"By whom?" inquired his mother. "By a stranger, Don Rodriguez de Sylva, who has also offered me a letter of recommendation for Velasquez at Madrid." "Ah! if I had but known that!" said the poor mother, sorrowfully, on seeing the evident disappointment of her son. "And I was so well pleased with Senor Ozorio's coming up to your price." "Well, what need you care?" said Meneses to Barthélemi. "Give my father back his ten ducats, and tell him you had sold your picture when he came to pay you, and that you will do another for him; because the stranger may leave this to-morrow, perhaps." "Hold your tongue, Meneses, you are my evil angel," said Murillo impatiently. "What is done cannot be undone. Let us go to dinner, and afterwards I will go and excuse myself to Don Rodriguez. But what shall I do if he will not give me the letter? he may be angry with me." artist; yet there are many artists: but Murillo is more than an artist; he has done more than produce a fine picture, he has given proof of his integrity; and I could not leave Seville without seeing those who brought up such a boy-Murillo," added he, turning to the child, "I am rich and able to serve you; say, what do you wish for?" "The letter for Velasquez," said Murillo with some hesitation. "I can do more," said the stranger, evidently affected, "I can show him to you this very moment." "Is he at Seville?" cried Barthélemi. "He is before you," said Don Rodriguez, opening his arms to the boy, who hesitated for an instant, but then the next had thrown himself into them. "You, Don Rodriguez?" said Barthelemi. "Don Rodriguez de Sylva Y Velasquez." The first transports of joy and emotion over, Velasquez said to Esteban, "I am going to Italy to rejoin Rubens, who is The dinner passed in gloomy silence-no one said waiting for me at Venice; I cannot therefore receive a word, for every member of this little family sympa- him myself at Madrid, but I will give orders accordthised with the disappointment of the boy As sooningly. Do not fail to send him there, I beg of you; as it was over Murillo went out, and, repairing to the your son is no ordinary child, he will one day be a Hotel de Castillo, inquired for Don Rodriguez. He great painter." was shown into an apartment, where the Senor was alone and engaged writing. "Oh! here is my picture!" said Don Rodriguez, on seeing Barthélemi enter. "Senor," said Barthélemi, with a full heart, "my mother had sold it before we returned home." "For a higher price?" inquired Don Rodriguez. No, much lower; but that makes no difference," said young Murillo. "Pardon me, but it does a great deal," said the stranger, evidently vexed; "for if I give a higher price, you have only to do to the other purchaser what you are now doing to me,-go and put him off." "I certainly might do so, and I should have done so, without any hesitation, if our bargain had been closed before my mother had agreed with the merchant Ozorio; but it is not so: the bargain begun by me last night was closed by my mother this morning, and ours, you know, Senor, was not concluded till this evening." "What is your name?" said the stranger abruptly. "Barthélemi Esteban Murillo," replied the boy. "Are your parents alive?" "Both, Senor." Well, I must see and speak to them both," said Don Rodriguez, rising and gazing upon the young Murillo so intently that he felt quite abashed. "Come, show me the way." "To my father's?" inquired the astonished Barthélemi. "Yes, to your father's," answered Don Rodriguez. CHAPTER VII. It was dark night when Don Rodriguez, conducted by Barthélemi, arrived at the dwelling of Esteban. Theresina was again at her lace-work and Esteban was reading. They both stopped, and rose on seeing a stranger with their son. "I pray you to excuse my intrusion," said Don Rodriguez, courteously saluting, first Theresina, and then Esteban; "my visit is not so much to the parents of the young artist, as to the parents who have inculcated such good principles of honesty and integrity in the mind of so young a boy. I frankly acknowledge, had I received the picture, I should have left Seville without coming here. Murillo has produced a good picture, and thus proved that he is an Velasquez then took leave of the family and departed. The next day he left Seville. But Murillo could not go to Madrid. Esteban was taken ill and died, and the boy could not leave his mother, of whom he was the sole support. But when he had attained the age of sixteen, and found his mother was able to earn a livelihood by her work, Murillo decided on going to Madrid, and, if possible, to Italy. Not having sufficient money, he had recourse to his first plan, he bought canvass, and cutting it into little squares, made a number of small pictures, which were purchased and sent to America, as what is called a sailor's venture, and, dividing what he thus obtained with his mother, he set out for Madrid. When he arrived he learnt that Velasquez had returned from Italy. He found him out, and Velasquez, at once recognising his young protégé, soon procured him full employment in the Escurial, and other palaces of Madrid. Murillo remained three years in this city, after which he returned to Seville, where he painted for the little cloister of San Francisco the "Death of St. Clara,” and a “St. John distributing Alms." He acquired such fame by these two productions that all the convents of Seville wished to have pictures by Murilio, who was esteemed the greatest of Spanish painters. The Museum of Paris contains four of his pictures,the infant Jesus seated on the Virgin's lap, Jesus on the Mount of Olives, St. Peter imploring his pardon, and a young Mendicant, Murillo died at Seville the 3d of April, 1682. His principal pupils were Antolinez, Menase Ozorio, Tobar, Velacissmio, and Sebastian Gomez, commonly called the Mulatto of Murillo. COUNTRY SKETCHES.-No. VII. THE CHASE AND PALACE AT ENFIELD. THERE is probably not one of the exits from the great metropolis more beautiful than the winding and irregular road which leads to Southgate and Enfield. The Chase, which divides these two localities, is now enclosed and let into separate farms, having been for many years crown property, attached to the Duchy of Lancaster. In the reign of Henry II, this chase was a forest that extended to Houndsditch; and was | many of the beech and maple trees are of an immense magnitude, and afford resting-places for troops of pert and frisky squirrels, which gambol amid their branches. The effect of the sun, as it strikes on the mossy trunks of these timeworn evidences of the old chase, is beautiful, and forms an agreeable contrast to the sombre shades of the surrounding tangled underwood. The whole way, from hence to the town, is over a series of ascents and descents, with views of Here and there, remnants of the chase as it was may be seen, but they are gradually fading away before the giant strides of the progressive spirit of the day. The various undulations of the ground, how-woods and fields, in pleasant intermixture. ever, with some occasional belts of old trees, still remain as relics of the past, while the distant views of Epping Forest, Waltham Abbey, and Chingford, contribute very materially to the beauty of the scene. Amongst the generation just passed away, were some who remembered to have seen deer in the open tracts of land. In the reign of Elizabeth there were several lodges for the rangers, and there is still standing a farm-house, which, oddly enough, is partly built on three parishes, Enfield, Cheshunt, and Northaw, and which was undoubtedly a keeper's lodge. On the staircase, are several armorial bearings, carved and painted. The days of Robin Hood and his merry men are past and gone: no longer is the sound of the hunting horn heard in the forest solitudes, which still survive the desolation of centuries; the swineherd tends his charge no more beneath the mighty oaks; and the damosel of high degree is seen not now, cantering on her gentle palfrey, with falcon in jess and hood on her fair hand, awaiting the flight of the heron from the sedgy meer; and the matin bell sounds not through copse and dingle, to summon the sleek monk to his devotions. Times are indeed altered, and the great law of change has acted its restless part in this neighbourhood also. Many a sketch might be taken from the hills overlooking the valley which lies on the borders of the chase. The Palace at Enfield is nearly opposite the Church, and the excursionist must not fail to take a peep at its interior, for externally there is nothing to denote its ancient greatness, the structure having undergone numberless repairs and alterations. The ceilings of several of the chambers are profusely ornamented with the Tudor rose, the crown, and fleur-de-lis; and the floors attest the age of the building by their decayed and worm-eaten appearance. There are two rooms on the ground-floor which remain in their original condition, the sides being covered with dark polished oak panelling, and the ceilings richly adorned. It was not till 1777 that the chase was totally disforested; it was then done by act of parliament. In the year 1557, the Princess Elizabeth was wont frequently to ride from the Palace at Hatfield, and hunt the deer in Enfield Chase. A year or two afterwards, on becoming queen, she for a time resided in the town of Enfield. In the reign of James I., when the diabolical Gunpowder Plot was being concocted, a house, situate on the extreme end of the chase, was used as the rendezvous of many of the chief conspirators. Catesby and Fawkes were accustomed to hold secret meetings in this retired place, which is still called White Webbs. Learned topographers and antiquarians have puzzled themselves to trace the derivation of Enfield; some conceiving it to be so named from its being in the fields, some from its situation on the verge of the county, thus spelling it Endfield, whilst others go so far as to derive the name from the circumstance of much of its timber having been felled. In Doomsday Book it is written Enefelde. In the larger of the two there is a noble stone chimney-piece, of most elaborate design, and the workmanship of which is of a superior description. It consists of four columns of the Corinthian order; in the centre of these the royal arms are placed, and on either side a rose and portcullis, surmounted by a crown. At the base of the columns, and underneath the arms, is a tablet with these lines,— "Sola salus servire Deo; Sunt cæteræ fraudes." A scroll beneath the rose has the letter E upon it, and a similar one under the portcullis the letter R. This was intended to apply to the then King, Edwardus Rex, though equally applicable to his half-sister, Elizabetha Regina. On various sides there is a profusion of embellishments, birds, foliage, animals, heads, &c. all executed in accordance with the prevailing taste of the period. Over the entrance of this apartment there is a portion of another chimney-piece, which was removed some considerable time since from one of the rooms above. There are two scrolls on this, containing the arins of England and France combined, and the following inscription : "Ut ros super herbam No visitor can fail to remark the shadows thrown from a window near the fire-place; and proceeding to ascertain the cause, cannot be otherwise than surprised to see the mighty limbs and trunk of the gigantic cedar on the lawn outside. This splendid specimen of the trees for which Mount Libanus was celebrated, was planted by Dr. Uvedale, at that time master of the grammar-school, and a very excellent Leaving this doubtful point for solution at some future period, it will be more to the purpose to conduct the wayfarer over the pleasant ridges on the South-botanist. It is said that the plant was brought from gate road, and having obtained permission to enter Trent Park, escort him to one of its wildest spots, where formerly stood an old hall, said to have been the residence of the Earls of Essex, the site whereof is surrounded by a moat, called Camlet Moat. The genius of Sir Walter Scott has memorialized this ancient forest home, for it is here the catastrophe which terminates the adventures of some of the principal actors in the "Fortunes of Nigel" is made to take place. It is a lovely spot, and will prove a gladsome retreat from the rays of the summer's sun: Lebanon in a portmanteau, by some travelling friend of the Doctor's. Time has made a grievous alteration in its general aspect, storms and the weight of snow have deprived it of its largest branches. Its girth, at one foot from the ground, is upwards of seventeen feet, and its height is estimated at about sixty-five feet. From the rising grounds in the vicinity it looks well, though it is not until its trunk is approached that its vast size is appreciated. Before regaining the palace there is an old door to be passed, which, with its strong iron bolts and bars, is significant of the medieval ages, and serves as a fit portal to the ancient edifice. It was at this palace that Edward VI. was informed of the death of the king his father, and it was thence that he was conducted to the throne by the Earl of Hertford and Sir Thomas Brown. In the town, two houses, now occupied as inns, bear traces of an antique origin; their fronts are of the round gable-headed style of architecture, and by night look picturesque enough. One of them is said to have been the residence of Elizabeth's prime favourite, the unfortunate Earl of Essex. The church deserves a visit for the sake of one or two of its monuments, the interior, though handsome, presenting no very marked features of interest. It contains, however, an organ adorned with very superior carving, as delicately executed as some of the old Flemish work. In the vestry is the monument of Sir Nicholas Raynton and his lady. It consists of a canopy surmounted by heraldic insignia, and supported by two columns of black marble. Underneath an inscription is the figure of a man in armour, with ruff and coif and the robe of a Lord Mayor. Again below this is the figure of a lady in the dress of a Lady Mayoress, and at the base are several kneeling effigies. This memorial is exactly two centuries old, is richly coloured, and presents a fine specimen of its peculiar period. Opposite to it is an altar tomb of very elegant design, and certainly the oldest in the church. It was erected to the memory of the Lady Joyce Tiptoft, mother of the clever Earl of Worcester; she died in 1446, but it is believed that the arch over the the effigy is of a later date. This arch has on its upper surface a border of oak-leaves, and is further adorned with shields and coats-of-arms. The marble slab on the tomb itself is inlaid with brass: the lady is represented of the size of life, in the costume of the period, having a handsome head-dress, mantle, kirtle, and cordon, all enriched with jewels. Above the head is a triple canopy, and pillars with shields appended to the columns reach to the base of the figure, whilst round the outer sides there is an inscription interrupted at different words by quaint devices of birds, beasts, and strange-looking nondescripts. The inscription, as well as it can be made out, runs thus: "D'na Iocosa quondam filia et una hered' Caroli D'ni Powes ac etiam filia et una hered' Honorabillisime D'ne Marchie, et uxor famossissimo militi Johanni Typtoft que obit xX1J die Septe'br', A. D'ni, мCCCCXLVJ cujus anime, et omniis' fidelin' defunctor, I'. h'. s'. pro sua sacratissima passione, misereat." This is a famous brass, and is well known to all archæologists. Gough and Weever, and more recently Boutell, speak in the highest terms of this effigy. It is a great pity that it should be allowed to be disfigured by a window placed in the arch so as to cut it in half and thereby detract from its effect. The walls of the aisles abound with tablets, and The walk from the town to Forty Hill and Clay Hill is through a long straggling street, as ugly and uninteresting as may be. A fall of water passing through the park of Forty Hall, gives occasion for a bridge which is designated Maiden's Bridge, a name in the highest degree suggestive of some romantic legend; but if any such existed, all trace of it seems now lost. It is, however, a pretty spot, and the lanes from this road to the various parts of Cheshunt and Theobalds are very beautiful. As in one of them the boundaries of the parish and county are situate, it is necessary here to terminate this sketch, otherwise we shall be trenching on ground which may serve as subject-matter for some future excursion. Poetry. [In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitals under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end.] SONNETS ON IRELAND. BY CHARLES INGHAM BLACK, S.T.C.D., C.C. I. SUGGESTED BY MR. PETRIE'S WORK ON THE ROUND TOWERS. Thine was the promise of perpetual youth; But these have passed--and now no voice of praise As a far, golden region of the Blest, A land of melody and mighty lays. Yet still the shades of thy majestic story And thou art standing, like a shattered column, Capped with Time's mists-grey, sorrowful, and solemn, A SONG. Down where the low-voiced brook Over its edges, Where in the thickets nigh Turtles are wooing, Of their soft coving; Cool murmurs keeping; CONTENTS. plates, of no particular interest, however, with the When Wild War's Deadly Very near the church and standing in the grave-yard, is an old house of which a good sketch might be taken. This is the Free Grammar school: it is built of red brick, and its upper windows are, like the inns before named, gable-headed. The vile taste of some utilitarian renovator has destroyed much of the antique air of this building, by taking out the lattice windows from its first story, and substituting plain sashes in their stead. Blast was Blawn (with II- A New Poet The Maiden Aunt, No. IV. Barthélemi Esteban Murillo; ....... POETRY: 23 Sonnets of Ireland............ 32 24 PRINTED by RICHARD CLAY, of Nos. 7 and 8, Bread Street Hill, in the PRICE THREE HALF-PENCE. |