prodigious and unheard-of strides, while discoveries in every quarter are simultaneously pressing upon us, and coming in such rapid and bewildering succession, that the strongest sight, dazzled by the glare of their splendour, is unable to contemplate them as a whole; while other discoveries still more important, and still more remote from ordinary experience, are manifestly approaching, and may be seen looming in the distance, whence they are now obscurely working on the advanced thinkers who are nearest to them, filling their minds with those ill-defined, restless, and almost uneasy, feelings, which are the invariable harbingers of future triumph; while the veil is being rudely torn, and nature, violated at all points, is forced to disclose her secrets, and reveal her structure, her economy, and her laws, to the indomitable energy of man; while Europe is ringing with the noise of intellectual achievements, with which even despotic governments affect to sympathize, in order that they may divert them from their natural course, and use them as new instruments whereby to oppress yet more the liberties of the people; while, amidst this general din and excitement, the public mind, swayed to and fro, is tossed and agitated, Spain sleeps on, untroubled, unheeding, impassive, receiving no impressions from the rest of the world, and making no impressions upon it. There she lies, at the further extremity of the Continent, a huge and torpid mass, the sole representative now remaining of the feelings and knowledge of the Middle Ages. And, what is the worst symptom of all, she is satisfied with her own condition. Though she is the most backward country in Europe, she believes herself to be the foremost. She is proud of every thing of which she should be ashamed. She is proud of the antiquity of her opinions; proud of her orthodoxy; proud of the strength of her faith; proud of her immeasurable and childish credulity; proud of her unwillingness to amend either her creed or her customs; proud of her hatred of heretics, and proud of the undying vigilance with which she has baffled their efforts to obtain a full and legal establishment on her soil.

All these things conspiring together, produce, in their aggregate, that melancholy exhibition to which we give the collective name of Spain. The history of that single word is the history of nearly every vicissitude of which the human species is capable. It comprises the extremes of strength and of weakness, of unbounded wealth and of abject poverty. It is the history of the mixture of different races, languages, and bloods. It includes almost every political combination which the wit of man can devise; laws infinite in variety, as well as in number; constitutions of all kinds, from the most stringent to the most liberal. Democracy, monarchy, government by priests, government by municipalities, government by nobles, government by representative bodies, government by natives, government by foreigners, have been tried, and tried in vain. Material appliances have been lavishly used; arts, inventions, and machines introduced from abroad, manufactures set up, communications opened, roads made, canals dug, mines worked, harbours formed. In a word, there has been every sort of alteration, except alterations of opinion; there has been every possible change, except changes in knowledge. And the result is, that in spite of the efforts of successive governments, in spite of the influence of foreign customs, and in spite of those physical ameliorations, which just touch the surface of society, but are unable to penetrate beneath, there are no signs of national progress; the priests are rather gaining ground than losing it; the slightest attack on the Church rouses the people; while, even the dissoluteness of the clergy, and the odious vices which, in the present century, have stained the throne, can do naught to lessen either the superstition or the loyalty which the accumulated force of many centuries has graven on the minds, and eaten into the hearts of the Spanish nation.

CHAPTER II.

CONDITION OF SCOTLAND TO THE END OF THE Fourteenth Century.

N the preceding view of the rise and decay of Spain, I have sought to exhibit the successive steps by which what was formerly one of the greatest nations of the earth, was broken, and cast down from its high estate. As we look back on that scene, the picture is, indeed, striking. A country rich in all natural productions, inhabited by a brave, a loyal, and a religious people, removed, too, by its geographical position from the hazards of European revolutions, did, by the operation of those general causes which I have indicated, suddenly rise to unparalleled grandeur; and then, without the occurrence of any new combination, but by a mere continuance of the same causes, fall with an equal velocity. Yet, these vicissitudes, strange and startling as they appear, were perfectly regular. They were the legitimate consequence of a state of society, in which the spirit of protection had reached its highest point, and in which, every thing being done for the people, nothing was done by the people. Whenever this happens, there may be great political progress, but there can be no really national progress. There may be accessions of territory, and vast increase of fame and of power. There may be improvements in the practice of administration, in the management of finances, in the organization of armies, in the art and theory of war, in the tricks of diplomacy, and in those various contrivances by which one nation is able to outwit and insult another. So far, however, from this benefiting the people, it will injure them in two different ways. In the first place, by increasing the reputation of the ruling

classes, it encourages that blind and servile respect which men are too apt to feel for those who are above them, and which, wherever it has been generally practised, has been found fatal to the highest qualities of the citizen, and therefore to the permanent grandeur of the nation. And, in the second place, it multiplies the resources of the executive government, and thus renders the country unable, as well as unwilling, to correct the errors of those who are at the head of affairs. Hence, in Spain, as in all countries similarly circumstanced, it was at the very moment when things were most prosperous at the surface, that they were most rotten at the foundation. In presence of the most splendid political success, the nation hastened to its downfall, and the crisis was fast approaching, in which, the whole edifice being overturned, nothing would be left, except a memorable warning of the consequences which must ensue, when the people, giving themselves up to the passions of superstition and loyalty, abdicate their own proper functions, forego their own responsibility, renounce their highest duties, and degrade themselves into passive instruments to serve the will of the Church and the throne.

Such is the great lesson taught by the history of Spain. From the history of Scotland, we may gather another lesson, of a different, and yet of a similar, kind. In Scotland, the progress of the nation has been very slow, but, on the whole, very sure. The country is extremely barren; the executive government has, with rare exceptions, been always weak; and the people have never been burdened with those feelings of loyalty which circumstances had forced upon the Spaniards. Certainly, the last charge that will be brought against the Scotch, is that of superstitious attachment to their princes.1 We,

1 One of their own historians complacently says, "but the Scots were seldom distinguished for loyalty." Laing's History of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 199, edit. 1819. See also p. 366. To the same effect, Brodie (History of the British Empire, Edinburgh, 1822, vol. i. p. 383): "The little respect paid to royalty is conspicuous in every page of Scottish history." Or, as Wilkes expressed himself in the House of Commons, "Scotland seems, indeed, the natural foyer of rebellion, as Egypt is of the plague." Parliament