Ab, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates, Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates?

XIX.

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd,
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep,
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd,
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep,
The tender azure of the unruffled deep,

The orange tints that gild the greenest bough,
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,

The vine on high, the willow branch below,
Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.

XX.

Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And frequent turn to linger as you go, From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, And rest ye at "Our Lady's house of woe;" (1) Where frugal monks their little relics show, And sundry legends to the stranger tell: Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo! Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

XXI.

And here and there, as up the crags you spring,
Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path:
Yet deem not these devotion's offering-
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath:

(1) The convent of "Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Señora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view.-[Since the publication of this poem, I have been informed of the misapprehension of the term Nossa Señora de Pena. It was owing to the want of the filde, or mark over the n, which alters the signification of the word: with it, Peña signifies a rock; without it, Peas has the sense I adopted. I do not think it necessary to alter the passage; as, though the common acceptation affixed to it is "Our Lady of the Rock," I may well assume the other sense from the austerities practised there. Note to the 2d Edition.]

2) It is a well-known fact, that in the year 1809, the assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen; but that Englishmen were daily butchered: and, so far from redress being obtained, we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend: had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that

• "This convent, or bermitage, is partly burrowed between the rocks which serve as vaults to the church, sacristy, and charterloase, etc., and partly built over the surface. The subterranean apartments are lighted by holes cut obliquely in the rocks, and lined internally with cork, to guard against the humidity. Hence it is called the Cork Convent. It is inhabited by about twenty hermits, of the most rigid order of Saint Francis. They are governed by a prior, and live chiefly on fish, fruit, and bread: each has a separate cell, about the size of a grave, furnished with a mattress; yet one of their community, named Honorius, thinking the meanest of these cells too luxurious a habitation, retired to a circular pit at the rear of the hermitage, not larger than Diogenes' tub (for it is but four leet diameter), and here, after a residence of sixteen years, he ended his peaceful days at a good old age. The floor of it is strewed with leaves, which served for his bed, and the rugged stone which he used alternately as a pillow and a seat is still to be seen." Murphy's Travels in Portugal.—P. E.

we should have "adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime of assassination is not confined to Portugal: in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished!

(3) Vathek (says Lord Byron, in one of his diaries), "was one of the tales I had a very early admiration of. For correctness of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it: his 'happy valley' will not bear a comparison with the Hall of Eblis.'"--[William Beckford, Esq., son of the once celebrated alderman, and heir to his enormons wealth, published, at the early age of eighteen, Memoirs of Extraordinary Painters; and in the year after, the romance thus eulogised. After sitting for Hindon in several parliaments, this gifted person was induced to fix, for a time, his residence in Portugal, where the memory of his magnificence was fresh at the period of Lord Byron's pilgrimage. Returning to England, he realised all the outward shows of Gothic grandeur in his unsubstantial pageant of Fonthill Abbey; and has more recently been indulging his fancy with another, probably not more lasting, monument of architectural caprice, in the vicinity of Bath. It is much to be regretted that, after a lapse of fifty years, Mr. Beckford's literary reputation should continue to rest entirely on his juvenile, however remarkable, performances. It is said, however, that he has prepared several works for posthumous publication.-L. E.]

(4) With reference to these stanzas on Vathek, Lord Byron says, in a letter to Mr. Dallas:-"I should be sorry to make any improper allusion, as I merely wish to adduce an example of wasted wealth, and the reflection which arose in surveying the most desolate mansion in the most beautiful spot I ever beheld."-P. E.

(5) The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva.-[“ The armistice, the negotiations, the convention itself, and the execution of its provisions,

To view these champions cheated of their fame, By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year?

were all commenced, conducted, and concluded, at the distance of thirty miles from Cintra, with which place they had not the slightest connection, political, military, or local; yet Lord Byron has gravely asserted, in prose and verse, that the convention was signed at the Marquis of Marialva's house at Cintra; and the author of The Diary of an Invalid, Improving upon the poet's discovery, detected the stains of the ink spilt by Junot upon the occasion." Napier's History of the Peninsular War.]—L. E.

(1) The following stanzas were altered by the noble author upon the suggestion of Mr. Dallas, who gives the following explanation respecting them in his Correspondence of Lord Byron "As the genins of Lord Byron has placed his fame so far above the possibility of being injured by the production of an occasional inferior stanza, and as the succeeding glories of the peninsular campaigns have completely thrown into shade the events alluded to, there can be no impropriety in now publishing, as literary curiosities, the three stanzas which were then properly omitted."-The following are the six stanzas as they originally stood. Those appearing below, as 24, 26, 29, appeared in the poem, in an altered state, numbered there as 24, 25, 26, of the first canto. The stanzas marked below 25, 27, and 28, were those omitted. -P. E.

His side is hung a seal and sable scroll,

Where blazon'd glares a name spelt Wellesley:
And sundry signatures adorn the roll,

Whereat the urchin points, and laughs with all his soul.
XXV.

In golden characters right well design'd,
First on the list appeareth one " Junot;”
Then certain other glorious names we find,
Which rhyme compelleth me to place below:
Dull victors baffled by a vanquish'd foe,
Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due,
Stand, worthy of each other, in a row-
Sir Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew
Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of t'other tew.
XXVI.

Convention is the dwarfish demon styled
That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :
Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled
And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom.
For well I wot, when first the news did come,
That Vuniera's field by Goul was lost,
For paragraph ne paper scarec had room,

XXIX.

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay,
Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen ;(3)
And church and court did mingle their array,
And mass and revel were alternate seen;

Such Paans teem'd for our triumphant host, In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post;

XXVII.

But when Convention sent his handy-work,
Pens, tongues, feet, hands, combined in wild uproar
Mayor, aldermen, laid down the uplifted fork;
The bench of bishops half forgot to snore;
Stern Cobbett, who for one whole week forbore
To question aught, once more with transport leapt,
And bit his devilish quill agen, and swore
With foe such treaty never should be kept,

Then burst the blatant beast, and roar'd, and raged, and-slept!
XXVIII.

Thus unto Heaven appeal'd the people: Heaven,
Which loves the lieges of our gracious king,
Decreed, that, ere our generals were forgiven,
Inquiry should be held about the thing.
But Mercy cloak'd the babes beneath her wing:
And as they spared our foes, so spared we them;
Where was the pity of our sires for Byng?+)
Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn;
Then live, ye gallant knights! and bless your judges' phlegm !
XXIX.

But ever since that martial synod met,
Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;
And folks in office at the mention sweat,

And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame.

How will posterity the deed proclaim!

Will not our own and fellow nations sneer,

To view these champions cheated of their fame

By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here,

Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year?

(2) "After remaining ten days in Lisbon, we sent our baggage and part of our servants by sea to Gibraltar, and travelled on horseback to Seville; a distance of nearly four hundred miles. The horses are excellent: we rode seventy miles a-day. Eggs and wine, and hard beds, are all the accommodation we found, and, in such torrid weather, quite enough." B. Letters, 1809.-L. E.

(3) "Her luckless Majesty went subsequently mad; and Dr. Willis, who so dexterously cudgelled kingly pericra

• "Blatant beast"-a figure for the mob, I think first used by Smollett in his Adventures of an Atom. Horace has the "bellua multorum capitum :" in England, fortunately enough, the illustrious mobility have not even one.

By this query it is not meant that our foolish generals should have been shot, but that Byng might have been spared; though the one suffered and the others escaped, probably for Candide's reason, 'pour encourager les autres."-[See Croker's Boswell, vol. 1. p. 238; and the Quarterly Review, vol. xxvii. p. 207, where the question, whether the admiral was or was not a political martyr, is treated at large.-L. E.)

Lordlings and freres-ill-sorted fry I ween! But here the Babylonian whore hath built (1) A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt.

XXX.

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race!) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place.

Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,
And marvel men should quit their easy chair,
The toilsome way, and long long league to trace,
Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air,
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share.
XXXI.

More bleak to view the hills at length recede,
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend;
Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed!
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end,
Spain's realms appear, whereon her shepherds tend
Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader
knows-

Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend:
For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes,
And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's

woes.

XXXII.

Where Lusitania and her Sister meet,

Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide?
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet,
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide?
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride?
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall?-
Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide,

Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul:

niums, could make nothing of hers." Byron MS.- [The Queen laboured under a melancholy kind of derangement, from which she never recovered. She died at the Brazils, in 1916.-L. E]

(1) The extent of Mafra is prodigious: it contains a palace, convent, and most superb church. The six organs are the most beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration: we did not hear them, but were told that their tones were correspondent to their splendour. Mafra is termed the Escurial of Portugal.-["About ten miles to the right of Cintra," says Lord Byron, in a letter to his mother, "is the palace of Mafra, the boast of Portugal, as it might be of any country, in point of magnificence, without elegance. There is a convent annexed: the monks, who possess large revenues, are courteous enough, and understand Latin; so that we had a lang conversation. They have a large library, and asked me of the English had any books in their country." Mafra was erected by John V., in pursuance of a vow, made in a dancerns fit of illness, to found a convent for the use of the poorest friary in the kingdom. Upon inquiry, this poorest was found at Mafra, where twelve Franciscans lived together is a hut. There is a magnificent view of the existing edifice in Finden's Illustrations.-L. E.}

(2) As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterised Bem. That they are since improved, at least in courage, evident. The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders: he has, perhaps, changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. 1812.

XXXIII.

But these between a silver streamlet glides, And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow; For proud each peasant as the noblest duke: Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know "Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. (2) XXXIV.

But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd,
Dark Guadiana rolls his power along

In sullen billows, murmuring and vast,
So noted ancient roundelays among. (3)
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng
Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendour drest:
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the

strong;

The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppress'd.

XXXV.

Oh, lovely Spain! renown'd romantic land! Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore? (4)

Where are those bloody banners which of yore Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore? Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail.

XXXVI.

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! When granite moulders and when records fail, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.

(3) Lord Byron seems to have thus early acquired enough of Spanish to understand and appreciate the grand body of ancient popular poetry,-unequalled in Europe,-which must ever form the pride of that magnificent language. His beantiful version of one of the best of the ballads of the Granada war the "Romance muy doloroso del citio y toma de Alhama"-will be found in another part of the volume.—

L. E.

(4) Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest of Granada.["Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation by Roderick of Florinda, called by the Moors Caba, or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, forming an alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik; the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. The Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda's memory, are said by Cervantes never to bestow that name upon any human female, reserving it especially for their dogs." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.}

Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, See how the mighty shrink into a song! Can volume, pillar, pile, preserve thee great? Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong?

XXXVII.

Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance! Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries; But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies: Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: In every peal she calls-"Awake! arise!" Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore?

XXXVIII.

Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ?-the fires of death, The bale-fires flash on high:-from rock to rock Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, (1) Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.

XXXIX.

Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon

(1) In the original MS.

"from rock to rock

Blue columns soar aloft in sulphurous wreath,
Fragments on fragments in confusion knock!"-L. E.

(2) "A bolder prosopopreia," says a nameless critic, "or one better imagined or expressed, cannot easily be found in the whole range of ancient and modern poetry. Unlike the 'plume of Horror,' or the eagle-winged Victory,' described by our great epic poet, this gigantic figure is a distinct object, perfect in lineaments, tremendous in operation, and vested with all the attributes calculated to excite terror and admiration."-L. E.

(3) We think it right to restore here a note which Lord Byron himself suppressed, with reluctance, at the urgent request of a friend. It alludes, inter alia, to the then i recent publication of Sir Walter Scott's Vision of Don Roderick, of which work the profits had been handsomely given to the cause of Portuguese patriotism:- "We have heard wonders of the Portuguese lately, and their gallantry. Pray Heaven it continue; yet would it were bed-time, Hal, and all were well!' They must fight a great many hours, by 'Shrewsbury clock,' before the number of their slain equals that of our countrymen butchered by these kind creatures, new metamorphosed into 'caçadores,' and what not. merely state a fact, not confined to Portugal; for in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian and Maltese is ever punished! The neglect of protection is disgraceful to our government and governors; for the murders are as notorious as the moon that shines upon them, and the apathy that overlooks them. The Portuguese, it is to be hoped, are complimented with the 'Forlorn Hope,'-if the cowards are become brave (like the rest of their kind, in a corner), pray let them display it. But there is a subscription for these paro-Shot,' (they need not be ashamed of the epithet once applied to the Spartans); and all the charitable patronymics, from ostentatious A. to diffident Z., and

XL.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see

(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery,

Their various arms that glitter in the air!
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair,
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey!
All join the chase, but few the triumph share;
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
XLI.

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high;
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory!
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally

That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met-as if at home they could not die-
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,

And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. (3)

XLII.

There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd fools!
Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay!
Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts-to what?--a dream alone.
Can despots compass aught that hails their
sway?

£1: 1:0 from An Admirer of Valour,' are in requisition | for the lists at Lloyd's, and the honour of British benevolence. Well we have fought, and subscribed, and be- | stowed peerages, and buried the killed by our friends and foes; and, lo all this is to be done over again! Like Lien Chi (in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World), as we grow older, we grow never the better.' It would be pleasant to learn who will subscribe for us, in or about the year 1815, and what nation will send fifty thousand men, first to be decimated in the capital, and then decimated again (in the Irish fashion, nine out of ten), in the bed of honour;" which, as Sergeant Kite says, is considerably larger and more commodious than the bed of Ware." Then they must have a poet to write the Vision of Don Perceral, and generously bestow the profits of the well and widelyprinted quarto, to rebuild the Back-wynd' and the Canon gate,' or furnish new kilts for the half-roasted Highlanders. Lord Wellington, however, has enacted marvels; and so did his Oriental brother, whom I saw charioteering over the ¦ French flag, and heard clipping bad Spanish, after listening to the speech of a patriotic cobbler of Cadiz, on the event of his own entry into that city, and the exit of some five thou sand bold Britons out of this best of all possible worlds.' Sorely were we puzzled how to dispose of that same victory of Talavera; and a victory it surely was somewhere, for every body claimed it. The Spanish despatch and mob called it Cuesta's, and made no great mention of the Viscount; the French called it theirs (to my great discomfiture, for a French consul stopped my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris gazette, just as I had killed Sebastiani, 'in buckram,' and King Joseph, in Kendal green'),-and we have not yet determined what to call it, or whose; for, certes, it was none of our own. Howbeit, Massena's retreat is a great comfort; and as we have not been in the habit of pursuing for some years past, no wonder if we are a little awkward at first. No doubt we shall improve; or, if not, we have only to take to our old way of retrograding, and there we are at home."-L. E.

Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein, at last, they crumble bone by bone?

XLIII.

Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief!

As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed! Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed And tears of triumph their reward prolong! Till others fall where other chieftains lead, Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song. (1)

XLIV.

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame:
Fame that will scarce re-animate their clay,
Though thousands fall to deck some single name.
In sooth 't were sad to thwart their noble aim
Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good,
And die, that living might have proved her shame;
Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud,
Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.
XLV.

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way
Where proud Sevilla (2) triumphs unsubdued:
Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish'd-for prey!
Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude,
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude.
Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive
Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive,

And Virtae vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive.

(I) This stanza is not in the original MS. It was written at Newstead, in August 1811, shortly after the battle of Albuera, which took place in May.-L. E.

(2) "At Seville, we lodged in the house of two Spanish unmarried ladies, women of character, the eldest a fine woman, the youngest pretty. The freedom of manner, which is general here, astonished me not a little; and, in the course of further observation, I find that reserve is not the characteristic of Spanish belles. The eldest honoured your un worthy son with very particular attention, embracing him with great tenderness at parting (I was there but three days), after cutting off a lock of his hair, and presenting him with one of her own, about three feet in length, which I send you, and beg you will retain till my return. Her last words were, Adios, tu hermoso, me gusto mucho!' Adieu, you pretty fellow, you please me much!'" Lord B. to his Mother, Aug. 1809.-L. E.

(3) A kind of fiddle, with only two strings, played on by

On yon long level plain, at distance crown'd
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest,
Wide-scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground;
And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd vest
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest:
Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host,
Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast,
And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.
L.

And whomsoe'er along the path you meet
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue,
Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet:(5)
Woe to the man that walks in public view
Without of loyalty this token true!

Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke;
And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue,

If subtle poniards, wrapp'd beneath the cloak, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke.

LI.

At every turn Morena's dusky height
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain howitzer, the broken road,
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd,
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch,
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd,

The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid, (6) the ever blazing-match,

a bow, said to have been brought by the Moors into Spain. -L. E.

(4) "Viva el Rey Fernando!" Long live King Ferdinand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have heard many of them: some of the airs are beautiful. Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, etc. etc. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country.-[See, for ample particulars concerning the flagitious court of Charles IV., Southey's History of the Peninsular War, vol. i.-L. E.]

(5) The red cockade, with "Fernando VII." in the centre. (6) All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal form in which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra