lent man. His works are extremely voluminous, and all tending to some grand object of reform and improvement. An essay, published by him in 1812, exposed many of the abuses which have crept into church-discipline; and, amongst others, the nomination of bishops by the popes, or by temporal sovereigns, instead of being elected by the clergy and people, as they were originally. His academical discourse on the Holy Office appeared soon after. Since these publications, the " Critical History," and "Plan of a Religious Constitution," already mentioned, have added greatly to his literary reputation. The last named work has been denounced by the Bishop of Barcelona, and a severe censure passed on it; this gave rise to a second work, entitled an Apology for the former; in which every article attacked by the censor is ably refuted, and the doctrines previously laid down more strengthened than ever. Thus it is, that the persecutions of talent and virtue are rendered useful to mankind.

From the magnitude and number of M. Llorente's offences, there is little doubt, that, if the Inquisition were restored, and should he fall into the hands of its familiars, he would, himself, grace one of those spectacles so often and well described in his works.

The publication of a work, in which the author has produced various interesting documents, and, amongst others, a remonstrance made by the minister of Saint Louis to Pope Innocent IV., in 1247, against the undue and tyrannical influence of the sovereign pontiff, no less than his Plan of a Religious Constitution, has made M. Llorente an object of jealousy and hatred to the French hierarchy, and was the cause of his being excluded from performing mass in any of the churches in Paris. This cruel and malignant act has deprived him of a trifling stipend; thus considerably reducing means, which were already of the most circumscribed description. The result of all this series of injustice at home, and persecution abroad, is, that the author of the "Critical History," after enjoying an ample fortune, during the time of his life when it was least wanted, is now reduced to the necessity of seeking his bread in a strange land.

In addition to his articles furnished to the Révue Encyclopadique, M. Llorente occasionally offers some wholesome advice to his countrymen, and much as he disapproves of many acts of the constitutional government, more especially of those which relate to the Afrancesados, he is not the less patriotic or anxious for its preservation: his opinions on the policy which the ministers ought to pursue are to be found in several letters, published under the signature of Candido.

Upon the whole, this excellent divine may be said to exhibit the sublimest spectacle of our nature; that of a virtuous man struggling with adversity, and sustaining his principles in the midst of difficulties; of which, only a small part would convert hundreds of his contemporaries into hypocrites and slaves.

The documents collected by M. Llorente, relative to the more remarkable trials and persecutions of the Holy Office, also the

corre

correspondence of Charles V. with his ambassador at Rome, one of the most interesting extant, would be a valuable acquisition to the British Museum; though there is reason to believe that they have been offered to it, and rejected. His life of the venerable Bishop of Chiapa is in the press, and could not be better dedicated than to his collateral descendant, the faithful and persecuted follower of Napoleon.

'M. Llorente's knowledge of ecclesiastical history, and theological controversy, has obtained for him the appellation of "the walking library" (biblioteca ambulante): learning could not be better conferred, for he is ever ready to communicate it, and without that pedantic vanity displayed by so many of his contemporaries in Spain and other countries. Owing to the peculiarity of his situation, which has prevented M. Llorente from returning home, as well as the want of good faith amongst some French and Spanish booksellers, who have printed editions of his works, without consulting the author, they have become more profitable to others than to himself.

In closing this inadequate notice of the services rendered to mankind by M. Llorente, I would appeal to the humane and benevolent, whether it is not a stain on the character of the times, that such men should be suffered to end their days in poverty; and I will ask, with what justice those who neglect them can reproach the persecutors of Cervantes, Tasso, and Camoens?'

Our readers know that M. Llorente was lately driven back from France into his own country.

The prefixed map exhibits a part of Andalusia and Grenada, including Cadiz.

MONTHLY CATALOGUE,

Art. 12.

FOR APRIL, 1823.

POETRY and the DRAMA.

The Age of Bronze; or, Carmen Seculare et Annus
haud Mirabilis. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Hunt. 1823.

It is understood that these lines are the production of Lord
Byron, though he has not chosen to give to them the sanction of
his name; and certainly they bear the features of his muse. They
are careless and unequal, vigorous and caustic. Our readers will
remember the scorn with which Napoleon Bonaparte was assailed
by the noble Lord after the battle of Waterloo, and this is now
the
way in which his treatment as a captive is recorded:

But where is he, the modern, mightier far,
Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car;
The new Sesostris, whose unharnessed kings,
Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings,
And spurn the dust o'er which they crawled of late,
Chained to the chariot of the chieftain's state?

Yes!

Yes! where is he, the Champion and the Child
Of all that's great or little, wise or wild?

Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones ?
Whose table, earthwhose dice were human bones?
Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,
And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
Sigh to behold the Eagle's lofty rage
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage;
Smile to survey the Queller of the Nations
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations;
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines,
O'er curtailed dishes and o'er stinted wines:
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things-
Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings?
Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's statement and an earl's harangues !
A bust delayed, a book refused, can shake
The sleep of him who kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the Tamer of the Great,
Now slave of all could teaze or irritate
The paltry jailer and the prying spy,

The staring stranger with his note-book nigh?
Plunged in a dungeon he had still been great;
How low, how little was this middle state,
Between a prison and a palace, where

How few could feel for what he had to bear!
Vain his complaint, my lord presents his bill,
His food and wine were doled out duly still:
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime
So free from homicide, to doubt's a crime;
And the stiff surgeon, who maintained his cause,
Hath lost his place and gained the world's applause.
But smile, though all the pangs of brain and heart
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art;

Though, save the few fond friends, and imaged face
Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace,
None stand by his low bed though even the mind
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind;
Smile for the fettered Eagle breaks his chain,
And higher worlds than this are his again.

How, if that soaring Spirit still retain
A conscious twilight of his blazing reign,
How must he smile, on looking down, to see
The little that he was and sought to be!
What though his name a wider empire found
Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound;
Though first in glory, deepest in reverse,
He tasted empire's blessings and its curse;
Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape
From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape;
How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave,
The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave!

What

What though his jailer, duteous to the last,
Scarce deemed the coffin's lead could keep him fast,
Refusing one poor line along the lid

To date the birth and death of all it hid,
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore:

The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast;
When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar, in a desart's skies,
The rocky isle that holds or held his dust
Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust,
And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard Envy still denies.
But what are these to him? Can glory's lust
Touch the freed spirit or the fettered dust?
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists,
Nought if he sleeps - nor more if he exists:
Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile
On the rude cavern of the rocky isle,

As if his ashes found their latest home
In Rome's pantheon, or Gaul's mimic dome.

He wants not this; but France shall feel the want

Of this last consolation, though so scant;

Her honour, fame, and faith, demand his bones,

To rear above a pyramid of thrones;

Or carried onward in the battle's van

To form, like Guesclin's* dust, her talisman.

But be it as it is, the time may come

His name shall beat the alarm like Ziska's drum.'

The late Congress is afterward introduced, as one of the events

of the past 6 annus haud mirabilis,' and each of the monarchs there assembled is duly "called over the coals" of the author's poetic furnace. That political meeting, "Impar CONGRESSUS Achilli," is then generally characterized :

Strange sight this Congress! destined to unite
All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.
I speak not of the sovereigns - they're alike,
A common coin as ever mint could strike:
But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings,
Have more of motley than their heavy kings.
Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine,
While Europe wonders at the vast design:
There Metternich, power's foremost parasite,
Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight;

Guesclin died during the siege of a city: it surrendered, and the keys were brought and laid upon his bier, so that the place might appear rendered to his ashes.'

f Motto in the title-page.

There

Their Chateaubriand forms new books of martyrs*;
And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid Tartars;
There Montmorency, the sworn foe to charters,
Turns a diplomatist of great eclât,

To furnish articles for the "Debâts;"
Of war so certain yet not quite so sure
As his dismissal in the "Moniteur."
Alas! how could his cabinet thus err?
Can peace be worth an Ultra-Minister?
He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again

"Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain."'

The events in New and Old Spain, the distressed state of the British empire, &c. &c., are also introduced in the course of this satire; which is intended to depict the present times as an age of which the features are bronzed with impudence and vice: — but we must not farther rob these 778 lines.

Art. 13. Blossoms. Blossoms. By Robert Millhouse. Being a Selection of Sonnets from his various Manuscripts. With prefatory Remarks on his humble Station, distinguished Genius, and Moral Character. By the Rev. Luke Booker, LL.D. 12mo. 2s. 6d. Boards. Baldwin and Co. 1823.

This poetic Corporal was sufficiently introduced and recommended to our readers in our Number for September, 1821, p. 98., where we mentioned his poem of Vicissitude; and where, by an error of the press, he was called Willhouse instead of Millhouse. Dr. Booker informs us that this deserving man is now under the pressure of extreme poverty, aggravated by such severe bodily affliction as to be incapable of any manual labour. It is therefore with propriety as well as kindness that he now addresses the charitable feelings of the public, in soliciting the humane to afford poor Millhouse some temporary relief by purchasing the small productions of his pen; and we are sincerely inclined to support the Doctor's benevolent intentions. - The present little volume consists entirely of sonnets, of which we copy one or two as specimens:

'To Gold.

Fee for the knave, in every age and clime!

Thou shield to gilded ideots! slave to kings!
Pander to War and other horrid things
That stain with blood the chronicles of Time;
When, shining Mischief! shall the poet's rhyme
Tell of thy virtues in the good man's hand,
Chasing away grim hunger from the land,
And proving true thy alchymy sublime?

* Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author in the minister, received a handsome compliment at Verona from a literary sovereign: "Ah! Monsieur C, are you related to that Chateaubriand who-who-who has written something?" (écrit quelque chose!) It is said that the author of Atala repented him for a moment of his legitimacy.'

REV. APRIL, 1823.

Ff

If