looked upon as the immediate author of the misfortunes which impended over the nation. His house was attacked by the multitude, and if he had been found, he would assuredly have been murdered. They were, in some degree, calmed by a promise which Ferdinand gave them, that, happen what might, he would not quit the country. Already the favourite of the people, they then proclaimed him their king. The queen, terrified more on account of her paramour, for whom the multitude were eagerly searching every part of the palace, than even on her own account, advised Charles to abdicate. The act was quickly drawn up and signed, and the reign of Ferdinand commenced. Godoy, who had lain concealed beneath some mattresses during twenty-four hours, urged by a violent thirst, rushed into a gallery, where he met a sentinel, to whom he offered a costly gold repeater for a glass of water. The sentinel knew the traitor, and delivered him to the people. It was one of Ferdinand's first acts to preserve the life of this his most deadly enemy, by declaring that it was necessary to discover from him his accomplices.

The revolution of Aranjuez afforded Napoleon every diplomatic facility which he could have required, in order to lend a slight form of decency to his usurpation of the throne of Spain. Murat, who was then at Madrid with a large force, was of course unprepared to recognize Ferdinand as king. It was an event which had not been provided for in his instructions. He must wait for the orders of his imperial master. But in the mean time he placed himself in active correspondence with the queen, took Godoy under his own protection, and was soon furnished with abundant evidence of the discord which prevailed in the royal family. The abdication was then made out to be an act forced upon Charles by armed rebels, instigated by Ferdinand. The abdication was, therefore, of no validity, and Ferdinand possessed no title to the crown, which he so wickedly assumed. His mother painted him in her letters as a monster, prepared by his natural dispositions for the perpetration of any crime. The wily Savary next appeared upon the scene of treachery. He came directly from the emperor, whom he had left at Bayonne, preparing to realize a promise previously given to Charles, that he would visit Madrid. Savary congratulated Ferdinand upon the turn which events had taken in his favour, but forgot to address him by the title of "Majesty!" When this slight mistake was hinted at, he answered that he reserved for the emperor the honour of being the first among Frenchmen to salute the new king. Napoleon had not yet arrived. Not yet; but doubtless he was already at Burgos, whither of course Ferdinand was about to proceed to receive his distinguished guest. Ferdinand, attended by his feeble advisers, set out post haste to meet the emperor at Burgos. But to their infinite surprise there was no Napoleon, nor any symptoms of his approach, at Burgos. Business, the management of important state affairs, had detained him on the way. No doubt could be entertained that his majesty was at Vittoria. Off the deluded Ferdinand and his mules scampered to Vittoria. But Vittoria was as free from the presence even of an imperial page as Burgos. It was, however, full of French troops, who surrounded the town, and prevented Ferdinand, when he resolved upon such a measure too late, from returning to the south. He had no alternative but to advance to Bayonne. He had scarcely alighted at his hotel when he was visited by Napoleon. Felicitations upon their meeting were lavished on both sides;

it was too soon to think of politics. Duroc stayed behind to invite Ferdinand to dine with the emperor at Marac-the artillery barracks near the town. Ferdinand went, and, charmed by his reception, returned to his hotel in high spirits. He was smoking a cigar when Savary was announced. "I have the honour," said the military diplomatist, "to state, on the part of my royal master, that the dynasty of the Bourbons has ceased to reign in Spain, and that it is about to be replaced by that of Napoleon, who has directed me to receive your renunciation in his favour of the crown, as well for yourself as for all the princes of your family." Ferdinand was astounded. When he found words, he declared, with some dignity, that whatever he might do as to his own rights, he would never sacrifice those of his family. By the contrivance of Murat they were all soon there to answer for themselves, and a course of negotiation, accusation, and recrimination followed, which we could wish, for the sake of humanity, that history were enabled to erase from her scroll. The imperial arbitrator quickly decided, upon their own showing, that none of them were competent to exercise the functions of sovereignty. Ferdinand and his brothers were sent to Valençay; Charles and his spouse, together with Godoy, were pensioned, and permitted to fix their

residence at Rome.

Some time in the year 1816 or 1817, a person named San Martin, who frequently visited Charles, happened to converse with him on the extraordinary fortunes of Godoy. In the course of the conversation, the ex-king, as if himself astonished at the rise of a man of no birth, innocently asked to what circumstance it could possibly be traced. San Martin thoughtlessly replied, "To the well-known passion of the queen, without doubt." Strange to say, this was the first time that this unwelcome truth had reached the ear of Charles. He never had the slightest suspicion of the infidelity of his wife-but now a thousand circumstances rushed upon his memory to establish her guilt. To his hónour it must be added, that he quitted her society instantly, and sought refuge at the court of Naples. But the intelligence which he had obtained so unexpectedly was a blow from which he never recovered He died very soon after. His consort, who, it is said, repented towards the end of her life of her early crimes, followed him to the tomb in 1819, and in the year 1823, Godoy. was also numbered among the dead.

Before Ferdinand quitted Spain, he solicited from Napoleon the hand of one of the princesses of his family. While at Valençay he repeated his wishes on this point more than once, in terms which rendered him the laughing-stock of the imperial court. But the events which took place in the Peninsula and the North of Europe, in 1812 and 1813, produced an important alteration in Ferdinand's fortunes. No longer a prisoner, he was restored to his throne and his country; and if, instead of spending his exile at Valençay in indolent repose or puerile amusements, he had endeavoured to repair the deficiencies of his education, he might have raised Spain from her ruins to the rank which she deserves as one of the first-rate powers in Europe. Never had a monarch a more admirable opportunity of placing upon a secure foundation the happiness and prosperity of his people, than Ferdinand possessed when, from the Pyrenees, he once more looked down upon the fertile fields of Spain. He had pledged himself to the maintenance of the leading principles of

the constitution. He might have easily reformed the political errors with which the theory of that scheme abounded, and have reconciled all the useful attributes of his crown with the freedom of his subjects; but with the levity which disgraced his character, he flung the volume of the constitution into the fire, the moment he heard the enthusiastic "vivas" with which he was saluted on all sides upon passing the frontiers. He dismissed, in the most insulting terms, the Cortes which had been mainly instrumental in the preservation of his throne, and proclaimed his resolution to extinguish every trace of that liberal spirit which had been the liberator of his country. Ingratitude and folly combined to plunge him in a course of evil government, which for six years placed every respectable family in the kingdom in a state of constant alarm. The blood of some of the best men of Spain-of men who had fought heroically against the enemy for their hearths and altars-was shed upon an ignominious scaffold. Compelled, at length, by the sudden revolution of 1820, to accept a new version of the constitution, he basely temporized with the events of the hour. Immediately after swearing in the most solemn manner faithfully to perform the duties assigned to him by the new order of things, he despatched agents to Louis XVIII. who carried his secret protest against the acts which he executed in public. His conduct during the three years of the constitution was marked by so many indications of insincerity, that we are surprised at the facility with which the leading men of the Cortes suffered him to lead them, step by step, to their own ruin. From the recovery of his absolute power, through the intervention of France, to the last hour of his existence, his sole object seemed to have been how he might render it most injurious to the country that was intrusted to his care. The massacre or exile of all her most enlightened men-the desolation of her towns and villages-the destruction of her internal and foreign trade the total loss of her noble colonies-her degradation in the scale of Europe, where she scarcely ranks as a third-rate power, remain to mark the reign of Ferdinand VII. as an epoch of disaster and shame in the annals of the Peninsula.

Nevertheless, the personal biographer of the late king might find some traits in his character, which, though they could not, indeed, redeem his political transgressions, must secure him, at least, from being considered as his nefarious mother pronounced him to be—

"Monstrum nulla virtute redemtum."

I myself have witnessed the condescension with which he attended to the petitions of the poor. Loitering one day about the palace of Madrid, which, by the way, is well worth the attention of a stranger, as one of the handsomest edifices of the kind in Europe, my attention was attracted by a number of state carriages which were proceeding towards the principal entrance. I followed them almost instinctively, and soon found myself stationed among a number of grenadier guards, who were drawn up near the lower steps of a magnificent staircase. In the passage to which the staircase opened there were seven or eight old women, with papers in their hands, ready for presentation. In a few minutes the king and queen (his third wife Amelia, of Saxony) descended, followed by a brilliant group of officers in full dress. The king wore a dark blue coat, turned up with crimson, laced with gold, white small

clothes, white silk stockings, a blue riband over his left shoulder, and a star on his breast. The queen was then little more than twenty years of age, but her pale countenance already disclosed symptoms of that broken heart which soon after found repose in the grave. Her figure, which was slight and elegantly formed, was nearly enveloped in a blue silk mantle, edged with ermine. She wore on her head a pink hat, without feathers. Her appearance contrasted strongly with that of Ferdinand, as he handed her into the carriage. It is well known that his chin and lower lip were nearly in a right line with the extremity of a nose of no ordinary dimensions. The deformity of his features was, in some degree, palliated by large mustachios. But although his figure was erect, manly, and even princely, I could not help thinking, when he took his seat by his fragile consort, of the celebrated story of "Beauty and the Beast," until I beheld him taking, with his own hand, through the still open door, the petitions of the poor people whom he called to him for the purpose. His swarthy rude face was suddenly lighted up with an expression of kindness, which shewed that he was not wholly unaccustomed to acts of a benevolent description. I know not whether any of these supplicants ever received any answer to their representations; but I saw that they were already half satisfied, at least, by what I may really call the paternal smiles of their sovereign.

This royal attention to the lower orders is a practice of an ancient date in Spain. During the prevalence of the constitution, Ferdinand was not, indeed, allowed to give audiences to inferior persons, as suspicions were entertained, not without good grounds, that plots were often in preparation for effecting the escape of the royal family from Madrid to the French frontiers. But when the constitution was destroyed, the king resumed his former habits on this point, and once or twice every week admitted all persons, without any distinction of rank, to his presence. He rose generally at six, and soon after took a cup of chocolate and a cigar. His morning was passed in the apartments of the queen, and it is understood that he never was so happy in them as since they were occupied by her present majesty. He became devotedly attached to her from the moment that she gave those hopes, which were afterwards realized, of continuing his race-an object which he had always looked forward to with the utmost solicitude. He transacted business with his ministers regularly between twelve o'clock and half-past two, when he dined. He then drove out with the queen for two or three hours, after which he saw any person whom he had appointed to attend him. He supped at half-past eight, and retired early. During the whole of Ferdinand's reign, the manners of the Spanish court were extremely simple and unostentatious. He never had any avowed mistresses; indeed, after his restoration in 1814 he is said to have been without any liaison of that kind. The offices of religion were regularly performed every day in the beautiful chapel of the palace. But Ferdinand was at no time of his life impressed with the necessity of attending earnestly to that subject. He had, in this respect, more of the character of Louis XVIII. in him than of Charles X. The story of the embroidered petticoat has never been denied-so far, at least, as the presentation of such an ornament by Ferdinand to a particular church. This proceeding was, however, rather the result of his superstition, than of his religion, between which there is not only a distinction, but a wide difference.

Pascal was a thoroughly religious man, without a particle of superstition. Napoleon was superstitious in the extreme; but his most republican enemies never accused him of religion.

The society of Madrid has been uniformly grave since the war of independence. The poverty of the nobles, who suffered enormous losses of property at that period, has been, perhaps, the principal cause of this revolution in the manners of a capital which had long been remarkable for its gaiety. The personal dispositions and habits of Ferdinand gave moreover a tone of reserve and retirement to the court, which necessarily exercised an influence upon society. Brought up, I may say, a prisoner, and confined for nearly six years at Valençay, at a period of life when the character is most susceptible of permanent impressions, he was accustomed to find his pleasures and amusements within a narrow circle. He was, in truth, extremely domestic-too much so for a king. He smoked so great a number of cigars during the course of the day, that his breath was quite tainted with that unpleasant after-smell which tobacco leaves behind it. He ate also, sometimes inordinately. An over-indulgence in this way brought on the fit of apoplexy which terminated in his death. He drank very little more wine than Spaniards do in general; but it was always of the best description. For some years he had been afflicted with the gout, a complaint of which he fully availed himself, in order to delay his departure with the Cortes from Madrid to Seville, in 1823. The communication to him of the resolutions of that body for the removal of the court brought on an attack of that malady, which, according to his own report, tortured him incessantly for three weeks; but when the legislative physicians expressed an apprehension that it might, if it continued longer, lead to insanity, which would render the appointment of a regent indispensable, the disease quitted him with miraculous expedition.

Ferdinand paid little attention to the grandees of Spain. His confidential ministers were seldom selected from that class. He was partial, rather than otherwise, to parvenus; and felt a pleasure in raising men to office who had often little to recommend them, beyond the talents which they exhibited in administering to his private amusements. His real courtiers were frequently persons of very low birth and station. At one period of his life, the most influential man in Spain was Chamarro, who was nothing more than a buffoon; but his fantastic tricks made Ferdinand laugh immoderately, and nothing was refused to his solicitations. He was so much pleased with Montenegro, who was one of his valets at Valençay, that he appointed him intendant of the royal palaces, and bestowed upon him, moreover, abundant marks of his favour. The queen (Maria Isabella,) fully participated in the king's attachment to this servant. Happening, one day to be engaged in fastening a cross of Charles III. to a riband of that order, she desired Montenegro to hold one of the ends of the riband. He knelt on one knee for the purpose, desirous of performing her Majesty's commands in the most respectful manner. The king, suddenly entering the apartment by a private door, beheld this apparent scene of gallantry with indignation; not perceiving how Montenegro was employed, and urged by an irrepressible feeling of jealousy, he rushed past the queen and knocked him down at full length on the floor. The queen shrieked, a number of domestics immediately hastened. to her assistance; in the confusion, Montenegro got up as well as he