des, or is necessitated to cut and run on board a British
frigate. Portugal we leave to the care of Colonel Wylde, homoeopathic
physician-in-ordinary to all trans-Pyrennean insurrections and civil
wars; and Spain we consign to the tender mercies of Camarillas, propped
by bayonets and inspired by the genial influences of the Tuileries. We
have been pestered with these two countries, and with their annual
revolutions, reminding us of a whirlwind in a wash-tub, until, in
impatience of their restless, turbulent population, we have come to
dislike their very names. Nevertheless, here are a brace of books about
the Peninsula, concerning which we have a word to say, although we shall
not avail ourselves of the opportunity they offer to discuss Portuguese
rebellions and Spanish politics.

Writers on Spain, long resident in the country, acquire a _borracha_
twang, a smack of the pig-skin, a propensity to quaint and proverb-like
phrases, characteristic of the land they write about. The peculiarity is
perceptible in the books before us; in both of them the racy Castilian
flavour reeks through the pages. And first--to begin with the most
worthy--as regards Mr. Ford's "Gatherings." There be cooks so cunning in
their craft, that out of the mangled remains of yesterday's feast, they
concoct a second banquet, less in volume, but more savoury, than its
predecessor. This to do, needs both skill and judgment. Spice must be
added, sauces devised, heavy and cumbrous portions rejected, great
ingenuity exercised, fitly to furnish forth to-day's delicate collation
from the fragments of yesterday's baked meats. Mr. Ford has shown
himself an adept in the art of literary _rechauffage_. His masterly and
learned "Handbook of Spain," having been found by some, who love to run
and read, too small in type, too grave in substance, he has skimmed its
cream, thrown in many well-flavoured and agreeable condiments, and
presented the result in one compact and delightful volume. He has at
once lightened and condensed his work. Mr. Hughes, the Lisbon pilgrim,
has gone quite upon another tack. He makes no pretensions to brevity or
close-packing, but starts with a renunciation of method, and an avowed
determination to be loquacious. Dashing off in fine desultory style,
with a fluent pen, and a flux of words, he proclaims that his sole
ambition is to amuse, and with that view he proposes to be discursive
and parlous. Amusing he certainly is; his irrepressible ten