it is entitled Eliezer and Nepthali. It is entirely a work of imagination, but possesses most lively interest. At the very moment I am now writing, a search is making for this precious manuscript, which cannot be found among the author's papers.* Nothing shall be neglected to discover it, and to hasten the period when the publick may enjoy this interesting production.

The last work of Florian, is his translation of Don Quixotte. He worked at it, he said, in order to rest and unbend his mind, and to prove to Cervantes, that he had entirely forgotten the aversion he conceived against him in his youth. When a friend observed to him, that Don Quixotte had been read by all the world: that the passion he attacked not being now the fashion, would excite but little interest; he replied, that Cervantes being the best writer that Spain ever had, he should be better known. That those who had only read the translation of Fillau de Saint Martin, knew him not at all; and that he hoped they would read his, which, on the whole, was only a free translation. As few writers have been more read than Florian, we trust his hopes will not be deceived. His translation will be brought forward with all possible despatch.†

The "private life of Florian," like the generality of men of letters, affords no incidents of any striking nature; he wrote it himself. It must have been interesting, for he related every thing in a pleasing manner, and knew how to stamp a value even upon trifles; but this Life most probably was destroyed, and there is only one person to whom it was ever read.

Those who are not intimately acquainted with him, can form no idea of the difference between Florian in

company, and Florian in his study. When he found himself in a society of persons who were known to him, and amongst whom he was perfectly at ease, he yielded to the charms of conversation; and there was none more lively, more agreeable, more entertaining, than his own. When his spirits were a little elevated, he would make the melancholy laugh; on the other hand, where he was unacquainted with those present, or had no intimate acquaintance with them, he always appeared grave and serious. But even this very gravity, with those who knew him well, formed a singular contrast with his natural gayety.

Such was Florian. Such was the man, amiable in his conduct as in his writings; dividing his time equally between friendship and study; ever ready to oblige; incapable of giving a denial; a stranger to every species of animosity. He retired to Seaux at the commencement of the revolution; and, solely employed in his solitude in literary pursuits, could it be supposed that envy would disturb the tranquillity of his days? would tear him from his peaceful thickets, and drag him to a prison? He had so little an idea of it, that his arrest came upon him like a thunderbolt. He felt uneasy when they said to him: "You are not at liberty;" and from that moment, felt that this trait of men's injustice, would conduct him to the tomb.

- Posterity will with difficulty credit, that the author of Estelle and Galatea, living in rural retirement, surrounded by his books, should have given sufficient cause for his being hurried to a prison.

Amongst those various features which historians will cite, in order to characterize the epoch of the revolutionary regime, they will not fail

to remember the arrest of Florian. There is something so very strange in it, and the consequences were so deadly, that it may not be unpleasing to detail the incidents. I find them stated in the rough copy of a memorial or petition, in the shape of a letter, which Florian wrote in prison to one of the deputies of his acquaintance. When I read it, I could scarcely check my tears. Those who will read it after me, will shed some too, if they are not quite destitute of feeling. I well know that many people will blame Florian, for not having evinced more firmness, and suffering himself, in some measure, to be overwhelmed and weighed down by the weight of the injustice; but if weakness of character is a fault, it is not always a crime. It springs from sensibility, and claims indulgence.

THE LETTER. Citizen Representative,

"You cherish, you cultivate, lettors; but liberty and your country, still more. You require that the arts, to whom you were a friend from infancy, should be made useful to the cause of the people, for whom you wish to die. 'Tis on that title alone I address you.

"Meditating for a long time back, on amending the ancient history for a national education, I acquainted the committee of Publick Safety, of my intentions, by a memorial I addressed to them. I spoke of myself, in a moment, when a timid man, who had the slightest reproach to charge himself with, would have been only anxious that he should be forgotten. Calm and tranquil as to this step, I laboured on in my retirement, and had already finished several articles upon Egypt, when a sudden order of the committee of Publick Safety, caused me to be put under a state of arrest, in the prison of Port Libre. I have now continued twenty days; to

VOL. III.

say nothing of the long nights, which differ only from the days from the want of light, without books, almost without paper in the midst of six hundred persons-in vain calling to my assistance the imagination I formerly possessed, and finding nothing in its place but sorrow and dejection.

"I wish, however, to be employed I have conceived the plan of a work which I think useful to the publick morals. Even in my prison, I have celebrated the hero of liberty. I send you my first book: I ask your opinion of it.

"If you are not of opinion that the poem may strengthen, in the breasts of the youthful part of the French nation, the love of the republick, and the respect for simple manners, do not answer me: let me die here. The alteration in my state of health gives me hopes, that will soon be the case.

"If your civism and your taste, abstracted from all interest for me, persuade you that my work should be

finished, speak to your colleagues members of the committee of Publick Safety, and say to them—

"Of what can that man be guilty who dreaded being shut up in the Bastile for the first verses which he wrote in the Vassal of Mount Jura?'-who wrote before the Revolution, the eleventh book of Numa ? and who since the Revolutiou, free, unencumbered, without other for tune than his talents, which he could transport to any clime, has not, for an instant, quitted his country; commanded three years in the National Guards; written many books; and, in his collection of Fables, printed that of the Monkeys and the Leopard?

"Can a writer of fables, a simple shepherd, he who sang the loves of Galatea and Estelle, can he be guilty of a crime? The Lyre of Phedra the Pipe of Gessner-too soft,, ne

doubt, in the midst of warlike sounds, can they be displeasing to those who wish to establish freedom on the basis of morality? The linnet which warbled forth its notes near the Lernian Marsh, when Hercules engaged the Hydra, excited not the hero's wrath; nay, perhaps, when the victory was gained, he listened to it with the greater pleasure.'

"To these few words do I now, and shall reduce my sole defence. If they believe me guilty, let them judge me; but, if I am innocent, let them restore me to my liberty, to my writings, to my works now ready for the press, and which my confinement has prevented my putting the finishing hand to. Let them restore me to my pure and harmless life, and the desire of being still useful to my country."

It was thus that the mild and soothing voice of Florian, sought to strike the ears of those odious tyrants, who then held France in base subjection. The ninth of Thermidor, hastened the effect of the solicitations of Florian and his friends. He left the prison some time after that memorable day; and he hastened to leave Paris, to go and live quietly in the country. His chief object was to breathe a purer air, and make himself be forgotten. He had imbibed a degree of melancholy which rendered solitude more dear to him than ever. Whether it was that the idea of the injustice he had experienced, had preyed upon his mind so as to affect his health; whether it was that

the foul air and coarse food of the prison left the seeds of a dangerous malady; it was not long before he took to his bed, from which he ne

ver arose.

The tenour of Florian's life indicated a long career. His temperance and sobriety, gave hopes, that he would be a long time preserved to Friendship and to Letters. Although rather below the middle size, he was strongly made. His face was not handsome; but the serenity, the gayety which shone in it; his full black eyes, sparkling with fire, which gave an expression of animation to the toute ensemble of his countenance, rendered it striking and agreeable. He died at Seaux, in a small apartment which he occupied, at the Orangery, before he reached his fortieth year.

At any other time, the death of the author of Estelle, Galatea, Numa, Gonzalvo, and William Tell, would have been ranked amongst the most particular occurrences of the day. Poets would have written elegies upon his untimely fate; and the literary societies would have resounded with his eulogies, and bewailed the loss which learning had sustained. But, at the period when Florian died, men were wholly oc cupied with politicks and grief. Each had some personal tears to shed to the memory of murdered friends or kinsmen; and the death of Florian, scarcely noticed in a few of the journals of the day, was, with them, forgotten.

THE events which have recently occurred in Spain have excited universal astonishment. Every one is solicitous to trace their progress, and to ascertain the cause, which has produced them. A mighty empire overthrown in the space of a ew days, and the reigning family

carried captive by foreigners without resistance from the natives, are such events as are unparalleled in history.

What cause then can be assigned which is adequate to such effects? The cause is obvious:-bad government. This has ruined, in succes

sion, all the mighty empires which have existed in the world, and will continue to do so till the end of time.

When a territory of contracted limits has been overrun by some powerful nation: this implies merely a physical inability to defend itself But when a widely extended country, well peopled, has been suddenly subdued, we have always been able to trace this ruin to its proper cause; bad government.

In Spain a former generation saw the country in the space of three years conquered by the Moors. It was at that time ill governed, disheartened, and disarmed: but, as the new comers governed well, it required more than seven hundred years of almost incessant war to drive them out. There can be no doubt, therefore, that to bad government we must ascribe this recent revolution.

The next question which occurs to be resolved, is, how Spain came to be worse governed than the surrounding kingdoms.

This subject requires some retrospect, some short investigation.

When the intolerable abuses of the feudal system, oppressive at once to subjects and to sovereigns, required reformation, the sagacity of statesmen led them to different expedients for relief. In one point they all agreed; they humbled the proud vassals of the crown, but suffered the power of the people to increase. Such was the policy of Henry VIL Of Ferdinand and Isabella, of Ximenes, and of Richelieu. Thus far all was well. But whilst in England our parliaments maintained their power, such national assemblies were laid aside in France and Spain. Indeed France retained her provincial parliaments, but these formed a feeble barrier against the encroachments of the crown. In Spain, from the days of Charles V. the Cortes were never suffered to assemble, excepting only once at the commencement of a

reign, to proclaim the title of the successour to the throne.

One additional cause of bad government was found in Spain.

When the reigning family was changed, and Louis XVI. forced his grandson upon a reluctant people, the Bourbon family thought it expedient to assemble the grandees round the throne, where, in fact, they were prisoners of state. Thus assembled, and devested of all power, they quickly degenerated and became perfectly useless to the state. All these circumstances have been noticed in my Spanish travelsWhilst Charles III. was living, the government, it must be confessed, was weak, but it was not oppressive. His understanding was such as to guide him well in the choice of his ministers, and every one was satisfied of his benevolent intentions. His successour was not so highly favoured. Of his heart I can say nothing; but every thing demonstrates the deficiency of his intellectual powers. Whilst I resided at Madrid, I went every day to court, and, solicitous to form some judgment of the destined successour to the throne, I constantly attended in the circle, where he conversed with his friends and the foreign ministers after dinner. Here it was not possible to mistake his character in point of understanding. His education and his habits had no tendency to remedy this defect; for the greatest part of his time was spent in the diversions of the field, and none appeared to have been allotted to the improvements of the mind.

When he returned from hunting, and when the weather prevented his sport, his occupations were such only as were suited to infancy.

After his accession to the crown his principal amusement in the depth of winter, at Madrid, was a Nacimiento, or representation of the Nativity. For this purpose, in a saloon of three hundred and sixty feet long were seen a mountain,

rocks, cascades, and verdant groves, Jerusalem and Babylon, a sea coast and ships, numerous images of angels, wise men, and shepherds, with the Virgin and the infant Jesus, all curiously wrought by the best artists of Italy and Spain. These were richly clad in modern style. The jewels of gold, silver, pearls, emeralds, and diamonds, with which he adorned these figures, were of inestimable value, and the camels attendant on the wise men were loaded with treasures.

The whole of this saloon was lighted by hundreds of lamps, concealed from the spectators.

During the twelve days of Christ mas the king always spent his nights in this saloon. And here the grandees, ambassadours, ministers of state, and persons of distinction, were admitted to pay their compliments, each vying with the other in expressions of admiration at the wonders of his Nacimiento

The principal artist was obliged every year to exhibit the powers of his imagination by some new plan. When I was at Madrid I had the honour of being introduced to Sabatini, a distinguished architect, whose merit had been little noticed by the court; but this man, in the succeeding reign, having had the good fortune to give satisfaction to the sovereign, by the construction of a saloon for his Nacimiento, as a reward for his ingenuity he was made an admiral.

It must not, however, be imagined that Sabatini was to have the command of fleets upon the ocean. No: he was to be one of the admirals who commanded the little fleet upon the Tagus, with which the king amused himself during his vernal residence at Aranjuez.

From good authority I am inform, ed that more than 30,000l. was every year expended on this childish play thing of the king,

Whilst he thus amused himself the cares of government devolved wholly

on the queen, who immediately on his accession to the throne took her seat in council by his side, attended whenever the ministers were admitted to an audience, and prior to their admission was informed of the bu siness on which they came.

As long as Florida Blanca retained his power, his whole attention was directed to the wellbeing of the state. His virtue was rigid, his fidelity, inflexible. Intent on the improvement of the country, he allotted great sums to canals and roads; but not finding the publick revenue adequate to the demand for these important works, he suggested to the king that, for the publick good, other expedients should be resorted to; and when the dutchy of Alcudia escheated to the crown, he advised that the rents should be applied to expedite the finishing of the great canals.

His wise purposes were, however, frustrated, and this high dignity with its emoluments were given to a favourite of the court.

When I was in Spain this favourite was perfectly unknown. But soon after the death of the good old king, when a young Spaniard, a very intimate friend of mine, was about to visit England, and had taken leave of the royal family, his father, well acquainted with the secrets of the court, inquired of him if he had called on Manuel Godoy, No. Go then immediately, and ask for his protection. My friend obeyed the mandate of his father, and was most graciously received. This handsome young guarde de corps was at dinner with some of the grandees, who doubtless foresaw his future great+ ness.

The house was his own, magnifi, cently furnished, and the room in which he dined was decorated with the most elegant and costly trinkets. For some years this favourite of fortune was concealed from publick view; he had shone hitherto in the small circle of his friends. But now