is allowed therefore on this topic; and, under the most arbitrary government, if you chuse to declaim on the imbecility, profligacy, or corruption of human nature, you may draw your illustrations from the kings of any country, provided you take them in groupes, and hint nothing to the detriment of the reigning monarch. But, when we talk of any one living sovereign, we should never allow it to escape from our memory, that he is wise, valiant, generous, and good; and we ought always to have Solomon, Alexander, Cæsar, and Titus, at our elbow, to introduce them apropos when occasion offers. We may have what opinion we please of the whole race of Bourbon; but it would be highly indecent to deny, that the reigning kings of Spain and Naples are very great princes. As I never had the happiness of seeing the father, I can only speak of the son. His Neapolitan Majesty seems to be about the age of six or seven-and-twenty. He is a prince of great activity of body, and a good constitution; he indulges in frequent relaxations from the cares of government and the fatigue of thinking, by hunting and other exercises; and (which ought to give a high idea of his natural talents) he never fails to acquire a very considerable degree of perfection in those things to which he applies. He is very fond, like the King of Prussia, of reviewing his troops, and is perfectly master of the whole mystery of the manual exercise. I have had the honour, oftener than once, of seeing him exercise the different regiments which form the garrison here: he always gave the word of command with his own royal mouth, and with a precision which seemed to astonish the whole Court. This monarch is also a very excellent shot; his uncommon success at this diversion is thought to have roused the jealousy of his Most Catholic Majesty, who also values himself on his skill as a marksman. The correspondence between those two great personages often relates to their favourite amusement.—A gentleman, who came lately from Madrid, told me, that the King, on some occasion, had read a letter which he had just received from his son at Naples, wherein he complained of his bad success on a shooting party, having killed no more than eighty birds in a day: and the Spanish monarch, turning to his courtiers, said, in a plaintive tone of voice, “Mio filio piange di non aver’ fatto piu di ottante beccacie in uno giorno, quando mi crederei l’uomo il piu felice del mondo se potesse fare quaranta.” All who take a becoming share in the afflictions of a royal bosom, will no doubt join with me, in wishing better success to this good monarch, for the future. Fortunate would it be for mankind, if the happiness of their princes could be purchased at so easy a rate! and thrice fortunate for the generous people of Spain, if the family connexions of their monarch, often at variance with the real interest of that country, should never seduce him into a more ruinous war, than that which he now wages against