Enter’d the lofty vestibule, The Alcazar’s tranquil bound, One moment paused the King and pass’d His gaze in turn around. A large lamp from the vaulted roof Was hanging loose, and cast Now lights, now shadows, as it swung, As by the breezes pass’d. Between the polish’d columns placed Two men in armour were, But only two dark figures show’d, Watching in silence there. And still was Don Fadrique laid Extended on the ground, With his torn mantle o’er him spread, In a lake of blood around. The King approach’d him, and awhile Attentively survey’d, And seeing that his brother yet Was not entirely dead, Since he perchance as breathing seem’d, His breast a heave to make, He gave him with his foot a push, Which made the body shake; Whereon he, giving to the Moor His sharpen’d dagger bare, Said, “Finish him,” and quietly To sleep went up the stair. IX. MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. In the country of Lope de Vega and Calderon de la Barca, it was not to be supposed, that on the general revival of the national literature, the drama could be left neglected, in a state unworthy of its ancient reputation. From the time of those great writers until the present, notwithstanding the predilection of the Spanish people for the stage, and the encouragement consequently given for genius to exert itself, no dramas had been produced to equal them in the public admiration. The younger Moratin, who may be justly termed the Spanish Molière, had rather introduced into Spain a new style of drama, that which we call genteel comedy, than followed the track of the ancient masters. It was reserved for a later writer, the subject of this notice, to appear as a rival to them in the exuberance of composition, and possession of popular favour, though it may be a question for future ages to decide on his relative merit.