his head, and was for a few moments absorbed in devotion. He then requested that a lock of his hair, which he had cut off and folded up, might be delivered to the Princess de Rohan-no answer being made, he exclaimed-'Is there no French soldier who will perform this last office to a dying comrade?' One of the guard cried, I will; he received the little parcel;--but neither that nor the generous soldier was ever heard of more! During all this time, two persons stood on the rampart above the ditch, leaning over the parapet; to them the Duke's demands were referred, and they, from time to time, directed the operations of the people below-these two persons are supposed to have been Murat and Savary-MURAT-the hour came when he must have remembered this dreadful scene with bitter sympathy! At last, a little before midnight, the duke was placed in the ditch, with his back to the wall-he asked to give the fatal word of command-he was refused. At ten paces the soldiers could not see him; a lantern was therefore brought, which he himself tied to his button-hole. At the word fire, the duke rushed forward on the muzzles of the muskets, and fell dead at the feet of his executioners. The body was immediately taken up-unstripped and even unexamined and flung carelessly into the grave, which had been dug before the trial. A stone was thrown into the grave, near the prince's head. It has been said that this was the cowardly vengeance of one of the executioners, whose cruelty was not assuaged even by the victim's blood; but the person who filled the grave declared, that he had himself thrown in the stone as a mark to know the body hereafter. A little dog of the poodle kind had accompanied the duke; in the confusion of the trial and murder he was not thought of, but on the return of light he was found howling on the grave of his master. The poor creature was with difficulty removed from the spot; a gentleman purchased him from the man who had taken him, and protected him for many years out of affection to the memory of the unhappy Prince. Our readers will excuse us for adding to this melancholy story a few words descriptive of the finding the remains of the duke. On the 20th March, 1816,-the twelfth anniversary of the murder-a commission, appointed by the King of France, attended at Vincennes to search for the grave. The man who had been employed to dig and fill it up was still alive, and several persons who had visited it shortly after the event, recognised the spot. After digging about four feet deep, the boot of the right leg was discovered, and then the rest of the body successively, and lastly the head, and the stone which, before the grave was opened, the labourer stated that he had thrown in. All the bones were found. Their position showed that the body had been carelessly thrown in. It was lying rather on the face, with the head downwards, the left leg and arm bent under the body, and the right leg extended and the right arm elevated. It had been stated, by the labourer, before the search began, that the body had not been rifled; and in consequence of this information, the Chevalier Jacques-(who had been aid-decamp to the prince and accompanied him to Strasburg, but had been then separated from him and brought to Paris alone, where he suffered a long and rigorous imprisonment)-declared what the Duke had about him when they parted, and what of course ought to be found in the grave; and it is impossible to describe the deep interest, the solemn impatience in which the commissioners, who stood around the trench, awaited each successive report of the surgeons who stood in it, and who examined every thing as the earth was turned up. They found about the middle of the skeleton a mass of metallic matter, of the size of a watch, but so decayed, that but for some small iron keys and a seal with the arms of Condé which adhered to it, it would have been hardly recognised;-the seal was perfect. A small red morocco purse with eleven pieces of gold and five pieces of silver. Seventy pieces of gold coin, the contents of a rouleau which M. Jacques had handed to him at the moment of their separation-the fragments of the seal of red wax on the ends of the rouleau were found, which bore the impression of the seal of M. Jacques. A ring and a chain of gold, which M. Jacques declared the prince always wore about his neck, and which was found around the vertebral bones of the neck. In short, no doubt remained that the remains were those of the Duke d'Enghien--they were accordingly placed in a coffin, and deposited, with the usual ceremonies of religion, in the chapel of the castle of Vincennes. Thus concludes the story of this bloody tragedy-the excuses for the perpetration of which only show us that Buonaparte's impudence is equal to his cruelty. The whole charge against the Duke was, that he was in league with England in a conspiracy against Buonaparte ;-if it had been true, Buonaparte had no right to violate treaties and the laws of nations to seize him-he had no right to try him before a packed court, chosen by Murat-to condemn him without a single witness being heard against him—and to execute him in the depth of night, with no other light to guide the executioners than a lantern fastened to his button-hole. But the alleged fact is altogether false. It is well known that England had no hand in the French conspiracies against him,-it is equally well known, that the Duke d'Enghien was wholly uncon nected with, and ignorant of, them; and Buonaparte even makes it a ground of imputation against the Count d'Artois, that when he was about to execute his plot he did not apprize his cousin the Duke d'Enghien, in order that he might have retired to a place of safety. Even those who wished to maintain that he was not privy to the conspiracy, have agreed, that his death was to be attributed to the Count d'Artois, (in fact the latter was frequently reproached by the unfortunate Prince's father, the Duc de Bourbon, as having been so,) who, at the moment whilst he was planning the overturning of the republic and the assassination of the first magistrate of the republic, left a prince of his blood in the power of that very magistrate.'-pp. 143, 144. This admission is altogether at variance with the supposition that the Duke was aware of the plot-besides, the motives of the Duke's residence at Ettenhein on an estate given to him by the Cardinal de Rohan, repel the calumny of his having fixed himself there for political purposes; but again we say, if he had had political objects, Buonaparte's cruelty and violence, though apparently less wanton, would not have been less atrocious. We have reserved for the last place, a circumstance which marks, in the most unanswerable manner, the infamy of this murderCaulaincourt himself is ashamed of it, and has published a defence, in which, as it was impossible to deny that he had gone at that particular moment to Offenbourg, he strove to prove, poōr innocent! that he was not intrusted with the secret. We are heart-sick at the relation of such repeated horrorsand can write no more. We shall only say that we have this moment heard that the Pole Piontkowski and an Englishman well known in London have fabricated this work between them. Piontkowski may have been (though we do not believe it) the channel by which the materials were conveyed to England; but he is utterly incapable of furnishing them himself-he never spoke to Buonaparte more than once in his life, and that once is doubtfulhe was not even admitted to the company of the attendants at St. Helena-while there is hardly a page of the Letters which does not convince us that they are made up from Buonaparte's own writings or conversations. Who the translator or editor is can be of no importancewhether some person at the Cape, whom Las Cases may have had an opportunity of employing; or some one in England, to whom the manuscript may have been secretly transmitted; but we rather incline to the latter opinion. Indeed, we have heard one person named as editor, of whom, fallen as he is, we cannot credit such an imputation. We hope, nay, notwithstanding all that has passed, we believe, that the person alluded to is incapable of lending himself to the palliation of crimes which he himself first and most forcibly denounced to Europe-and we cannot but concur with Sir Robert Wilson in the hope so emphatically expressed by him in his excellent work on Egypt, that in no country will there be found another man of such Machiavelian principles as by SOPHISTRY to palliate these transactions-frightful crimes! which equal any that have blackened the page of history. pp. 76. 78. ART. X.-1. Des Colonies et de l'Amérique. Paris. 1816. Par M. de Pradt. 2 vol. 2. Des trois derniers Mois d'Amérique. chien Archevêque de Malines, &c. &c. 3. Outline of the Revolution in Spanish American. London. 1817. Par M. de Pradt. An- By a South THE attention of this country for the last twenty years has been occupied by events so near in their interests, and so rapid in their succession, that objects at a distance from the sphere of immediate action appear to have lost their due magnitude and proportion. Every political change not directly affecting the contest in Europe passed away as an obscure underplot in the great drama, of which the catastrophe was still in suspense. The scanty portion of public discussion, which had, until recently, been bestowed on the events which have taken place in the Spanish American colonies, presents a striking illustration of this remark. From the days of old Montaigne to those of Montesquieu, a revolution in South America had been the speculation of successive philosophers, the favourite vision of enthusiasts, the hope and object even of practical statesmen. To exaggerate its importance would be difficult, if we take as the measure of that importance its necessary influence on the condition and happiness of a large portion of mankind—still more, if we take into account its remoter consequences, and the close connexion of the destiny of America with that of Europe, and more especially of England. No wonder then that this subject should have excited a greater degree of interest, since the return of peace, in this, as well as in other countries. The publications of which the titles are prefixed to this Article, afford us the opportunity to contribute our humble endeavours to illustrate the nature of a revolution so interesting in its character, and so complicated in its operations; and to consider what may be the course of political conduct in respect to it, which it best suits the character and the fair interests of England to observe. It seems quite evident that this revolution is not the effect of partial intrigue, or of a temporary and casual burst of discontent; but that, proceeding from causes, in their nature radical, and certain, though gradual in their operation, it has extended itself, without previous concert, over the whole of that vast continent, has survived the trials of defeat, and of civil dissentions, and, in all human probability, can terminate only in one of the following results either in the independence of the colonists--or, in such an alteration in the system of the Spanish government, as may induce them to acquiesce in the future supremacy of the mother-country. That their absolute and unconditional subjugation is far beyond the power of Spain, can hardly be doubted by any one who considers the present condition of that country,and compares the strength, the resources and the conduct of the contending parties. Whatever may be the comparative probability of the two results which we have stated, it unquestionably becomes this country to adopt and to sustain a steady line of policy, consistent with national honour, and not to be warped either by sordid views of interest, or by any vague notions of undiscriminating philanthropy. The mere recital of the names that distinguish the Spanish colonies in America, the vast extent of their mountains, their rivers and forests, and their real or fabulous riches, have in all ages captivated the imaginations of men, and inflamed the spirit of adventure. This impression has been rendered more foncible by the consideration, that rich as these favoured regions are, in the productions of every climate, and possessing all the natural facilities of internal traffic, and of foreign commerce, they have been depressed by a system of government, not more harassing to the governed, than inefficient for its own narrow purposes. It would have been no creditable symptom of the state of public feeling in England if it had been altogether unmoved on a question forcibly applying itself to so many just sentiments and lofty prejudices, nay, if its tendency had not been rather favourable than otherwise to the cause of the Americans. But on the other hand, when it is taken into account how prone to change is the genius of the present age, and how fearful are the untried chances of a struggle which shakes society to its foundations through a continent of unexplored extent, and involves millions of all ranks, habits, colours, and conditions, in a bloody, desultory, and apparently interminable warfare, we may well rejoice that the government of this country has not suffered itself to be so far infected by the feeling of the public as to foment a contest of such a character by any assistance or encouragement. In arguing, therefore, for the advantages of a strict neutrality, we must enter an early protest against any imputations of hostility to the cause of |