never was a Bourbon who was not a despot. Four epochs mark his reign: the transient tastes of power before and after Bonaparte; then to the Andalusian revolution of 1820, during which period the Jesuits are recalled, the party of the liberal constitution proscribed, certain notable Spaniards condemned to the galleys, and the power of the freemasons put forth in opposition to crown and clergy; the third from 1820—when the Spaniards rebel, and Fernando is forced by popular clamor to convoke the cortes, call from the galleys to the principal portfolios Herreros, Perez de Castro, and the two Argüelles—to the fall of Cádiz and the constitutional government in 1823, a congress of European powers at Verona having reëstablished the authority of the king, the national militia being meanwhile organized, the press declared free, and the inquisition abolished; and lastly, the decade preceding the king's death, during which despotism is revived, and money matters demoralized, expenses amounting to 700,000,000 reals per annum to be met by a revenue of 400,000,000.
But by this time America and Europe are pretty well separated politically, never again, thank God, to be united. What with conventionality, bigotry, despotism, and general decay in many quarters, the New World can do better alone, and after its own way. Upon the death of Fernando VII. in 1833, his daughter Isabel II. being but three years of age, the child's mother, Cristina, is named regent; but the late king's brother, Don Carlos, opposes with desolating war. With British aid, however, the queen triumphs in 1840. Still Spain is torn by detestable strife. Millions of miserable wretches must starve and bleed over the issue to determine which shall rule of two of the vilest specimens of the dominating class ignorance, superstition, deceit, and incestuous, idiot-breeding marriages can produce. Now and then the people make a noble stand for their deliverance, when as often France or England would come with
