THE OLD WOMAN'S SUPPER. THE Old Woman's Supper, which is one of the most valuable of the gems of the Dutch School in the Dulwich Gallery, is painted by Gerhard Douw, a painter of very great celebrity. He was born at Leyden, in 1613, where his father exercised the calling of a glazier. After having studied drawing under an engraver he became a pupil of Rembrandt, with whom he remained three years. He profited greatly by the lessons of Rembrandt in colour and chiaroscuro, but he did not adopt the free manner of his master; the idea of careful and highly-finished execution was most essential in the opinion of Gerhard Douw to produce perfection in a picture. Some idea may be had of the extent of his feeling in this particular from the fact of his acknowledging to one of his friends, that he had spent three days in painting the handle of a broom. It is known that Gerhard Douw died at Leyden, but the year of his death is not recorded. THERE is weeping and wailing in Allinghame Hall, Many a nose is red at the tip; All the shutters are shut very tight, To keep out the wind and to keep out the light; With very black suits, Have taken their places With an air of professional esprit de corps, One on each side of the great hall door. On the gravel beyond, in a wonderful state Of black velvet and feathers, a grand hearse and eight Magnificent horses the orders await Of a spruce undertaker, Who's come from Long Acre, To furnish a coffin, and do the polite To the corpse of Sir Reginald Allinghame, Knight. The lamented deceased whose funeral arrangement Young lady named Maude was the only survivor. On some horrid heir-male, And no far-away cousin or distant relation Yes, she was very fair to view; About the eye Rousing a Caudle-ish recollection, Which might perchance upon reflection Turn out a serious objection, That gal would make almost a heavenly splice.""" From far and wide On every side Thither did many a suitor ride, Who, thinking as we do, determined to call The French and their families Yet, though presents they brought her, To fancy they loved her, not one of them caught her. Maude received them all civilly, asked them to dine, Gave them capital venison and excellent wine, But declared, when they popp'd, that she'd really no notion They'd had serious intentions-she owned their devotion At defiance, by one in her sad situation, With a very deep sense of the strictest propriety; Then a last parting smile on the suitor she threw, Young Lord Dandelion, An illustrious scion, (1) Vide Sam Slick the Clockmaker. I fain would describe if I had but ability, mabo, Te This amiable lordling, being much in the state I've described, ie. going home at night rather late, Having got his congé (As a Frenchman would say) From the heiress, with whom he'd been anxious to mate, Is jogging along in a low state of mind, loss o When a horseman comes rapidly up from behind,; 7 "And a voice in his ear sa bit. P .. Shouts in tones round and clear, et "Ho, there! stand and deliver! your money on life!" While some murderous weapon, à pistol or knife, n Held close to his head, As these words are being said. Glitters cold in the moonlight and fills him with dread, Quits this frail tenement, And adopting a shroud as his sole outer garment, Becomes food for worms, slugs, and all such-like varmint. My Lord Dandelion, That illustrious scion, Not possessing the pluck of the bold Smith O'Brien, (Once displayed at St. Stephen's, when having a lick At that pet of the fancy, the famous Bath Brick,) Neither feeling inclined, Nor having a mind To be shot by a highwayman, merely said, “Eh ?' Aw-extremely unpleasant-aw-take it, sir, pray;" And without further parley his money resigned. lag bouts Awaydır away ↓ b. My Lord Dandelion,.. And as he rides he mutters low, A knowing old éodger, In a thundering rage, With the whole stud of horses, He bullies the helpers and kicks all the boys, For his deep discontent In the following soliloquy:-"I'm blest if this is I To be stood any longer; I'll go and tell Missis ; Give the highwayman's love to fair Mistress Maude !" If she don't know some dodge as 'ill stop this here rig, Vy then, dash my vig, This here wery morning I jest gives her warning, If I don't I'm a Dutchman, or summut as worse is." Then, after a short obligato of curses, Just to let off the steam, Roger dons his best clothes And seeks his young mistress his griefs to disclose. "Please your Ladyship's Honor, Or else the black Barb, vich, perhaps you'll remember, A good twenty-five year, I am sorry to say, (for I knows what your loss is,) Roger's wonderful tale Seemed of little avail, With mouth wide asunder, Extended by wonder, 149 In the Novelas Ejemplares, there is less both of humour and of pathos than in Cervantes' master-piece, but the pictures of human life are as numerous, as various, and as vivid, as any to be met with in the Ere she'd ended his rage appeared wholly brought under, adventures of the Don; and there is a greater air of Insomuch that the groom, Louted low, and exclaimed, with a grin of delight, and cut-purses of real life. They stand bodily and distinctly before you-Daguerreotyped likenesses of the originals-unmistakeable transcripts of the living men, like the sun-browned peasants of Murillo. You never think of them, for a moment, as supposititious individuals, as fictitious entities, as the mere coinage of the author's brain, any more than you are sceptical of the past existence of Dogberry, or Master Shallow, or Cousin Silence; on the contrary, you are resolutely persuaded that such and such men actually had a "local habitation and a name," and flourished in the fair land of Spain towards the close of the sixteenth century. probability about the incidents in general. In the choice of his heroes Cervantes displayed a singular predilection. Gipsies and vagabonds, the swarthy denizens of the forest, and the keen-witted rogues who lounged about the sunny plazas of the Spanish cities, appear to have been the peculiar favourites of our author. In describing them, he is evidently thoroughly at home; he dwells upon their mode of life, their habits and their character, with more than THE MINOR WRITINGS OF CERVANTES. ordinary unction; he indulges, too, in such a minuteCOMPARED with the world-wide popularity of his with the modus operandi of roguery in all its branches, ness of detail, manifests such a practical acquaintance immortal chef d'œuvre, it is astonishing how limited that we are bound to suspect that scarred and mutilated is the reputation enjoyed by the poems, dramas, and soldier of having been the some-time associate, either minor novels of Cervantes. For the neglect of the capriciously, or involuntarily, of the picarones he has latter, more particularly, we are at a loss to account. immortalized. Cervantes' rogues, be it remarked, are Most of them bear the plain impress of the great rogues sui generis, and are as widely removed from the master's hand: they are fixed stars in that radiant unmitigated villains of the melodrama, and the sentihemisphere, wherein the history of the crazed old mental thieves and highwaymen of the modern novelknight shines like a blazing sun. Like that fancifulist, as they, in their turn, are from the villains, thieves, prose-epic, they are full of incident, full of graphic delineations of original character, overflowing with wit and humour, with the wisdom painfully accumulated during a tumultuous and diversified career, and evidencing throughout the writer's diligent study of the human heart, or rather that intuitive insight into its most secret labyrinths which the Spanish novelist shared in common with the English dramatist, with whom he was contemporary. In "Don Quixote" Cervantes has explored the heights and depths of pathos and of humour. Of the latter, Sancho Panza is the recognised embodiment: by it, that simple, shrewd, fat, faithful squire, that timorous and yet true-hearted follower of the crazed enthusiast, has endeared himself to the memories of tens of thousands of rejoicing readers. With pathos we conceive the character of Don Quixote to be eminently imbued. In listening to the details of his wildest, his most absurd exploits, we "check the career of laughter with a sigh; " we would willingly dissuade him from the reckless enterprise upon which he is so often bent, and heartily rejoice at every imaginary success by which the poor knight's heart is momentarily cheered. In his extravagant and erring acts, we continually catch some glimpses of a noble nature peeping through; we sympathize with the monomania which a persevering course of solitary study has induced, and at every fresh rebuff encountered by the crazy Don, we are too painfully reminded of the congenial issue of conflicts in which many an enthusiast has since engaged,-conflicts with ancient error and gigantic wrong, too potent, and withal too subtle combatants for such enthusiasts to cope with. Mad though he be, Cervantes' knight is evidently a perfect gentleman, poor in estate, but of a free and bountiful spirit; his character modelled after the old standard of chivalrous excellence: a kindly, courteous, booklearned country gentleman, struggling to maintain his hereditary respectability with slender means, proud of his birth, yet social and familiar with the that Cervantes wrote from an affluence of ideas: there "There is some soul of goodness in things evil, He knew that the character of man resembled human |