vancies, clumsy parentheses, gross misprints—whole pages seem never to have been read at all—and such careless repetition that in the future editions which we hope Untrodden Spain will reach, at least a hundred pages may be suppressed with advantage. The high spirits and zeal for observation with which the author com- menced his voyage to Spain in a trader produced the happiest results, but discretion ought to have tempered their records. If Mr. Rose had corrected his proofs, he would hardly have sub- mitted to the public his reflection that "the two or three huge, dismantled training-ships for boys" which caught his attention at Gravesend were "brighter, because more philanthropic, objects" than a barge with Lloyd's Weekly News advertised in tar letters upon its sails. Nor can we believe he likes to see in big print the following facetious anecdote :—" Never shall I forget the Spanish headlands, for I bear the mark of them to this day. Whether Sir Roger Tichborne, or Arthur Orton, in sight of them I was tatooed with heart (bleeding), anchor, and initials ; and now said the second mate, who performed the operation, 'It's no good your setting up for a property, for I'll come and swear you are plain Mr. It is on the author's account rather than on his own that the reader is vexed by the faults of the book ; he has great enjoyment before him in its merits,—when, for instance, Mr. Rose takes him to the wonderful fruit market at Lisbon, through the picturesque crowd of many nationalities at Gibraltar, or along the railway line which leads from Malaga "up country," via Cordoba, to the mining town in the interior, in the Linares dis- trict—which, for some unexplained reason, he never names— through scenery of every kind and variety of beauty, from that of orange, olive, and palm groves, to that of savage grandeur surpassing Alps, Pyrenees, or Tyrol.

In the mining districts of Andalusia there is no beauty, and life is very rude at all times. Mr. Rose's picture is of the unknown parts of Southern Spain, in all the turmoil and distraction of the

•

Untrodden Spain and her Black Country ; being Sketches of the Life and Character of the Spaniard of the Interior. By Hugh James Rose. London: Samuel Tinsley. political condition of the country within the last two years ; of a town as wretched as any Eastern bourgade, with streets unpaved and unlighted, and hardly any traces of what we call " civilisation ;" but it is an attractive picture, for all that. His Spaniards are not like the Spaniards we read of in other books, the spirit in which he writes of them is not like that of other writers, and he charms us in a new way, all his own, which owes nothing to the

art, the history, the traditions of Spain. He does not dogmatise or moralise about the people he lives among—after the fashion of the traveller with immutable prejudices and foregone conclusions —he observes and depicts. He has indeed a quick eye for the picturesque, a poetic fancy, and a strong sense of humour ; but those qualities serve, they do not master him, and the painstaking exactness of his descriptions impresses us with a sense of fidelity to fact. The life of the lower classes as he shows it to us is terribly hard and rough, the pursuits of the higher are trifling and purpose- less; education is at a low ebb everywhere ; a careless philosophy is the highest rule of life ; religion for the most part is powerless, literature hardly exists ; and yet he likes the Spaniards, and he makes us like them,—the sefior, with only one subject of interest, politics ; and the sefiora, who can hardly read, never tries to write, but is an affectionate mother, a pious woman, a generous

friend. The sefior and the sefiora will offer their visitor a 'refi-esco ' in the hall, where they will have to move the table aside, in order to let the mules and their drivers pass through to the stable ; but the sefior is a person of distinguished manners, and the sefiora wears her mantilla and glides over the rough,

unpaved streets with inimitable grace. The pleasures of life in the interior of Spain are shooting in the sierra, a picnic in the campo, the annual fairs, and the river bath. Mr. Rose gives a funny description of the latter pastime, in which ladies and gentlemen, muleteers and mules indulge simultaneously, and adds this strange anecdote:—'Will you not bathe once more this summer ? ' said I to a Spanish lady. 'No, indeed not,' was

her answer. have had my baths up to the odd number.' All

Spaniards have a fixed number of baths, beyond which they think it wrong to go, and in all cases they believe it must be, for health's sake, an odd number."

Several chapters are devoted to Spanish character and to the Spanish poor. In his estimate of the former, Mr. Rose differs from most writers upon Spain, rating it more highly and analysing

it otherwise. He says the uneducated Spaniard is not vindictive, quite the reverse. his anger cools rapidly, and if he be spoken

fair, he readily acknowledges a fault and seeks a reconciliation. He gives many terrible instances of the reckless readiness to shed blood which has increased of late, in the disorganised state of the country. " I wonder how many men will be stabbed at the Feria [fair] this year," said an educated man to him casually. Here is one of many anecdotes:—

" I went into a wayside yenta with a friend, a Spanish gentleman, for a glass of the common wine of the country, the Val de Penes. Two men, words running high between them, entered soon afterwards; one drew his knife, with an oath. The hostess did not cease filling the copes of her customers. My friend, a really humane and good man, merely uttered the single word 'Knife !' and drawing my arm through his own, dragged me out."

The Spaniard is brave, reckless of life, a skillful horseman, a daring driver, but as a soldier he lacks the sense of duty and trust, and he is timidly resigned in illness. With all his gaiety he does not prize life, yet he is contented, sober, witty, and has no aspirations to luxury, and no sordid love of gain. Gambling and cruelty to animals are inbred vices of the Spanish character, universal, hideous plague-spots. On the other hand, the following is of general application

The lower orders possess a vast deal of natural courtesy, natural wit, natural intelligence. Uncultured and uneducated as he is, the Spanish poor man has the manners of a thorough gentleman. Go to the lowest roadside yenta, and elbow your way amid the throng who are drinking their vino onto, and you will find a courtesy and a kind- ness to which an English tavern is a stranger. The space you need will be cleared; your bad Spanish will be interpreted by some by- stander for you; the copa of wine will be freely offered you (for the Spanish peasant is very generous), and the inevitable cigarillo will be offered you ere you leave. You will then be politely helped on to your horse, and receive, in a chorus, the usual viaticum, 'Maya listed con Dios!' from one and all."

In their rude, comfortless homes, the Spanish poor have not the additional horrors of drink and its attendant vices. The'` chapters which Mr. Rose devotes to their homes and their sorrows are, if sad, in a sense satisfactory ; and those which describe the incomparable charitable institutions, the Hospicio de Cadiz (which is headed, " A Work of Mercy at Madrid," but this is a trifle compared to other blunders in the book), and the Casa de Caridad, are of deep and touching interest. We called attention

to these descriptions when they appeared in Macmillan's Magazine, and we are glad to have an opportunity of doing so again, in the hope that the simple, practical lessons which they convey may commend themselves to some of those who are charged with the care of our sick and suffering poor. The Government manufac- tories are almost as well managed as the charitable institutions, and the Fabrica de Tabaco of Cadiz is one of the best. Next to his descriptions of the religious ceremonies which mark the sacred seasons in the interior of Spain, and a very beautiful chapter devoted to an analogy between the scenery, the customs, and the phraseology of the primitive inland country and its people, with the narratives, the imagery, and the phraseology of the Holy Scriptures, Mr. Rose's animated and picturesque sketch of the fish market at Cadiz deserves special mention. This is not " dashed off," it is admirably written, full of life, colour, and movement, and it introduces many strange fish to our acquaintance, with a variety of delineation which is a feat in itself. The author mentions that the fish we call "John Dory" is called by the Spaniards " San Pedro." This is an argument in favour of the explanation we have heard of the English name, that it is a corruption of Janitore, or the door-keeper. From the fish market to a winter garden, with its multitude of simples, in which the Spaniards have well-founded faith, and its "lodge in the garden of cucumbers;" thence into the solitary wilds of Andalusia, the dreary steppes of La Mancha; and to the mining country, "a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig copper," the author leads us, and our interest never flags. We linger by the way over a chapter on Spanish proverbs, over an account of Spanish cemeteries—where burials are made on the principle which Mr. Seymour Haden approves, but without the amenities he would sanction—over a string of Spanish stories with a little of the pervading Cervantes flavour in them; over an animated narrative of a week's sport in Gallieia, in which deer and wild boar figure. A most amusing cura—whose stipend of £20 a year had not been paid since 1868, who used pieces of his only coat for gun- wadding, but was "perfectly happy and contented with his lot" —was of the party ; and at length we come to the people of the Black Country, with their hard, underpaid work, their indomitable cheerfulness, and their reckless gambling.

The second section of Mr. Rose's work is the most serious and valuable portion of it. He lives in a mining town, his work (a chaplain's) is among miners. He introduces us to scenesabso- lutely unknown, and to characteristics quite unsuspected, for his is not the Spain of the tourists ; and it is totally unlike our " Black Country," as in a chapter of comparisons and contrasts he abun- dantly shows. The terrible life of the lead mines—where the " longest span "is four-and-thirty years for a man's existence and no animal can live — is perhaps the most engrossing of these pictures, but they are all deeply interesting. The author's kind- liness is as conspicuous as his closeness of observation and fair- ness of judgment, his sympathy with the people inspires his pen as happily as does his artistic appreciation of the country, and both have combined in the production of a work of striking novelty and sterling value.