LETTER I.

I AGAIN take up the pen to write to you at the Chateau of Mons. du F—, from which place I last year sent you the history of his mis­fortunes; those misfortunes which have led me to love, as well as admire, the revolution. For you know we are so framed that, while we contemplate the deliverance of millions with a sublime emotion of wonder and exultation, the tears of tenderness, the throbbings of sympathy, are reserved for the moment when we select one happy family from the great national groupe, and when, amidst the loud acclamations of an [Page 2] innumerable multitude, we can distinguish the soothing sounds of domestic felicity. I have be­held with awful astonishment the sun of liberty spreading its broad blaze over the French hem­isphere; but I have traced with inexpressible de­light that benignant beam which has chased ev­ery cloud of calamity from the dwelling of Mons. du F—.

It seems the recompense of my French patri­otism that I have on several occasions had the good fortune to witness those scenes of general felicity, in which it requires but common sensi­bility to partake. I went to Rouen the very day before the King accepted the constitution. When the courier arrived with this intelligence, the cannons were immediately fired, the bells of all the churches rung, and the people displayed their joy by crowding the streets with bon [...]ires, at the distance of every eight or ten yards. I ob­served some of the people, who were too poor to contribute a portion of wood, bring for their offering, a part of an old bedstead, a leg of a broken chair, &c. to feed the flame.

Strangers stopped, and congratulated one an­other in the streets, which re [...]ounded with cries of exultation, among which the sounds of ^* "Vive le Roi des Francedil;ois," were almost lost [Page 3] amidst those of ^† "Vive la nation." "C'est la nation qui triomphe. C'est la constitution qui triomphe."

In the afternoon Te Deum was sung in the cathedral. The eight hundred electors of the department, who were at that time assembled at Rouen, walked in procession, attended by all the officers of the administration, and several battal­ions of the national guard. An immense multi­tude filled every part of the cathedral; the sounds of the organ and the drums, the voices of the choir, and the acclamations of the people, were mingled together, and rolled through the long aisies of the building. It was impossible to witness this religious solemnity, and reflect on the greatness of the occasion which had called so immense a multitude together, that of having completed the glorious work of a free govern­ment, without catching the enthusiasm which beat high in every bosom.

Indeed living in France at present, appears to me somewhat like living in a region of romance. Events the most astonishing and marvellous are here the occurrences of the day, and every news­paper is filled with articles of intelligence that will form a new era in the history of mankind. [Page 4] The sentiments of the people also are elevated far above the pitch of common life. All the motives which most powerfully stimulate the mind in its ordinary state, seem repressed in con­sideration of the public good, and every selfish interest is sacrificed with fond alacrity at the altar of the country. For my part, while I con­template these things, I sometimes think that the age of chivalry, instead of being past for ever, is just returned; not indeed in its erroneous notions of loyalty, honour, and gallantry, which are as lit­tle ^* " [...] l'ordre du jour," as its dwarfs, giants, and imprisoned damsels; but in its noble con­tempt of sordid cares, its spirit of unsullied gen­erosity, and its heroic zeal for the happiness of others.

The completion of the new government has been celebrated by general demonstrations of joy throughout the whole kingdom; and thus be­gins, under the auspices of liberty, the constitu­tional reign of Lewis the Sixteenth.

It is said that the Abbé Maury, who left France as soon as the constitution was accepted, is going to Rome, and that the pope intends to give him a cardinal's hat, in recompense for the obstinate battle he has so long fought against rea­son and philosophy. The patriots declare that [Page 5] the pope by so doing will prove that he has more power than the whole National Assembly, ^* "car il fera rougir l' Abbé Maury."

LETTER II.

WE left our friends in Normandy a fort­night ago, and have pitched our tent at Orleans. Our journey furnished many agreeable subjects of reflection to my mind, which you well know has strongly caught the contagion of French patriotism.

On the windows of every inn at which we stopped, we saw the little lamps still fixed, which had been lighted at the fètes given in every town upon the completion of the constitution. In all the villages through which we passed, I read, inscribed in great characters, ^† "La liberté, ou la mort." In several places I heard that the workmen had contributed so many days labour towards the expense of sending men to the frontiers. In short, wherever we journey­ed, liberty seemed to have run like electric fire along the country, and pervaded every object in its passage. Do you think all the Austrians of [Page 6] the earth will subdue this people? Oh no: nothing is more true than, that a people are free whenever with one unanimous sublime senti­ment they determine to be so. By the way, I have heard Homer laughed at by some crit­ics, for making an army of thirty thousand men repeat at the same time the same sentiment; yet something of this [...]ort actually happened at the taking of the Bastile. The cannon [...]ers call­ed out to the people to retire; ^* "Car, disoient­ils, vous périrez inutilement." The people, as if animated by one soul, instantly replied— ^† "Non, non, ce ne ser [...] pas inutilement; nous re [...]lirons le fossé de nos cadavres."

When we drew near O [...]leans, we saw the country, as far as the eye could reach, covered with grapes, and men, women, and children, employed in gathering the vintage. This scene gave me a new image of plenty, a new aspect of the riches of nature, which it was impossible to contemplate without the most pleasing emotion. But a description of the vintage will perhaps read better in verse, than prose: and I shall therefore send you a copy of a rhyming letter which I have written to my friend Dr. Moore on this subject. Adieu.

LETTER III.

ORLEANS is a very ancient town, built, or rather rebuilt, by the Emperor Aurelian, [Page 11] upon the ruins of another town, called Genabi­am. It takes its present name of Orleans, or the golden city, from the Emperor Aurelian. This town is large and handsome. The principal street, which extends the whole length of the town, is regularly built, and is clean, cheerful, and well lighted every night, by lamps hung across it. Here is a noble cathedral of exquisite workmanship, and of which the first stone was laid by Henry the Fourth; a circumstance which makes me contemplate the building with addi­tional pleasure. Henry the Fourth is, you know, the only hero, ancient or modern, of whom I am at all enam [...]ured; and my admiration of him has been lately considerably increased by the perusal of a charming little book, entitled, ^* "De l'Amour de Henrl quatre pour [...]es Lettres."—There was but this wanting to complete my enthusiasm for Henry the Fourth. I should find it difficult, indeed, to avoid loving a hero who united a taste for letters with all the great, and all the amiable qualities. A little incident which I have just heard, is one proof, among many others, of the love and veneration in which his memory has long been held in France.—Ten years before the revolution, a gentleman [Page 12] walking along the Pont Neuf, was accosted by a beggar, who implored his charity. ^† "Au nom de Dieu! Monsieur," said the beggar—"de la Sainte Vierge!"—The gentleman walked on: the beggar called upon [...]alf [...]he saints in the callendar; the gentleman remained inexorable. At length they passed the statue of Henry the Fourth ^* "A [...] nom de H [...]nri quatre! Monsieur," said the beggar. "Au nom de H [...]nri quatre!" repeated the gentleman, starting from his reverie: "voici un l [...]ui [...], mon ami."—But I must lead you from the Pont Neuf to a magnificent bridge built within these few years, at Orleans, across the river Lo [...]e. This river, which, in general, glides slowly and gently along its beautiful banks, sometimes re­ceiving in its bosom the torrents which fall from the mountains of Auvergne, assumes a very different character, overflows its banks, bears away bridges in its course, spreads itself over the adjacent country, and not only fills the streets in the lower part of the town of Orleans, but even the houses; and the poor people who inhabit them have been sometimes obliged to save themselves in their garrets, and receive provi­sions [Page 13] brought to them in boats, and handed up to them upon the point of pikes. Usually, however, in order to prevent these evils, when­ever the Loire begins to rise, a courier is dis­patched to give notice of its approach. The courier, in general, gallops faster than the river, and by this means the people are prepared for its reception.

We have lodgings in the Place du Martroy, in a spacious handsome house which formerly belonged to Mons. d'Orleans, and where the archives of his family were deposited. But ha­ving lost since the revolution, the extensive do­mains which he possessed round this town, his seignorial rights over the forests of Orleans, a forest of fifty miles in extent, he has thought proper to sell this house, in consequence of which we are extremely well lodged. Do not, however, be surprised if I am not very method­ical in the details I shall send you, and if you should find my ideas somewhat more indistinct than usual; for I assure you the things I hear and see, from the window at which I am wri­ting, are sufficient to confuse a stronger head than mine. You shall judge. Before our windows, which overlook the Place du Matroy▪ there are at this moment two musicians mounted [Page 14] on chairs; one plays on the violin, while the other sings a very merry patriotic song, and the people join in chorus. At a little distance there arrived half an hour ago a mountebank, preceded by a trumpet, a drum, and a French-horn. He is now haranguing an immense crowd who surround his cabriolet, with a degree of impetu­osity, and a violence of gesticulation, which be­long only to a Frenchman. He is at some distance from the window, so that I lose much of his eloquence; but I have seen him display a fine chapelet, which he declares was given to him by the empress of all the Russias; and I have heard him boast the efficacious qualities of a certain precious pill, of which he is in posses­sion, and which, he says, cures ^* " toutes les maladies, et plusieurs autres." To resist a pill of such extraordinary virtue is impossible: the poor people lift up their hands; he feels their pulses, orders for every complaint a box of pills, and receives the little paper money, called bons, in return. Not far from the mountebank is a man with a puppet-show, in which, for one liard, many surprising things are to be seen. ^† "Vous allez voir, messieurs," says he in a [Page 15] voice which makes itself heard in spite of the music, the chorus and the mountebank; "Vous allez voir [...] séance de la constitution! Voici le roi dans son fauteuil; voici"—But he is inter­rupted by the beating of a drum, which calls the crowd to a little stage, where a man and a wo­man are going to act a comedy. Near the com­edians is a fortune-teller, who, placing one end of a long pipe at the ear of those who wish to learn their destiny, and putting the other end into his own mouth, explains, in a voice only heard by the person concerned, the book of fate, reveals the secrets of futurity, and lavishes wealth and prosperity at the moderate price of deux sous.—Pleasure and business are united on the Place du Matroy; for not only does it present fine [...]ights, and resound with patriotic songs, but there, by way of interlude, the corn-market is held: gowns, petticoats, sweetmeats, grapes, and Bastilles of sugar are also sold in little booths erected for that purpose, and which somewhat disfigure the square. But the French are an amiable, accommodating people, and permit many things of this kind which would not be suffered in England. When I was at the Na­tional Assembly, I remarked that the passages on each side were filled with little shops, where [Page 16] books, paper, &c. are sold. I believe, if this [...] [...]ttempted in the avenues to the House of Co [...]ons, our honourable senators would very soon order the passages, as they sometimes do the gallery, to be cleared. But let us return for a moment to the Place du Martroy, where at present the people leave the musicians, the moun­tebank, the puppet-show man, the comedians, and the fortune-teller, and fly to meet the brave protectors of their country. The volunteers of the department are just arrived in their way to the frontiers, and are to be lodged in the houses of their fellow-citizens, by whom they are receiv­ed with all the enthusiasim of patriotism. Sev­eral peasants too old to fight for their country have offered to assist in maintaining, by the sweat of their brow, the wives and children of those who are gone to the frontiers.

The French revolution is not only sublime in a general view, but is often beautiful when considered in detail. Its history abounds with circumstances that would embellish the page of the Greek or Roman annals. But the old re­mark, that no man is a hero to his valet de chambre, may be applied to great events, as well as great characters. The French revolu­tion is viewed too near to excite the same ven­eration [Page 17] in the present age which it will proba­bly awaken in the minds of posterity. It wants that mellowed tint which is produced by time. Succeeding generations will perhaps associate the Tennis-court of Ver [...]ailles, and the Champ de Mars, with the Forum and the Capitol. For the prejudices which now obscure the revolution are mortal, and will die with the present race, and posterity will view it through a clear medi­um. Posterity will not demand, contrary to what appears the law of our nature, "universal good," unmixed with "partial evil;" but will contemplate the revolution in the same manner as we gaze at a sublime landscape, of which the general effect is great and noble, and where some little points of asperity, some minute deformities, are lost in the overwhelming majesty of the whole.

LETTER IV.

IT is at present what is called the bel air in France, to take a journey to Brussels. The people of distinction go to shew their importance, and people of no distinction go in imitation of others. A young Frenchman, the son of a person who was formerly in power, went lately [Page 18] to join the emigrants, and was much astonished, upon his arrival at Brussels, to find, that, in­stead of being well received, the aristocrates were inclined to put him to death. The reason of this was, that they recollected he had, some years before the revolution, on a particular occa­sion, espoused the interests of the people. ^* "I [...] faut bien s'examiner," said the gentleman who related this circumstance, "avant d'aller à Bruxelles, si dans quelque moment de la vie, on a senti de l'amour pour ses concitoyens, ou fait une belle action." I received a letter a few days ago from a friend of mine at Paris, which mentions the departure of a pretty young wo­man for Germany, with whom I had a slight acquaintance. Her own titles to nobility were very new, and very inconsiderable; but she was acquainted with some women of high tank who had fled to Germany. She came to a re­lation's house, one morning, at the hour of break­fast, and, almost breathless with agitation, told her that she was instantly going to leave France. "I know," said she, "that my movements are watched; but I have taken every possible pre­caution [Page 19] for my own safety, and intend to travel through by-roads." "My dear cousin," repli­ed her relation, "what a wild plan is this▪—Why will you leave us? Be assured you are in perfect safety—nobody thinks of you." ^* "Ah! je vous demande pardon," replied the young woman; "on a des yeux sur moi." "Well," said her cousin, "if you are absolutely de­termined to go, at least stay and break­fast with me; here is some caffé à la crêmé." "Ah, my dear cousin," replied the young woman, in a most pathetic accent, "du caffé â la crême!—I dare not taste it upon any account—If madame la duchesse de—, or madame la comtesse, were to hear of it, they would never forgive me—they know that caff [...]eacute; à la crême does me harm; and they interest themselves so much in my health, that they have strictly forbidden my tasting it."

Though the great mass of the French nation, sufficiently enlightened to discern their real in­terests, cherish with fond enthusiasm the blessings of liberty, it is not surprising that a revolution, which has leve [...]led every distinction that vanity loves to create; exposed the folly of every pre­judice [Page 20] that pride had inculcated, and that servility had learned to revere; and which has made a step towards perfection so rapid, so astonishing in the progress of human reason—it is not surpri­sing that such a revolution should have many en­emies among that class of persons whose vanity, ambition, or interest, are affected by the sup­pression of those abuses and errors, from which they enjoyed the most partial advantages. Some excuse may, perhaps, be found in the weakness of human nature, and the prejudices of educa­tion, for the aristocracy of Mons. d'Artois, or Mons. de Condé. But the aristocracy to which common sense can give no quarter, is that which you sometimes find in the persons of the bon, ci-devant tiers état; that class which by the revolution is raised from contempt and degrada­tion, into importance and respect.

A beautiful young woman, formerly a duchess, with whom I was in company at Paris, told me she had remarked, that even the seasons were changed since the revolution, and that the cli­mate of France had become stormy and disa­greeable. I could only smile at her folly, and pity it. But when the wife of a merchant, or shopkeeper, talks in the same style, you feel provoked, instead of diverted, by her absurdity.

[Page 21] The bishop of Orléans, who is descended from the ancient nobility of France, has distin­guished himself by his patriotism; but there are at Orleans a hundred and fifty chanoines, who are far from being patriots. These chanoines enjoyed each two or three thousand livres a year for chanting Latin hymns in the cathedral. The cathedral being now transformed into a parish-church, these hymns are no longer sung; and the chanoines are reduced to live upon half their former income. These hundred and fifty chanoines had certainly a hundred and fifty cooks, and these cooks probably have families. The chanoines and the cooks have both lost their places, and consequently they and their families are aristocrates.

By the way, I have found out that an aristoc­rate always begins a political conversation by assuring you that he is not an aristocrate. He will tell you, "that there certainly were intol­erable abuses in the old government, and that no person wished more sincerely than himself to see those abuses reformed. But," he will add, "to take away the king's power, to deprive the nobility of their privileges, and the clergy of their revenues, is pushing things to an extremity, at which every hon­est mind shudders. If the National Assem­bly [Page 22] had made a reform without injuring these orders of the state, they would have been ap­plauded by the whole world." This reminds me of a passage in Mons. Beaumarchais' comedy of the Follies of a day. "I was told," says Figaro, on the subject of writing a book, "that if I took care to say nothing of politics, nothing of morality, of governments, of the clergy, or of persons in power, and then submitted my book to the inspection of the keeper of the seals, and obtained an 'approbation,' and 'privilege,' I might, after using these precautions, write with the most perfect freedom."

An old Frenchman, past threescore years and ten, was asked lately how he liked the revolution. ^* "La révolution," said he, "me ruine, et me tue, mais elle me fait vivre."

The volunteers left Orléans this morning, in order to proceed to the frontiers. They were drawn up on the Place du Martroy, and, after affectionately embracing their friends, and wi­ping away a few tears, which probably the recol­lection of home excited, they ordered, by way of cordial, the reviving air of [...]a ira, and march­ed off, singing in chorus.

LETTER V.

THE principal article of commerce at Or­léans, is that of re [...]ining sugar. We went yesterday to see the process. In one stage of its progress the sugar is clarified with the blood of oxen: it is poured into vessels of an immense size, and appears a liquid of a deep red. I own those frightful reservoirs struck my imag­ination as if stained with the blood of Africans.

The long train of calamities which are the portion of that unhappy race, crowded in sad succession upon my mind, and I observed, with a degree of horror which I could not repress, the process of a luxury obtained for the inhabitants of one part of the globe, by the wrongs, the ag­onies, the despair of the inhabitants of another part.—Alas! why is there so much more misery in this world than benevolence can cure? Why, in the public discussions in France and in Eng­land, on the Slave Trade, are the possibilities of gain and loss calculated with such nice preci­sion? Why are crimes and injustice, desolation and death, treated in a style so very mercantile that humanity listens in despair to their deliber­ations?

From thence we went to see a very consider­able manufactory for spinning cotton, which has [Page 24] been established here by an English gentleman, to whom we are obliged for that cordial hospital­ity, which is the ancient and honourable character­istic of our country, and which is so peculiarly grateful to the heart when received in a land of strangers.

This manufacture, while it displays the won­derful power of mechanism, gives occasion also to the exercise of humanity, by employing not only a great number of men, but fourteen hundred women and children.

The gentleman to whom the manufacture belongs, related to me the following circum­stance:—He happened to be in the National Assembly at Versailles, when the king declared that he would give orders for disbanding the army which surrounded Paris, and would him­self come to the Maison de Ville, in compliance with the wishes of his people. Mr. F—, after taking a copy of the king's harangue with his pencil, immediately mounted his horse, and galloped to Paris, in order to carry this intelli­gence. At the Pont Neuf he was stopped, the bridle of his horse seized, and the people wanted to take him to la Maison de Ville. He told them that he was an Englishman, the friend of liberty, and had galloped all the way from Ver­sailles, in order to bring them good news.

[Page 25] The people conducted him to the Palais Royal, and there he dismounted. A table was placed in the court of the Palais Royal, upon which he stood, and read over and over again the king's harrangue. After having remained there a considerable time, he went into a coffee-house of the Palais Royal to refresh himself, and then enquired for his horse. The horse was not to be found. Mr. F—left a note at the coffee-house, intreating that the person who had taken care of the Englishman's horse, while he was reading the king's speech, in the Palais Royal, would deliver him to the master of the coffee-house.

A few days after, an answer was sent to Mr. F—, informing him, that the English horse had gone back to Versailles, in order to conduct the king to Paris; and was again gone to the country upon business of importance to the nation, but that whenever he returned he should be sent to his master.

The horse accordingly arrived, but not with­out having suffered a little for his services to the state; and, though he was ever after particularly cherished by Mr. F—, he died in the second year of French liberty; and I have some thoughts of writing his epitaph.

Nothing, it is said, could exceed the astonish­ment [Page 26] and consternation of the French court, when the intelligence that the Bastille was taken reached Versailles. This event appeared so incredible that the courtiers could scarcely per­suade themselves it was true. That the people should have the insolence to complain because they were threatened with famine—that, when the government had drawn an army to the gates of Paris in order to enforce submission, the Pari­sians should dare to rise into tumult—were things sufficiently extraordinary—but that they should, almost in the view of that army, take the Bastille appeared to the court of Versailles as miracu­lous as if the course of nature had been changed, and the order of the universe broken.

I lately heard an account of a conversation which passed at Versailles, on the morning of the 14th of July, 1789, and which proves how little the court were prepared for the memorable event of that immortal day.

A French gentleman, remarkable for his taci­turnity and sang-froid, things that seldom enter into the composition of a Frenchman, had occa­sion to go from Paris to Versailles on that mor­ning, in order to have a conference with the minister upon some private business. He found two of the ministers together; and when the particular object of his visit was discussed, one [Page 27] of the ministers [...]aid to him with a careless air, "Well, sir, are there still tumults at Paris?"

"The people talk of going to the garde-de meubles," replied the gentleman.

"The garde-de-meubles!" repeated the minister: "what, the king's garde-de-meu­bles?"

"Yes, and they have already been at the Hótel des Invalides."

"And for what purpose?" said the minister with increasing surprise.

"They seized upon all the arms," resumed the gentleman, preserving his usual sang-froid; "and if a man has too fusees, he gives one to his neighbour."

"Well," said the minister, shrugging up his shoulders, "and what did they do next?"

"Why, I believe," said the gentleman, "they then went to the district."

"The district!" exclaimed the minister: "pray what is the district?"

"An invention of yesterday," replied the gentleman: "the people have also another in­vention of the same date, I believe, which they call a permanent committee, and they have now got cannon."

Cannon!" repeated the minister; "and pray what do they propose to do with cannon?"

[Page 28] "Why, they talk of taking the Bastille."

"Very good!—excellent!" said the minister, bursting into a violent fit of laughter: "this is really a pleasant conceit enough. And pray who is at the head of this rabble?"

"I really do not know," said the gentleman coldly: "but all the people in Paris seem to be of the same mind."

"Well," said the minister, turning to his colleague, "I think we had better not men­tion these disagreeable matters to the king."

Notwithstanding this precaution however, the king a few hours after was let into the whole secret.

LETTER VI.

THE statue of the celebrated Jeanne d'Arc, the maid of Orléans, is erected in the principal street of the town. Wherever I travel in France, it seems as if I were haunted by this Jeanne d'Arc. I left her lately at Rouen, and here I find her at Orléans; and in both places I fancy she looks at me with an air of reproach. This monument, erected at Or­léans, in honour of her exploits, by Charles the Seventh, is a striking testimony of the bar­barous [Page 29] state of the arts at that period. The Virgin Mary is placed in the middle of the monument, holding a dead Christ on her knees: on one side is Charles the Seventh kneeling, and on the other the Maid of Orléans in the same attitude. Their figures are so rude, mishapen, and gro [...]esque, that it requires some deliberation to determine which is Charles the Seventh, and which is the Maid of Orléans.

Every year on the eighth of May, the day on which Jeanne d'Arc chased the English, and raised the siege of Orléans, there is a solemn procession in this town, in commemoration of that event. The bishop, attended by all the clergy, the magistrates, and the troops, walk in procession to the cathedral. The principal fig­ure in this procession is a young boy, dressed in a fantastic manner, who is the representative of the Maid of Orléans. Prayers of thanksgiving for the deliverance of the town are said at the cathedral, after which a sermon is preached, wherein the magnanimous virtues of Jeanne d'Arc are celebrated; and, by way of giving re­lief to the picture, the preacher never [...]ails to paint in the darkest colours the crimes of the English, and their detestable cruelty towards this [...]eroi [...]e, to whom, as Mr. Hum [...] the histo­rian justly remarks, the more generous super­stition [Page 30] of the ancients would have erected altars. When the guilt of our nation has been made sufficiently manifest, the sermon concludes, a hymn is sung, and the day ends with a public entertainment. But I must not neglect to men­tion a charming institution established by Mons. d'Orléans in honour of Jeanne d'Arc. The curés of Orléans each choose from their respec­tive parishes, the young girl whom they consid­er as the most amiable, and most modest, the most virtuous. Among these girls she who is most distinguished for those qualities which are the best ornament of her sex, is married this day to the lover of her choice, with a portion of fifteen hundred livres, bestowed by Mons. d' Or­léans. Is it possible, do you think, to make a more amiable use of fifteen hundred livres, than thus to render them the means of conferring happiness on love and virtue?

A hat which belonged to the Maid of Orléans is still religiously kept in a convent in this place. How Jeanne d' Arc's hat got into this convent, I know not; for, when I asked to see it, I was told that no woman could be admitted within those walls. Perhaps the reverend fathers re­laxed from the usual severity of their order in­favour of so extraordinary a woman as Jean­ne [Page 31] d'Arc: but the rest of her sex must not expect the same indulgence, and I shall certainly leave Orléans without having seen the hat.

LETTER VII.

THE wife of Jean Jaques Rousseau is a native of Orléans, where her family now live. This woman, though certainly no con­genial spirit with Jean Jaques, has, I am told, caught from him much elevation of sentiment, and pride, of independence. You can, in short, perceive that she has been the companion of a great man. I heard lately an incident charac­teristic enough of Rousseau. At a friend's house, at dinner, he praised the wine: his friend sent him fifty bottles. Rousseau felt himself offended; but as the present was offered by an old friend, he determined to accept ten bottles, and returned forty. A short time after he in­vited his friend and his family to supper. When they arrived they found Rousseau very busy turning the spit. "How extraordinary is it," exclaimed his friend, "to see the first genius of Europe employed in turning a spit!" "Why," answered Rousseau, with great sim­plicity [Page 32] and sang-froid, "if I were not to turn the spit, you would certainly lose your supper: my wife is gone to buy a sallad, and the spit must be turned." At supper Rousseau produced, for the first time, the wine which his friend had sent him: but no sooner had he tasted it, than he suddenly put the glass from his lips, exclaiming with the most violent emotion, that it was not the same wine he had drank at his friend's house who he perceived had a design to poison him. In vain his friend protested his innocence: Rousseau's imagination, once possessed by this idea, ‘— displaced the mirth; broke the good Meeting with most admir'd disorder. SHAKSPEARE.’ His friend was immediately obliged to retire, and they never met again.

You, who are an admirer of Rousseau, will be pleased to hear of a tribute of enthusiasm paid to his memory lately by two of our countrymen. These young Englishmen went to visit the tomb of this lover of nature, which is placed in a beautiful little island on the est [...]te of Mons. Girardin. Not long before their arrival, some profane mortal had dared to insult the sacred ashes of Jean Jaques: and Mons. Girardin, filled with indignation at this atrocious conduct, had [Page 33] given orders, that no person, without a particu­lar admission from himself, should henceforth be permitted to visit the island. In vain our young Englishmen made protestations of their profound veneration for Rousseau; in vain they implored Monsieur Girardin's boatman to conduct them across the stream. The boatman, surly as Charon himself, adhered inflexibly to the orders of his master. The young Englishmen, finding him inexorable, threw off their clothes, jumped into the stream, and swam to the island.—The gentleman who related to me this circumstance, told me, that he and a friend had visited together this island, and, kneeling at the tomb of Rous­seau, had burnt a book, published a short time after his death by Diderot, in which he had treat­ed the memory of Rousseau with the most cruel indignity: and this he had done from a very unworthy motive. He had heard that the Con­fessions of Rousseau were going to be published; and concluding that he should be ill treated in those Confessions, on account of his quarrel with Rousseau, he determined to be beforehand in abuse. But when the Confessions were published, it was found that the feeling heart of Jean Jaques could not detach itself from his former friend, who had always continued to possess a place in his affections.—Mons. Girar­din [Page 34] was absent from home, when the sacrifice of Diderot's book was offered at Rousseau's tomb. When he returned, his boatman told him, that during his absence two gentlemen had performed some witchcraft or other at the tomb; that he had observed them at a little distance; that they had struck a stone, brought out a flame, and kept it burning an extraordinary length of time. Mons. Girardin enquired into the meaning of these mysterious rites, and received an account of the sacrifice.

The celebrated opera-dancer, Mademoiselle Theodore, whose talents I am told are not con­fined to superior excellence in dancing, had an enthusiastic admiration of Rousseau. She al­ways carried a volume of his works in her pocket to the rehearsals at the opera, and used to read in the pa [...]ses of the dance. One day having heard that Rousseau was in want of a cook, she dressed herself in a coarse stuff gown, a coloured apron, and a cloth cap, and went in this disguise to offer him her services.

After Rousseau's death, Mademoiselle Theo­dore made a pilgrimage to his grave; and there, in the true spirit of enthusiastic homage, cutting off one of the long tress [...]s of her [...]ine hair, she hung it as an offering upon his tomb.

LETTER VIII.

A BLACKSMITH came to our lodgings this morning to mend the lock of a door. I asked him if he would not willingly leave his trade to fight for the liberty of his country. ^* "O [...]i, madame," said he, "il fa [...]t comba [...]re pour la liberté, parceque si on est tue, c'est l'a [...] ­ [...]a [...]re d'un instant, et c'est fini; au lieu qu'étant esclave on s'ennuye toute sa vie."

This is market-day at Orléans, and I have just been standing with a little circle of coun­try people, who, after the business of the mar­ket was done, ranged themselves round an old woman, who had the advantage over the rest of the group [...], of having attained the accomplish­ment of reading. She read to them a news­paper, to which the audience listened with such eager attention, as reminded me of that anima­ted picture of our divine poet, when he describes

The old woman received a liard for her trou­ble [Page 36] from each of her auditors, and they are now discussing the conduct of their legislators, and arranging the fabric of their new government, with that noble freedom of debate which gives ‘ An hour's importance to the poor man's heart.’

One subject of complaint among the aristoc­rates is, that, since the revolution, they are obli­ged to drive through the streets with caution: the life of a citizen is now considered as of some val­ue, and the poor people on foot cannot be trampled up [...]n, by the horses of the rich people in carriages, with the same impunity as formerly. ^* "C'est si incommode," said an aristocrate to me lately, "quand je vais dans ma voiture en compagne; le pe [...]ple ne se range pas comme autrefois—ces gens-là [...]ont d'une insolence in­croyable—on est obligé de prendre bien garde de ne les pas écraser, et cela demande du tems." Madame de Pompadour, mistress to Lewis XV. who always travelled with great expedition, was passing through Orléans, when her coachman drove over a poor woman, whom age and in­firmity [Page 37] prevented from getting time enough out of the way, and she was killed upon the spot. The coachman stopped the carriage, and the servants told their mistress that the poor woman was killed. ^* "Eh bien," said she, with the most perfect sang-froid, and flinging a louis d'or [...]ut of the window, "voila de quoi la faire en­terrer; allez, cocher." Is it possible to hear of every feeling of humanity being thus insulted, without a degree of indignation which can only be soothed by the reflection that such monstrous evils exist no longer? Is it possible to hear this incident without rejoicing, that a system of gov­ernment which led to such depravation of mind is laid in ruins? For my part, I confess myself so hardened a patriot, that I rejoice to see the lower order of people in this country have lost somewhat of that too obsequious politeness for which they were once distinguished; and that whenever they find themselves in the slightest degree offended, they assume a tone of manly independence. While we were walking yester­day along the very square where the poor old woman was killed, I heard a day-labourer say, in an angry tone of voice, to a gentleman, by [Page 38] whom he thought himself ill-treated, ^* "Mons­ieur, [...]ous [...]ommes égaux—je suis citoyen, mons­ieur, tout comme un autre." Some of our company were shocked at his insolence, while I, recollecting the poor old woman, could not help repeating to myself, ^† "Ah! monami, n'oubliez jamais que vous êtes citoyen tout comme un autre."

A number of poor people in Orléans gain their livelihood by conveying goods in little carts from the quay to the houses of the mer­chants. This little cart forms the stock in trade of a poor family, together with an ass, who is an animal that can accommodate himself to a slight dinner, without complaining. The ass is pla­ced between the shafts; on one side is the mas­ter of the cart, on the other his wife: and all their children, to whatever number they amount, ranged in front, and holding a long cord, which is tied to the cart, assist in drawing it along.

I never see these little family processions with out a melancholy emotion. It seems to me a hard lot, to be forced to gain scanty bread by dragging along this wretched cart from morn­ing [Page 39] till night. But, fortunately, the poor peo­ple themselves are of a different opinion: I per­ceive no marks of sadness on their countenances; and when the cart returns empty, and allows them a little respite from labour, I frequently hear them singing cedil;a ira, with all the exultation of true patriots.

The blessings of the revolution have reached even their little shed. If they are poor, they know they cannot be oppressed; and feel, no doubt, with conscious pride and pleasure, that they also are now "citoyens, ^* tout comme un autre."

Two gentlemen were conversing together this morning upon public affairs. After discus­sing many political points, one of them said to the other, whom he perceived to be a little vio­lent in his sentiments, ^† "Mais après tout, il faut de la modération."

"On parle tant de la modération," answered the democrate, in the most angry tone in the world: "ma foi, monsieur, on n'a pas pris la Bastille avec de la limonade."

LETTER IX.

I HAVE been to visit a chateau about a league from Orléans; part of which was built by the celebrated Lord Bolingbroke, and in which he passed some years of his exile, with his wife, the niece of Madame de Maintenon. Before the windows of the chateau rises a beau­tiful small river, called le Loiret, which, after a winding course of three leagues, through a charm­ing country, falls into the Loire. The grounds of this chateau are in some parts formed into long alleys, shaded by venerable trees, in others spread into lawns, through which the clear Loi­ret pursues its way. Lord Bolingbroke proba­bly found this retirement well adapted for philo­sophical contemplation, and bad there sufficient leisure to

In this retreat he wrote the Patriot King. A company of French and English were dining with Lord Bolingbroke at this place, when the news arrived of the death of the Duke of Marl­borough, his ancient enemy. Some of the com­pany had servility enough to attempt paying their court to Lord Bolingbroke, by mentioning some [Page 41] circumstances to the disadvantage of the Duke of Marlborough. At length a Frenchman, who was present, asked Lord Bolingbroke his opinion of him. "Sir," said he, "Marlborough was so great a man that I have forgot all his faults."—The Loiret deserves to be considered as a sort of classical river: for, if a famous English philos­opher had his dwelling at its source, a far more amiable French philosopher lived some time at the mouth of this little stream: a philosopher, of whom not only his own country, but human nature may be proud; and whose writings tend to awaken the purest affections, the most sooth­ing emotions, of the human heart. This writer was Fenelon, the mild, the persuasive preacher of virtue. I have read Gresset's charming poem of Ver-Vert, with particular pleasure, on the banks of that river, which his hero in evil hour failed down; when the nuns of Nantes, hearing of his renown, write

The happy playful irony of this poem is perhaps [Page 42] unrivalled, except by Pope's Rape of the Lock, which, to all the sprightly graces, the agreeable raillery of Ver-Vert, adds the charm of the most enchanting poetic machinery.

Every Sunday evening during the month of October, as soon as it is dark, four men, dressed in black, walk through the town of Orléans, and at the corner of every street ring a loud heavy bell, which sends forth a most dismal sound; after which they call upon the people to remember the dead, and pray for the repose of their souls. Nothing can be more gloomy than this superstitious ceremony, which lasts till after All-saints day, when a solemn service for the dead is performed in all the Roman Cath­olic churches.

LETTER X.

WHEN a French girl is intended for the wife of a merchant, she is carefully instructed in the arithmetic, after she leaves the convent, where she is usually taught little more than to count her beads. After she is married she acts as her husband's first clerk, and passes the whole day in his counting-house. Some advantages arise from this practice; since a [Page 43] French woman, if her husband dies, is capable of carrying on his business 'till her children are of a proper age to succeed to it; and in the mean time she knows exactly the state of his affairs. Whereas, the wife of an English merchant, sometimes from being entirely ignorant of his real situation, indulges herself in a mode of liv­ing which hastens on his ruin, and receives like a thunder-stroke the intelligence that her riches were a dream, and that her husband is a bankrupt.

I am told that commerce was never so flour­ishing in France as it has been for a year past, not only in the capital, but throughout the whole kingdom. The advantages which some have been enabled to gain from the paper money has led them to extraordinary enterprise, and the loss which others have sustained has produced extraordinary industry and activity. Commerce has benefited in both cases. If the gold of France has vanished with the noblesse, it is not of gold only that that class of persons have disbur­thened their country. They have also carried away with them that immense load of prejudices which has so long oppressed this nation, and which, by connecting degradation and contempt with commerce, deprived the country of the best use and improvement of its riches. If the French money has "made unto itself wings and [Page 44] fled away," so also has the corvée, the gabelle, the arbitrary impositions, the seig [...]orial rights, the enormous taxes which the poor paid to the rich, and which produced famine, where nature had scattered plenty: while they have left behind them the blessings of liberty, equal taxation, mild laws, trial by jury, the spirit of commerce. Paper money, when the crisis of the revolution is past, will, by a process only known to free states, be transformed into pure gold.

I have been at la Maison de Ville, in which house died Francis the Second, the husband of Mary Queen of Scots. He came to Orléans with Mary, to meet the States General; was suddenly taken ill while he was at mass, and died immediately.

The name of Mary Stuart is placed in the list of French female poets. Unfortunate Mary! When she wrote her poetic farewell to this country, ‘ Adieu, plaisant pays de France, &c.’ she seems to have felt a sad presage of her future calamities; those calamities which make me forget every weakness of Mary, and every great quality of Elizabeth; qualities over which the fate of Mary has surely cast an everlasting shade.

At the Maison de Ville we saw a picture of J [...]anne d'Arc, painted two hundred years ago. [Page 45] The countenance is uncommonly beautiful. It seems that nature, while she bestowed on the Maid of Orléans the heroic qualities of the other sex, did not deny her the soft attractions of her own.

There is also at the Maison de Ville the pic­ture of Doctor Petit, who is a native of this place, and has acquired a very high reputation, and an ample fortune as a Physician at Paris. He has lately built a handsome house at Orléans, for the purpose of furnishing advice and medi­cines gratis to the poor; and, with additional benevolence, to defend their little property from injustice, he has appointed lawyers who have a salary allowed them for pleading the cause of the indigent.

This public benefactor to his native city is the son of a taylor; and, in order to shew that he was superior to the prejudices which so long enslaved his country, he appointed the oldest taylor at Orléans in indigent circumstances to take care of this new institution.

Doctor Petit I suppose felt, that, having arri­ved at eminence by the path of all others the most honourable, that of distinguished talents, he might be allowed to recollect, without blush­ing, the roture of his birth. Perhaps he thinks on this subject as Boileau did when he wrote—

The late king of Prussia was told by one of his courtiers, that two ladies of high rank had a dispute about precedency, which was become so serious that it was necessary for his majesty to interpose his authority in deciding the question. ^* "Eh bien!" said Frede [...]c, "qu on donne le pas à la plus folle."

LETTER XI.

THERE is an university at Orléans, found­ed by Philippe le Bel, in 1312. If one can forgive a tyrant who pursued his own ag­grandizement, sometimes by the most perfidious policy, sometimes by the most cruel oppressions, and who first changed offences against the king, which until his reign were only considered as crimes of felony, into crimes of high treason, it must be in consideration of his having, in that barbarous age, done something for the cause of literature. In this instance it appears that he did not reason with his usual subtilty; since the [Page 47] progress of literature is very unfavourable to the interests of tyranny. What example so mem­orable, and so recent, of this truth, as the event of the French revolution? That glorious event which will probably in its consequences change the face of this earth, and will be marked in the page of history as that luminous point of human annals, from which a better order of things is seen to arise: and this event has surely been the work of literature, of philosophy, of the enlarg­ing views of mankind. Liberty springs as nat­urally from knowledge, as light from the sun; and the liberty which the French have acquired, and are determined to maintain, appears to be the deliberate, the noble, the august choice of reason. It has no resemblance to those fiery meteors which sometimes throw a transitory flash across that darknnss which they have not sufficient power to dispel: it is the sublime effect of truth visiting the land, like the day-spring from on high, and, with a similiar kind of influ­ence over the moral world, warming the heart, in proportion as it enlightens the understanding.

The French, in forming their new constitu­tion, have made an experiment in politics, and why should they be censured for so doing? While philosophy teaches the general utility of experimental science, who will be bold enough [Page 48] to assert, that the science of government alone has attained perfection, and is incapable of im­provement? Who will say to the human under­standing, on this one point only, thus far shalt thou go, and no farther? If the progression of reason in the art of government is forbidden, how miserable are the prospects of the human race! for small indeed is the portion of political happiness hitherto obtained by mankind.

But why do I attempt to justify the conduct of the French, when you know we have all heard that they have been guilty of the most fatal errors? They have shewn some disposition to reform the papal hierarchy, and to separate the artificial splendour of church establishments from the pure beams of that light which cometh from above. They have invaded the grand monu­ments of the dead, and thrown open the melan­choly tomos of the living. They have led beauty from the solitary cell, where its charms might have bloomed in security, and have expo­sed those dangerous attractions to the love and admiration of society. They have drawn forth coins and medals, paintings and statues, from those venerable repositories where they had long lain buried with their past possessors. Their sacrilegious hands have disturbed the learned dust of libraries stored with theological [Page 49] controversies, and which displayed perhaps the weakness, as well as the strength of the human mind: and, instead of employing the mason, and the carpenter, in repairing the ravages of time on Gothic edifices, they have erected obelisks to a pagan divinity, not to be found in the monkish calendar, and degraded at Rome every since the days of the ancient republic. But let us turn from the enumeration of their transgres­sions against that code of respectable prejudices, stamped with the authority of past age [...], and which in the opinion of some people ought to be deemed no less irreversible than the decrees of the Medes and Persians.

I shall finish my letter with the remark of a lady formerly noble, with whom I was lately in company. Some person happened to mention the philosophers of France; ^* "Ah!" said [...]he, with great warmth, "n'en parlez plus de [...]ces gueux de philosophes; ce sont e [...]x qui ont cau­ [...] tous nos mallieurs avec leurs écrits impertinens.

LETTER XII.

WE left Orléans the beginning of Decem­ber, and are come to pas [...] the winter at [Page 50] Paris. Such of our acquaintances as are aristoc­rates tell us how much we ought to lament the evil destiny which has led us to Paris at present; that the town has lost all its former éclat; that all the good company are at Coblent [...]; that the splendid equipages are laid aside; that the pub­lic walks, where formerly none but persons comme il faut were suffered to enter, are now filled with people whom nobody knows; and that, upon the whole, we may consider ourselves as most unfortunate travellers, who have come to see the Paris at a time when there is nothing to be seen.

Notwithstanding this obliging pity of some of my acquaintances, I am rather disposed to con­gratulate myself that I have missed the [...]ine equipages, the laced liveries, and the good com­pany at Coblentz; while I have an opportunity of observing the effects of a revolution, so noble in its design, so astonishing in the sudden change produced in the sentiments of a whole nation, rising from the servility of abject servitude, to such an exalted spirit of freedom, that the con­templation inspires unwearied admiration and wonder.

I believe that the former magnificence of Paris, when its public places and public walks were crowded with persons distinguished by stars [Page 51] and ribbons, would have conveyed sensations very different, and far less delightful to my heart than those which I have felt amidst rejoicing multitudes, who had no other claim to distinc­tion than virtue and patriotism, and no other decoration than the national cockade.

I have sometimes recollected, on those occa­sions, the fine lines of Addison.

I ever witness these scenes of general [...]elicity without indulging the hope that a period is ap­proaching more favourable than any former period, to the general happiness of the human race; when the crooked subtleness of politi [...]s and the open violations of justice will alike pass away, and what has hitherto been considered as the fond speculation of the philosopher, the gold­en dream of the moralist, will become historical fact; when we shall no longer trace in the an­nals of history a sanguinary list of crimes; when [Page 52] ambition, deprived of all power of doing evil, will only be left the ability to do good, and be forbidden any longer to cover the earth with desolation; and when no path to glory will be le [...]t, but from the cultivation of human hap­piness.

Do not imagine, however, that the emigrants have l [...]t nothing behind them but public spirit and public virtue; and that all splendour, taste, and gaiety have fled with them to Coblentz. There are at present no less than twenty theatres at Paris, which are well filled every nig [...]t; and at most of which you see charming acting. The grace, the sprightliness, the naïveté, the easy natural movements of their comic actors fa [...] surpass any thing our London theatres can boast. Let us resign to the French the palm of come­dy, since the laurels of tragedy are all our own.—There is but one Siddons, one transcendant ge­nius, who has every passion of the human heart at her command, and the sublime graces of whose performance it is impossible not to feel, but no less impossible to describe.

Mademoiselle Clairon, the celebrated French tragic actress, not contented with the [...]ame she had acquired, once attempted contrary to the advice of her friends, to act the part of Merope, in Voltaire's tragedy; a part which Madame Dusmenil, the rival of Mademoiselle Clairon, had acted with extraordinary success. A friend of Mademoiselle Clairon's, who [...]upped with her after the performance, said to her, "You have very fine tragic powers, but you must absolutely renounce the part of Merope; for there Madame Dusmenil is far superior to you." ^* "Ah oui!" said Mademoiselle Clairon, heaving a deep sigh, " [...]a misérable!—elle a eu un enfant!

Is it a proof of the superior refinement of the French, that they are fonder of theatrical amuse­ments than the English? Or does it arise from that love of gaiety and pleasure, which is so much more prevalent in the French than the English character? A London tradesman, when the business of the day is over, sits down con­tentedly with his wife and children, and reads the newspaper. But a bourgeois at Paris usu­ally concludes the day at one of the spectacles, [Page 54] and this without injuring his circumstances; as a taste for th [...]se amusements being universal at Paris, there are spectacles adapted to every purse, and pleasure may be had at a very cheap rate.

There are coffee-houses on the Boulevards, where the people, while they drink their wine, lemonde, or orgeat, are entertained with a play gratis. Women, as well as men, are ad­mitted to these coffee-houses; for the English idea of finding ease, comfort, or festivity, in societies where women are excluded, never en­ters into the imagination of a Frenchman.

Not that the same gallantry, the same con­stant attention to women now prevails which existed before the revolution.—Like Moliere's Doctor, "on a changé tout cela." The men, engrossed by political concerns which involve the fate of their country, and on which their own lives and fortunes depend, have no longer leisure or inclination to devote as much time as they did formerly to the women; and I think the French ladies stand a fair chance of being soon almost as much neglected as the English. Not only the age of chivalry, [...]t the age of petits [...]a [...]tres is past.

The greatest simplicity in dress is observed, and is sometimes carried even to negligence. Every man seems at pains to shew that he has [Page 55] wasted as few moments as it was possible at his toilette, and that his mind is bent on higher cares than the embellishment of his person. I am that this revolution in dress and manners, this subversion of the ancient laws of etiquette, has excited such a degree of surprise and wonder in the king's attendants at the Tuilleries, that, not­withstanding this is the fourth year of French liberty, those gentlemen have not yet got the better of their astonishment. Nothing, it is said, can exceed the minute curiosity, and the expres­sive looks, shrugs, and gestures, with which they examine the dress of the members of the National Assembly, when sent on deputations to the king. It is known that these gen­tlemen in waiting, having no idea of dig­nity, unaccounted with a sword and bag, were disposed to treat the deputations from the Nation­al Assembly with contempt, till Mirabeau took the trouble to give them a lesson on that subject.

He was sent at the head of a deputation of the National Assembly to the king. The attend­ants, instead of going to inform his majesty, that they desired an audience, kept them waiting in the antichamber. M [...]rabeau, however, did not wait long. He rose from his seat, and with that commanding aspect and emphatic tone which belonged to him, walking up to a ci-devant [Page 56] duke, he said, ^* "Monsieur, je vous or donne d'aller dire au Roi que les représentans de la nation Francedil;aise sont ici." He was obeyed without one moment's hesitation.

But to return to the theatres. The little comic pieces which are acted at the petits spec­tacles at Paris are far superior to our London after pieces, which in general are full of coarse, broad humour, much more calculated to exci [...]e disgust than laughter.

Even Harlequin, at Paris, instead of confin­ing himself, as he does at London, to manual wit, and feats of activity, assumes a character of naïveté diverting enough. In this stlye is the account he gives to a friend of his having fallen in love: ^† "Et même," adds he, "je s [...]is moitié marié." "Mais comment?" Replies his friend.

"Ce que je le veux bien," says Harlequin, "et il ne manque que le consentment de la de­moiselle."

The opera at Paris infinitely surpasses, in the splendour of its decorations, the illusion of the [Page 57] machinery, and the charm of the dancing, the opera at London. But you know I am no en­thusiastic admirer of this fashionable amusement. I always find at an opera such an air of bur­lesque, something so artificial, nature and sim­plicity so completely banished, that, notwith­standing I love music passionately, I cannot help sometimes feeling that the music at an op­era "plays round the head, but comes not to the heart." And I am inclined to think with Lord Chesterfield, that, in order to be pleased with that entertainment, you ought to leave your understanding with your half-guinea at the door.

LETTER XIII.

WE have been to see the magnificent Pa­lais de Bourbon. This immense pile of building, with its numerous and spacious courts, now deserted, solitary, and silent, affords ample room for moralizing. The petit Palais in which the Prince de Condé usually lived, and where [...]e frequently entertained select parties of his friends, is fitted up with a degree of beauty, taste, and elegance, of which you can form no idea from any royal dwelling you have seen in England.

[Page 58] The Abbé de Mably, however, seems of opin­ion that, while our cottages are snug, warm, and comfortable, we have no reason to blush that the French bear away the palm from us in point of palaces. I have just read the Abbé de Ma­bly's book, entitled, "Des Droits et des De­voirs du Citoyen," a work written several years ago, and in which the progress of the public mind in France, and the steps which led to the French revolution, are traced with so much simplicity, clearness, energy, and truth, that it seems rather the history of what has passed, than a prophecy of what was then to come.

When the Bastille was taken, this book, to­gether with a large edition of another work of the Abbé de Mably's, entitled, "Des Observa­tions sur [...] Histoire de France," were found in an apartment appropriated to the purpose of con­taining such books as were judged improper for the eye of the public; and it is certain that the writings of the Abbè de Mably are sufficiently philosophical to have deserved, under the reign of despotism, being made prisoners of state.

We have also been to visit Rincy and Mouceaux, two houses belonging to the Duke of Orléans. Mouceaux is the most singular and enchanting spot I ever saw. You are led through long magnificent galleries, [...]urnished [Page 59] with the most happy union of simplicity and el­egance, and lighted by a thousand lamps, to a hothouse formed into serpentine walks, where, in the middle of winter, and at a time when the ground was covered with snow, an infinite variety of flowers diffused the most delicious fra­grance. The air was of the temperature of spring, a cascade falls over rocks with the most soothing murmurs, and this delightful spot leads to the dining apartment, from which you enjoy the beauties and fragrance of this elysian walk, where the charms of nature and the embellish­ments of art are blended together in a manner which I imagined was only to be found in the palaces of sylphs and fairies; personages, who, you know, are supposed to have a great deal more facility in raising splendid palaces than we mere mortals.

Rincy is a noble mansion, where Mons. d'­Orléans, who has lived much in England, has united with the taste and grandeur of a French palace, the comforts and accommodations of an English house.

The grounds of Rincy are laid out in the En­glish taste, are very beautiful, and of considera­ble extent. We dined with an English gentle­man in the service of Mons. d'Orléans, and who lives in a charming house in his park.

[Page 60] In the morning we hunted a boar. This was the first time in my life I had ever been at a chace, and I find it an amusement so little suited to my taste, that I shall certainly never try it again. We rode in phaetons up and down the alleys of the woods, in search of this wretched animal, who at last yielded himself up to the dogs, and had his life spared to another day. I believe a French hunt is as little suited to the taste of an English fox-hunter, as it is to mine, but for a very different reason: here are neither inclosures to pass, nor six-barred gates to leap; there is neither danger to encounter, nor glory to be gained; and too small a chance of a broken neck to interest the passions of an English 'squire.

Since the revolution, such quantities of game have been destroyed, that this English gentle­man has thought proper to preserve a number of the wild inhabitants of the forests from the general slaughter, by confining them in separ­ate paddocks, where boars, hares, &c. are regu­larly fed: but I do not believe their good fare reconciles them to the loss of their liberty. I have no doubt they would prefer jour maigre, together with the unconfined range of the woods, to any fète within the paddock.

The English gentleman with whom we di­ned at Rincy, shewed me a little engraving of [Page 61] the descent of Messrs. Charles and Robert from their balloon. These aërial adventurers were followed on horseback by Mons. d'Orléans, and a great number of persons, among whom was this Englishman.

The balloon descended after a course of thirty miles; and the Englishman, getting the start of the other horseman, seized a cord of the balloon as it descended, and then springing to embrace Mons. Charles, reminded him, that he was the first to meet him. But being obliged to express this sentiment in French, he could find in the agitation of the moment no other words than, ^* "Moi Charles premier." The French com­pany were amused with the expr [...]ssion, and soon after an engraving appeared of the descent of the balloon, the train of gentlemen on horseback, the Englishman holding the cord, and these words below the print, "Moi Charles premier."

While the French princes are employing their revenues in training soldiers for the pur­pose of deluging their native country with blood, Mons. d'Orléans is spending a considerable part of his revenue in paying workmen who are making improvements at Rincy. Mons. d'Or­léans has many enemies, who tell you that his patriotism is all affectation. However, since it [Page 62] has been uniform and constant, from the first period of the revolution, I know not on what grounds this conjecture is founded: but this at least is certain, that it would save this nation many millions, and too probably a great profu­sion of blood, if the other French princes had distinguished themselves by the same kind of affectation.

With regard to the family of Mons. d'Or­léans, whom, in consequence of my acquaintance with Madame de Sillery, I have the honour of knowing a little, I am firmly persuaded, from my own observations, that their patriotism is pure, warm, and dis [...]interested. They are too amiable for disguise, and the genuine feelings of their minds are easily discerned. "I am accu­sed," says Madame de Sillery, in her last inter­esting publication, "of having taught the prin­ces under my care to love the revolution: whereas their love of the revolution is but the natural, the necessary effect of those principles which I had long ago inculcated in their minds."

To young persons who had been instructed that the chief privilege arising from their high rank, was that of affording them opportunities of more extensive benevolence; who had learn­ed "the luxury of doing good," and imbibed the principles of general philanthropy towards [Page 63] the human race—to such young persons it was an easy task to make some sacrifices to the hap­piness of millions, and to love the revolution of their country.

LETTER XIV.

I WENT on Christmas day to hear high mass at the magnificent church of Notre Dame, where the colours are now displayed which used to float on the towers of the Bastille, before that gloomy fortress was taken.

Mass was performed by the archbishop of Paris, with great solemnity and devotion. Some parts of the music were fine, and I felt my mind raised and affected by it.

I often recollected, in the course of the day, with a tender and melancholy emotion, my dis­tance from England, where that day is passed in a manner far more interesting than in France. With us, you know, it is spent in the bosom of your family, or consecrated to the friends and connections you love most, while formal visitors are excluded. This is not the case in France [...]: the theatres are crowded with company, and the day passes in the usual amusements.

The last evening of the old year we went, about eight o'clock, to the Palais Royal, where [Page 64] the walks were filled with people, and most of the shops illuminated, particularly the confec­tioners, which in every part of Paris are splen­didly lighted up on this evening, and make a more agreeable appearance than our pastry-cooks shops on Twelfth-night in London; where the sight of so much plum-cake as is then displayed becomes rather oppressive after ten years of age. The confectioners shops here are filled with ornamented glass boxes for sweet­meats, and a variety of pretty trinkets, which people buy, and present to their friends at this season.

A gentleman who called here this morning, told me an anecdote, which I shall relate to you.—A friend of his, formerly one of the garde du corps, and who very narrowly escaped from the fury of the people on the 6th of October, 1789, came a few days ago to Paris, and im­mediately sent for a hair-dresser. The officer, while he was dressing, told the man, that he thought he remembered his face. "Yes, sir, said the hair-dresser; "and I recollect you per­fectly—you were in the garde du corps; I saw you on the sixth of October." ^* "Ma [...]oi," said the officer, "j'ai échappé bel; j'étais b [...]en près [Page 65] d'être pendu." "Ou [...] vraimen [...], monsieur, replied the hair-dresser, "et moi j'ai tenu la corde,"

I observe with pleasure a proof which the Parisians give of that general veneration for genius, which prevails in this city, by calling several of the streets of Paris after the names of celebrated men. Here is the quay of Voltaire, the street of Jean Jaques Rousseau, the street of Mirabeau, and, since the death of the Abbe Cerutti, a man of letters, and a patriot, the peo­ple have made the ci-devant street of Artois drop its aristocratical pretensions, and ass [...]me the name of Cerutti.

Why is no street, or square, in London na­med after Pope, Milton, or, to rise to the highest climax of human genius, after Shakspeare? We seem to have a strange dread to England of indulging any kind of enthusiasm, however laud­able. We are very apt to wrap up our feelings in the unrelenting severity of wisdom on occa­sions when it would be far more amiable to give way to the impulse of the heart. You will see Frenchmen ba [...]ed in tears at a tragedy. An Englishman has quite as much sensibility to a generous or tender sentiment; but he thinks it would be unmanly to weep; and, though perhaps half choaked with emotion, he scorns [Page 66] to be overcome, contrives to gain the victory over his feelings, and throws into his counte­nance as much apathy as he can well wish.

We have also such a profound dread of ridicule in England; we are so afraid of one another, that, instead of going into company with the hope of pleasing, we only entertain the humble desire of escaping censure. A French society, with a happy mixture of enthusiasm and noncha­lance, ventures on a thousand traits of senti­ment, and sprightly sallies, which make the hours pass away agreeably; but which an English company would not hazard for the world; but

And yet I can find no other reason for the Eng­lish going into company with their minds in complete armour, and their understanding always in a posture of defence, except, that an Englishman cannot bear to be laughed at, and that a Frenchman can; for I do not believe there is more good nature in France than in England. Writing upon this subject recals [Page 67] powerfully to my heart the idea of those friends with whom I passed most of my time in London; of that society which absence can only serve to endear, by convincing me that its loss is irre­parable.

I have heard a gentleman alledge, that French and English conversation amounted to the same thing; for, said he, ^* "Les Anglais ne di [...]ent rien, et les Francedil;ais di [...]ent des riens."

There are no talents which I feel more dis­posed to envy than those of wit and eloquence in conversation; than the power of giving it a fresh [...]low when it grows languid; when, to use the beautiful image of Mrs. Piozzi, "the little stream of prattles ceases to murmur for want of a few pebbles to break its course." A propos of eloquence—One evening at Streatham Park, some person asked Doctor Johnson, how he would choose to distribute the great offices of state which were at that time vacant, amongst the literary ladies of his acquaintance. "M [...]s. Carter," said he, "shall be appointed Lord High Chancellor of England." "And what place will you give to the lady of this house?" somebody inquired. "We will give her," [Page 68] answered Johnson, "a seat in the House of Commons, and she will rise of herself."

LETTER XV.

THERE were some commotions lately at Paris, on account of an attempt to mo­nopolize sugar, which was already sold at an enormous price, and which the poor of Paris, who live as much upon coffee as the poor of London do upon tea, considered as one of the necessaries of life. For three nights the guards were trebled, and the town was lighted up for greater security. In a few days the commotion was entirely appeased, which I own had never given me the smallest alarm; for I always consider myself in per­fect safety at Paris under the protection of the national guard, which the Parisians call, with truth, la [...]auve-garde de la ville. The national guards are so much respected by the people, that they find it easy to enforce obedi­ence, and they generally make the wisest and most temperate use of their power.

I have been several times at the National As­sembly. The debates in this second legislature are less interesting than those of the Constituent [Page 69] Assembly, where almost at every [...]itting some pillar of the ancient system was thrown down, and some part of the new fabric rose majestical­ly from its ruins. Neither does this assembly display the same blaze of talents which astonish­ed and dazzled in the former. She can boast of no Mirabeau, no transcendent genius

And one may apply to the genius of this assem­bly what I lately read in a little collection of French letters, where the writer, speaking of the talents for poetry which prevail so general­ly in the southern provinces of France, the country of the Troubadours, says, "Nobody has immense riches of genius in this country; but easy, even affluent fortunes are very com­mon; and the sum of poetical wealth is upon the whole far more considerable than if a great deal were accumulated upon one head."

There is a sufficient stock of ability in the National Assembly, animated as it is by the most important and exalted objects. A mem­ber [Page 70] of the National Assembly knows that he is pleading not merely the cause of the people of France. He is speaking at the tribune of Eu­rope, and he is pleading the cause of all the peo­ple of the earth. For it is now too late for the lovers of arbitrary power to consider the French revolution in the light in which they once affec­ted to consider it. The time long ago is past, for terming that event an affair of accident, and the triumph of the rabble, which is found to have originated in the unanimous will of a great and enlightened nation, and has taught mankind a lesson, which perhaps the whole human race will be proud to learn.

I heard the decree passed in the National As­sembly for confiscating the estates of the emi­grants. They, and their chie [...]s the French princes, will probably soon tire the short-lived pity of foreign courts, and will be doomed to wander over Europe, as the adherents of the house of Stuart have done, poor, wretched, and abandoned. Yet how different the situation of the Scotch and French fugitives! How differ­ent the situation of the descendants of James the Second, and that of Lewis the Sixteenth! What are the misfortunes of Lewis the Sixteenth? He has been deprived of despotic power. What [...] his present situation? He is called by the [Page 71] consent of a free people to the crown of the great­est nation in Europe. The French emigrants are not, therefore, influenced by the same gener­ous motives which led the adherents of the house of S [...]uart to take up arms, which could be no other than a disinterested attachment to that family, in defence of which they risked their lives and fortunes. The French emigrants, on the contrary, would deluge their native country with blood, sooner than renounce titles that were vain, and privileges that were odious.

LETTER XVI.

I HAVE been at the Jacobins, that society which has acted a part so distinguished in the French revolution, and in which every political question of importance is debated before it is brought forward in the National Assembly. The Jacobins have too much influence in the new system of French politics not to have many enemies. By those persons every crime, every enormity is attributed to this society; which, it is asserted, has not only the fate of France, but the fate of Europe in its hands. If the Emperor of Germany is hostile to the French nation, it is the fault of the Jacobins. Leopold felt the most [Page 72] tender and paternal interest in the prosperity of the new constitution; but he was forced to make a declaration of war against that formidable, that atrocious sect. To the Jacobins is owing every outrage committed by popular fury, and every treasonable design conceived by the aris­tocratic factions. The Jacobins are the con­trivers of all disorder, the levellers of all distinc­tions, and the enemies of all subordination. It is their intention to overturn the present system of government, and divide the French empire into eighty-three republics, governed by Jaco­bins.

Such is the cry, not merely of those who have the courage to profess themselves of the artistoc­ratic party, but also of those, who, however they may regret the subversion of the old gov­ernment, have sagacity enough to perceive that, like the age of chivalry, it is past for ever, and therefore prudently determine to attempt its res­toration no more. The ancient system of abu­ses they find must be renounced, and therefore they limit their ambition to the conversation of as many errors, as many prejudices as possible. These persons talk to you of their profound respect for the new constitution, which they ac­cuse the Jacobins of wishing to subvert. I believe, indeed, that if there are some points of [Page 73] the constitution which the Jacobins disapprove, they are those very points which these persons would bind on their posterity for ever. Even among the patriots there are many who think that, the constitution being now established, the deliberations of the Jacobins are no longer ne­cessary, and who also think that that society leans too much towards republicanism.

There are in France several different sects of patriots; but the two leading parties and those who are reproachfully termed by each other, enragés and modérés; and the great features of difference between these parties seem to be that the eragés place the declaration of rights above the constitution, while the modérés place the constitution above the declaration of rights. Each party is as dogmatical as the former doc­tors of the Sorbonne. But a Frenchman never disputes with calmness on any subject: it were therefore unreasonable to expect he should throw aside the natural impetuosity of his charac­ter, on the very points most likely to call it forth.

This accounts, in some measure, for the vio­lent tumults which sometimes arise in the Na­tional Assembly; while in our House of Com­mons debates are carried on with the most per­fect good order and tranquillity. Another rea­son, however, may be assigned for this, besides [Page 74] the difference of national character. In the House of Commons our great orators may be as eloquent as they will; they may do honour to our nation, and to the age in which they live, by the energy, the sublimity of their talents; but every body knows that their eloquence does not influence even one solitary vote; and before a debate begins, all the world is well apprised how the business will end.

This is not the case in the National Assembly. There, arguments and votes have still a connec­tion with each other; and therefore every point is discussed with vehemence.—But to return to the Jacobins—If they have many enemies, the party of their friends is far more numerous. Those persons declare that they never enter the hall of the Jacobins without respect, because they consider it as the cradle and the sanctuary of French liberty. They are convinced that those watchful, vigilant, jealous, noisy Jacobins are its best guardians; and that but for the ex­tensive influence which they have acquired, in consequence of their correspondence with the other partriotic societies, established in every part of the kingdom, with whom they constantly maintain a chain of connection, the infant lib­erty of France would have been crushed in its birth by its numerous and formidable enemies. The friends of the Jacobins believe that they are [Page 75] very far from intending to overthrow the present system, whatever speculative opinions some of the members of that society may have on the subject of government: but that, if the Jacobins should find that corruption is suffered to taint the purity of the new constitution and impede its march—if it should be found that the first National Assembly, after having formed that constitution upon the great and everlasting basis of the rights of man, and of which the Abbé Sieyes has the glory of having laid the corner­stone in drawing up the declaration of those rights—if it should be found that that assembly, after sustaining a long and laborious struggle, at length wearied of the conflict, should suffer the beautiful work they had created to be deformed in the revision of it—if it should be found that the constitution, in its present state, is like an ill-constructed carriage, and that it is in the pow­of the drivers to put some secret clogs upon the wheels, and prevent its going forward, while the patriots in vain lash up the horses—then, it is said, the Jacobins will warn the people of the threatened danger, with that bold, that ardent eloquence which belongs to the apostles of lib­erty.

I was at the Jacobins when the English, French, and American colours, fastened toge­ther [Page 76] with bands of laurel and national ribbon, were placed in the hall. As soon as the colours appeared, the hall re [...]ounded with the acclama­tions of more than two thousand persons who were present, and who immediately rose from their seats; the men waved their hats in the air, and from every quarter were re-echoed the cries of ^* "vive la liberté—Vive l'Angleterre—Vive la France—Vivent les nations libres!" At the sight of those banners, so often the symbo [...]s of war, of desolation, of horror, now become the pledges of peace, of good will, of union between the nations, every heart seemed animated with a sacred enthusiasm, every bosom throbbed with sympathy, and every eye was [...]elted with tears. The colours were fixed in the hall, and it was proposed by some of the members, and ordered by the society, that the busts of Price, Franklin, Algernon Sidney, Jean Jaques Rousseau, and the Abbé de Mably, should be placed beneath the banners of the three nations.

The names of Milton, of Locke, and of Hambden, re-echoed through the hall, where it was proposed that their busts should also in a short time be placed. I heard with exultation the well-known names of these celebrated persons, and recollected with pride that I had the honour [Page 77] of belonging to the same country. Surely that nation which produced the writings of Milton and of Locke, which gave birth to Sidney and Hambden, in ages when the rest of Europe were slaves, has a claim to the everlasting grati­tude and admiration of mankind.

In this enlightened period of the world more perfect systems of legislation may perhaps be formed than England can boast. Her Magna Charta was obtained not in the illumination of the eighteenth, but in the Gothic darkness of the twelfth century. She can never be deprived of the most glorious pre-eminence among the children of freedom; she, who cherished in her bosom the noble sentiments of liberty, when the nations around her were sunk in the most abject servitude. If those nations now find the path of freedom, it is by pursuing the track which Eng­land first explored.

The example of the revolution in America is supposed to have had considerable influence on the French nation: and from whom did the Americans imbibe their love of freedom? They loved it because they were of English race, and had studied the writings of English philosophers, and the examples of English patriots.

May England rectify the abuses and corrup­tions [Page 78] which have crept into her government by wise and temperate reformation—may she avoid those storms and convulsions which are only necessary to purify the moral, as well as the physical world, from any mighty and fatal conta­gion. While France has been obliged to cor­rect her government by holding in one hand her philosophic declaration of rights, and grasp­ing her unsheathed sword in the other—may England effect the same august purpose with no other arms than those of reason—may she, with­out interrupting her national prosperity, employ the most effectual means of securing its continu­ance—may she direct that full tide of wealth which rolls through the land, to visit it in more equal streams; and may there be "no leading into captivity, and no complaining in her streets!"

LETTER XVII.

THE first National Assembly, amidst the greatness and extent of its labours, was obliged to leave to a succeding assembly the task of instituting a plan of public education; a task which will soon occupy the present legislature, and will alone serve to immortalize it, if well performed.

[Page 79] It is said, that Monsieur Condorcet, a member of the present National Assembly, is at present employed on this object; and there can be no doubt that he will execute the work he has un­dertaken with that philosophical spirit, and that extensive knowledge, which he possesses in so conspicuous and eminent a degree.

How many soothing, how many comprehen­sive and sublime ideas does this plan of public education include! There is something infi­nitely agreeable and delightful to the imagination in the anticipation of that progress which the rising generation in this country may make in reason, in philosophy, in virtue, and in happi­ness; and the improvement of the rising gener­ation cannot but be highly interesting to the friends of the French revolution, since it seems peculiarly for them that that revolution has been made. They will best enjoy the benefits re­sulting from it. The present patriots of France may be said figuratively, as well as literally, to be placed in a field of battle, they have long-rooted prejudices to conquer; they have ancient errors to subdue; which perhaps are more difficult to be vanquished than the combined forces of Ger­many and of Prussia. In the august career of liberty, these patriots are encompassed with dangers, and beset with snares; and if they are [Page 80] now enabled to keep the field against those who were formerly their tyrants, it is by the determ­ined, the unremitting contest they maintain with vice, venality, and corruption. But through the clouds and storms which now obscure the French horizon, it is easy to discern the clear, the bright perspective which unfolds itself to the rising race. We see that the blessings of en­lightened freedom await them, and we rejoice that a suitable education will qualify them to enjoy their distinguished lot; that they will be made worthy of their high destiny, and fit guard­ians of that better order of things which they will be called upon to maintain.

Mirabeau had drawn out a plan of public in­struction, which he meant to present to the National Assembly; and he intended, when this question was discussed, to propose at the same time the abolition of the literary academies, or rather corporations of Paris, which he considered as incompatible with the spirit of a free consti­tution, and as injuring instead of serving the cause of letters.

Mons. Chamfort, a member of the French academy, had, at Mirabeau's desire, written a discourse on the subject of that academy, which the death of Mirabeau prevented his reading at the ritbune of the National Assembly. It is a [Page 81] fact well known in France, that Mirabeau eag­erly [...]ought and accepted the assistance of such men as as he thought were capable of furnish­ing him with ideas worthy of his own high rep­utation.—There was certainly a want of delicacy in thus wearing, without scruple, as he frequently did, those laurels which were the right of an­other. But since he could reconcile himself to borrowed applause, he was peculiarly fortunate in having Mons. Chamfort for his friend, who, with a [...]nd well qualified to lend ideas to Mi­rabeau, unites a degree of reserve and delicacy, which led him to resign with readiness those claims to [...]ame which Mirabeau, without hesita­tion, made his own. Mons. Chamfort is well known at Paris, not only as a man of the first literary talents, and as possessing the most bril­liant powers of conversation, but is also distin­guished for having [...]elt and professed the most ardent love of liberty, many years before the revolution had brought principles of that kind into fashion.—What has made this circumstance well remembered, is, that the society in which this gentleman constantly avowed these senti­ments, was that of the Prince of Condé; on whom it reflects some honour, that he had sufficient taste to court Mons. Chamfort's society, and sufficient understanding to pardon the independence of his spirit.

[Page 82] In the discourse which Mons. Chamfort ga [...] to Mirabeau upon the French academy, [...] paints with admirable acuteness, with all the force of genius, and all the wit of irony, [...]he lit­tleness, the inutility, the absurdities, and above all the abject spirit which has prevailed in that society: but there is one passage in this discourse upon "the prize of virtue," established in the French academy, which is in my opinion a model of fine writing, and I cannot resist transcribing part of it.

^* "Et d▪abord, lai [...]ant à part cette a [...]iche, [Page 83] ce concours periodique, ce programme d'un prix de vertu pour [...]annce proch [...]ne, je lis les [Page 84] termes de la fondation, et je vois ce prix destiné aux vertus des citoyens dans la classe indigente. Quoi done? Qu'est-ce à dire? La classe opu­lente a-t-elle relégué la vertu dans la classe des pauvres? Non sans doute. Elle prétend bien, comme l'autre, pouvoir faire éclater des vertus. Elle ne veut done pas du prix? Non certes.—Ce prix est de l'or; le riche en l'acceptant se croirait avili. J'entends; il n'y en a point assez; il ne le prendrait pas. Le riche l'ose dire, et pourquoi ne le prendrait-il pas? Le pauvre le prend bien! payez-vous la vertu? Ou bien l'honorez-vous? Vous ne la payez pas; ce n'est ni votre prétention, ni votre espérance. [Page 85] Vous l'honorez done! eh bien! commencez par ne pas l'avilir enmettant la richesse au-dessus de la vertu indigente. [...] renversement de tou­tes les idées morales, né de l'excès de la corrup­tion publique, et [...]it pour l'accroître encore! men [...]urons de l'oeil l'abym [...] dont nous [...]ortons: dans quel corps, dans quelle compagnie eût-il éte admis, le cidevant gentilhomme qui eût ac­c [...]pt [...] le prix de vertu dans une assemblée publi­que? Il y avoit parmi nous la roture de la vertu! retirez done votre or, qui ne peut récompenser une belle action du riche. Rendez à la vertu cet hommage de croire que le pauvre a ussi peut être payé par elle; qu'il a, comme le riche, une conscience opulente et solvable; qu'enfin il peut, comme le riche, placer une bonne action entre le ciel et lui. Législateurs, ne [...]'écrétez pas la divinité de l'or, en le donnant pour salaire à ces mouvements sublimes, à ces grands [...]acrifices, qui semblent mettre l'homme en commerce avec son éternel Auteur. Il serait annullé votre décret, il l'est d'avance dans l'ame ou pauvre—oui, du pauv [...]e, au moment où il vient de s'honorer par un acte généreux. Il est com­mun, il est par-tout le sentiment qui atteste cette vérité. Eh! n'avez vous pas vu dans ces desas­tres qui provoquent le s [...]ours général—n'avez­vous pas vu quelqu'un de ces pauvres, lorsqu'an [Page 86] risque de ses jours et par un grand acte de cou­rage, il a fauvé l'un de ses semblables, je veux dire, le riche, l'opulent, l'heureux, car il les prend pour ses semblables, dès qu'il faut les secourir; lorsqu'après le péril et dans le reste des effusions de sa reconnaissance, le riche fauvé présente de l'or à son bienfaiteur, a cet indigent, à cet hom­me dénué; regardez celui-ci, comme il s'indigne, il recule, il s'étonne, il rougit—une heure aupar­avant il eût mendié. D' [...]ù lui vient ce noble mouvement? C'est que vous profanez son bien­fait, ingrat que vous [...]tes! vous corrompez votre reconnaissance. Il a fait du bien, il vient de s'enrichir, et vous le traitez en pauvre! Au plaisir céleste d'avoir satisfait le plus beau besoin de son ame, vous substituez la pensee d'un be­soin matériel; vous le ramenez du ciel, où il est quelque chose, sur la terre, où il n'est rien. O nature hum [...]ine! voilà comme on t'honore! Quand la vertu t'élève à ta plus grande hauteur, c'est de l'or qu'on vient t'offrir, c'est l'au mône qu'on te présente!"

You will be disposed to believe, from the above specimen, that in France talents and pat­riotism are, as I have often told you, in strict alliance.

LETTER XVIII.

THE Prince de Piemont conversing lately upon the commotions which agitate Eu­rope at present, ended by saying, ^* "Ensin, il faut que ce [...]x qui veulent régner se dépêchent." The minds of men, roused and animated by the most important and extraordinary movements, do, indeed, seem to lose sight a little of "that divinity that hedges in a king."

I am not, however, always occupied by these vast political discussions, but spend a part of ev­ery day at the Lycée, a charming institution, where learning seems stripped of its thorns and decorated with flowers, and where the gay and social Parisians cultivate science and the belles lettres, amidst the pleasures and attractions of society; while in England, where the art of being happy is certainly far less understood than in France, when we wish to acquire knowledge, we shut ourselves up for that purpose in sober meditation, and serious solitude. Perhaps, in­deed, the knowledge gained by solitary study may be the most profound; but the knowledge acquired in society leaves on the mind, the most agreeable impression.

The Lycée was formed in 1785, under the [Page 88] auspices of Monsieur the king's brother, and Monsieur d'Artois, and was soon resorted to not only by men of letters, but by the most fash­ionable persons of both sexes. Lectures are given at the Lycée by the most celebrated pro­fessors at Paris, on natural philosophy, chemistry, natural history, botany, history, and belles let­tres; and the Greek, Italian, French and En­glish languages are taught.

The Lycèe drooped a little at the period of the revolution. In the violent convulsion o [...] that moment, literature and arts were forgot­ten. But the Lycèe soon revived; and though its former patrons are now at Coblentz, prepar­ing an attempt, of which the lessons of history they received at the Lycèe might have taught them the solly and impracticability, that of en­slaving a people who are determined to be free; this institution is rising every day into higher celebrity from the eminent abilities of some of the professors. Of their knowledge in the different sciences they teach, I, in my ignorance, am little qualified to judge. But I can feel the charms of eloquence, and therefore find that chemistry, when taught by Mons. Fourcroy, is the most engaging, the most enchanting science in the world.

[Page 89] Mons. Garat, member of the first National Assembly, gives us lectures on Roman history, no less interesting than philosophical, and fre­quently makes such sublime applications to the revolution of France as call from my eyes the tears of delight and admiration.

Sometimes our studies are accompanied by [...]ine music; and sometimes the Abbé de Lille, the first French poet, recites his harmonious verses.

Upon the whole, the pleasures of the Lycée are perfectly congenial to my taste; and it is to me by far the most agreeable of all the various resources which this great capital affords. I regret we have no such institution in London. What a relief would some people [...]nd in being able to escape, for an hour, from those everlasting evenings which are devoted to the dull vacuity of fashionable conversation, or the [...]ad repetitions of card assemblies, and to store the famished mind with a little stock of thought and senti­ment, in such a society as the Lycèe!

I am surprised to meet there with so few of my countrymen. Such of them as come to Paris in order to acquire the French language, would find at the Lycèe not only the advantages of instruction, but of conversation; since the [Page 90] gentlemen form a sort of club every evening, when the journals of the [...]y are read, and its politics discussed.

The Abbé Sicard has at different times ex­plained to us, at the Lycèe, the manner in which he instructs his deaf and dumb pupils, some [...] whom always accompany him. Nor can you imagine any thing more affecting than the sight of these unhappy young persons, condemned by nature to lose all that gives li [...]e its dearest value, the enjoyments of society, and to find "reason at one entrance quite shut out." But the mel­ancholy which these reflections inspire is soothed, by observing that the pupils of the Abbe Sicard have not been left in this wretched condition. The Abbé shewed us with admirable ingenui­ty, and with that enthusiasm which it is so nat­ural for a benevolent mind to feel in the exer­cise of its powers, by what gradations [...]e had led these children, whom he said, when first put under his care, he considered in the [...]ight of young savages brought from a remote country, and intirely ignorant of his language, from the knowledge of sensible objects, to moral and in­tellectual ideas.

One of his pupils, a young man about eighteen years of age, who accompanied him, appears to possess considerable talents, and answered some [Page 91] abstruse questions which were put to him by some of the company, with wonderful acuteness. He is the eldest of a family of five children at Bourdeaux, who are all deaf and dumb. Some time ago it was proposed to send for his sister to Paris, and place her also under the Abbe Sicard's care. The young man, who possesses uncommon sensibility, was in transports of joy at the thoughts of seeing his sister. In the [...]ul­ness of his heart, he immediately wrote a long account of her talents and good qualities, and ended in these works: ^* "Et elle ne rit jamais sans nécessite." Is there not a great deal inclu­ded in this original kind of eulogium?

I find little leisure for reading amidst the hur­ry of Paris; but I have contrived to snatch suf­ficient time for the perusal of a charming little book which was published some years ago at Paris, entitled Joseph, written in imitation or the Death of Abel by G [...]sner. This story of Joseph is painted with the most touching simpli­city, and embellished with all the graces of poetical language. Some of the most agreeable hours I have spent at Paris have been passed in the society of the another of this work, Mons. [...] a Prussian gentleman, who to superior talents and learning unites the most amiable [Page 92] manners. He has also published a French translation of Homer, with which the late King of Prussia was so much pleased, that he used to say it had taught him to admire the old Grecian bard, for whom before he had felt little venera­tion. In general, the applause which a king bestows on a literary performance, may be thought of less value in the republic of letters, than the approbation of some heads not encircled with a crown: but the honour arising from the praises of a poet and philosopher like Frederic the Second, is entirely independent of his royal station.

LETTER XIX.

YOU have heard no doubt that we have had a fete at Paris, on account of the arrival of the soldiers de Chateau-Vieux: but to give you an idea of all the disturbance, ani­mosity, quarrels, and contention, which prece­ded this civic fête, would be somewhat difficult. For a fortnight before it took place the whole town of Paris was thrown into the most violent agitation. The approaching war seemed for­gotten. Francis might threaten, and Prussia might arm; but all consideration of foreign af­fairs [Page 93] was laid aside, and the soldiers of Chateau-Vieux solely occupied the public attention. This Swiss regiment, called the Chateau-Vieux, was one of those regiments which were encamp­ed in the Champ de Mars before the revolution, and which were destined to massacre the Pari­sians, dissolve the states-general, and lay waste the city of Paris. But the soldiers of Chateau-Vieux disdained to act the part which had been assigned them in this bloody tragedy: they refu­sed to become the assassins of the Parisians, and declared to their officers their resolution to break their arms in pieces, sooner than employ them against the citizens. That soldiers should dare before they drew their swords to deliberate whether the cause was just—that when the word of command for murder was given, they should refuse to obey, because murder is a crime—was an example of morality, which, if it be­came contagious, would, it was immediately felt, prove absolutely destructive to the good old cause of arbitrary power; and it was resolved to punish the soldiers of Chateau-Vieux for hav­ing dared to reason, when fighting was the only thing for which they had received orders.

The regiment of Chateau-Vieux was sent to Nancy in that division which Bouillé command­ed, and there Bouillé, who had already formed [Page 94] his plan of trealon, attempted to light up the flames of civil war. He led the national guards, collected in haste from the neighbouring muni­cipalities, against the citizens of Nancy. The soldiers of Chateau-Vieux defended th [...]se citi­zens; both parties were in the most fatal error; a profusion of blood was shed; and Bouillé on this occasion acted a fit prelude to that design of betraying his country which he had formed at the very moment when he accepted the com­mand of the considerable force, and had sworn fidelity to the new government. Compared to the baseness of such conduct, the bold open defiance of the party at Coblentz has something in it manly and honourable.

The day after the action at Nancy, when the streets were strewed with dead bodies, among which were two hundred soldiers of Chateau-Vieux, Bouillé assembled a council of war, which condemned twenty-two soldiers of this regi­ment to be hanged, and one to be broke upon the wheel. The last words of this victim were, ^* "Bientôt Bouillé sera reconnu pour un trai­tre—Vive la nation!"—and his eyes closed themselves in death.

A few of the unfortunate soldiers of Chateau-Vieux [Page 95] still survived, and forty-two of them were condemned to the galleys, two of whom died on the seats to which they were chained. Forty still survived, and the National Assembly passed a decree for their deliverance. This decree re­mained long unsanctioned; but, in the mean time, the soldiers of Chateau-Vieux received from the patriots of Brest, all the support and consolation which their situation admitted. The ladies of Brest visited the galley where they were chained, and shed tears upon their [...]etters, while the patriots of Paris wearied the ministers with applications in their behalf, and the decree at length received the royal assent. The soldiers of Chateau-Vieux left Brest and came to Paris, in order to offer the tribute of their gratitude at the bar of the National Assem­bly, and to declare that the only use they desired to make of the liberty to which they were restored, was that of shedding the last drop of their blood for the French nation.

On their way from Brest to Paris, they were received in every town through which they pas­sed with the most cordial welcome. They were considered as the victims of the common cause; fetes were prepared for their reception; and blessings were poured forth upon the Na­tional Assembly for having restored them to liberty.

[Page 96] The people of Paris feeling the same impres­sions, determined also to prepare a fête for their reception. The citizens made a voluntary con­tribution for this purpose, and the plan of a very magnificent procession was formed. But here the tale of discord begins. The enemies of the public peace saw in this projected fête an oppor­tunity of fomenting disorder and troubles, too favourable to be lost. Reports were rapidly circulated through Paris, that this triumphal entry of the soldiers of Chateau-Vieux was in­tended as an insult to the national guard, who had fought against them. Placards on this sub­ject were pasted up in every street, hand-bills were distributed, incendiary pamphlets were published, the minds of the people became infla­med: it was asserted that the fête would end in a massacre—in short, every thing was asserted that passion and party-rage could suggest.

The citizens, however, had gone too far to recede: the fête took place, and was the more singular and interesting from being stripped of much of its intended splendour. No person was suffered to carry arms, and the soldiers of Chateau-Vieux, instead of mounting a trium­phal car which had been prepared for them, were mixed undi [...]guished with the crowd. The fête, however, notwithstanding the gloomy [Page 97] augurs which had preceded it, passed without the smallest disorder.

The people, who were assembled to the num­ber of between three and four hundred thousand, formed their own police: and, finding some difficulty at setting out in marshalling the pro­cession, every one being ambitious to have a place near the triumphal car of liberty, a gard­ener picked a wheat-ear, with which the people consented to regulate the order of the march, and wherever the wheat-ear was carried, imme­diately ranged themselves in good order.

Thus marshalled by a wheat-ear, instead of being kept in their places as formerly by the point of bayonets, the people, whom their ene­mies had accused of the most dark and atrocious designs, advanced towards the Champ de Mars, indulging themselves in all the enthusiasm of simple and affectionate joy. They danced, they sung hymns to liberty, they filled the air with cries of, Vive la nation!

We saw the procession from the apartments of Mons. De [...]ormeaux, in the Palais de Bourbon. This gentleman, who is a man of letters, was many years librarian to the Prince de Condé; but, instead of following that prince to Coblentz, he has chosen to share the fortunes of his coun­try. We have received from him all those po­lite [Page 98] attentions for which the French have so long been distinguished, and which I hope they will never lose; for why, in acquiring the great, should they renounce the amiable quali­ties?—But to return to the fête. The people do not always reason very logically; and there­fore, instead of concluding, as they ought to have done, that since the aristocrates of the Pa­lais de Bourbon were fled, those who remained behind were probably good patriots, their con­clusions took quite another turn. They could associate no ideas of patriotism with the Palais de Bourbon, and accused us of aristocracy as they approached. But they did not remain long in this error. They soon perceived that we were entirely disposed to sympathize in their festivity, and also that part of the company were English women: while the gentlemen from our windows repeatedly called out in as loud voices as they could. "Vive la nation!" the people answered by crying, "Vivent les Anglaises!"

I have just heard an interesting circumstance relating to a soldier of Chateau-Vieux, who is now come to Paris in order to meet his old comrades. This young man was of the num­ber of those whom the council of war at Nan­cy had condemned to die. He had gained the affections of a girl who was an inhabitant of [Page 99] Nancy. With that anguish of heart which those who have loved can perhaps conceive, and which to those who have not it were vain to describe, this unhappy girl saw her lover led to execution. The gloomy procession passed by the house in which she lived; and in the confu­sion, the tumult, and disorder occasioned by the number of soldiers who were led together to execution, and by the rage, the despair, the vio­lnt emotions which agitated the spectators, this girl contrived to snatch her lover from the fate that threatened him, and concealed him in a gar­ret of the house she inhabited. How she effec­ted this, it is difficult to imagine: but you are not ignorant that love is fertile in expedients; and however it happened, the fact certain. In this garret the young man lived concealed from every eye but that of his mistress, and sustained by the food which she purchased with the labour of her hands and which she brought to him in secret. You will imagine the pleasure with which she toiled to supply the wants of her lov­er, and the tears of tenderness and gratitude with which he bathed the hand that ministred to his necessities. At the end of two months his fa­ther, a rich farmer in one of the Swiss cantons, uncertain of the fate of his only child, and una­ble to endure any longer the agonies of suspense, [Page 100] arrived at Nancy in search of his son. In vain he sought him, in vain he questioned every person he met concerning him; no tidings, no traces of him were to be sound. The wretched pa­rent wandered up and down the streets of Nancy in despair. At length he was told that there was a young person in the town to whom his son had been much attached; and he was direc­ted to the house where the young man lay con­cealed. The girl, when questioned about her lover, at first suspected some treachery▪ and deni­ed having any knowledge of what had befallen him. But she soon perceived in the tears which streamed plentifully down the old man's cheeks, in the agony which seemed to be bend­ing his grey hairs to the grave, the genuine feelings of nature. She wept with him, and at length told him, that if he would call the fol­lowing day, she would perhaps have it in her power to give him some tidings of his son. The old man departed: the girl flew to her lover, to whom she described his figure, and the young man recognized the image of his father. The next day when the old man returned, the girl led him in silence to the chamber where his son was concealed. You will imagine better than I can paint the scene that followed—The young soldier, after weeping a long while on his [Page 101] father's neck, told him, in a voice interrupted by sobs, what he owed to the generous attachment of his mistress; and the father, with a thousand blessings, and the assurance o [...] an ample provi­sion, joined their hands together.

LETTER XX.

THE aristocrates talk much of the in­constancy and volatile disposition of their countrymen, and endeavour to persuade you that the French have taken up the cause of freedom with the same sort of fondness with which they have taken up many other fashions which are now cast off, and in [...]inuate, that liber­ty and equality will not long remain ^* a l'ordre du jour.

I believe the persons who think in this man­ner will find themselves deceived. What the orator terms, in his beautiful language, "the Corinthian capital of polished society," is fallen for ever in this country, and the period is arrived which Shakspeare wished for when he exclaims—

You have heard, no doubt, of the appoint­ment which has lately been made of patriotic ministers, all of whom belong to that society against which the house of Austria is going to open a campaign. It is to be hoped that, un­der the auspices of this Jacobin ministry, the affairs of the state will be conducted with more energy, unanimity, and order, than they have hitherto been. For though the French have not yet engaged in foreign war, hostilities have long ago commenced between the executive and legislative powers, and a warm fire has been kept up on both sides. The union which these two powers formed together when the king signed the constitution, has gone on as many modern marriages do, in quarrels and conten­tion, and might perhaps have ended in a divorce, but for the salutary intervention of this new ministry, which possesses the confidence of the people.

The courtiers, however, look with no favour­able eye upon the new ministers▪ A gentleman of my acquaintance went to the Tuille [...]es yes­terday morning, when an attendant called him [Page 103] aside, and told him that one of the ministers had that moment left the king; "and I have such a circumstance to relate," added he, shrugging up his shoulders, "as will no doubt astonish you." The gentleman, who is an enthusiastic patriot, immediately took alarm. He concluded that some fresh calamity had taken place; that some new combination of foreign powers was formed against the liberty of France; and in­quired with the utmost earnestness what had hap­pened. ^* "Imaginez-vous," resumed the at­tendant, "que le ministre n'avoit pas [...] ne de boucles!

All, however, that can be expected from min­isters without buckles, I have no doubt the pres­ent ministry will perform. One very impor­tant task which it has to execute is that of find­ing a remedy for the internal troubles excited by such of the priests as have refused to take the oath of fidelity to the new government. There is, indeed, little religion in France; but there is still a sufficient degree of superstition and ig­norance in some of the provinces, to give the priests a very dangerous influence.

A gentleman who travelled last autumn as far as the foot of the Pyrenees, asked a peasant of [Page 104] that country, whom he met in his walk, how he like the revolution? ^* "Je ne l'aime pas, monsieur," said the peasant; "je suis aristoc­rate, moi. On a détruit la religion, et le pou­voir de notre saint père le pape." The gentle­man, after reasoning with him a little, ended by saying, ^† "Vous n'aimez pas la révolution, mon ami, et cependant elle a éte faite pour vous autres: vous venez de faire la moisson [...]ans payer la dixme à vos p [...]etres." "Ah, monsieur," answered the peasant with quickness, "nous aimons la révolution pour ca."

"There is one thing," said a shopkeeper's wife to me lately, "which hinders me from being a good patriot. I know you are free in England, but then you are heretics; and I am afraid the very same thing will happen in France: ^‖ "moi je raisonne."

The majority of the French nation, however, reason too, and with such success, that I believe [Page 105] superstition will soon be banished from this country. Knowledge is diffusing itself over the land with an irresistible progress; the liberal opinions of philosophy, liberty, and truth, are every where bursting forth like the fresh leaves of spring; and the period is hastening near when, like the flowers of summer, these opinions will be full-blown.

LETTER XXI.

A FRIEND of mine, who is lately gone to Toulouse, has sent me from thence an account of some circumstances which happen­ed not long ago in that part of France, and which she says are still much the subject of conversa­tion. I shall transcribe this narative, which I believe will interest you. Perhaps a novel-wri­ter, by the aid of a little additional misery, and by giving the circumstances which actually happen­ed a heightened colour—by taking his pallet, and dashing with the full glow of red what na­ture had only tinged with pale violet, might almost spin a volume from these materials. Yet, after all, nothing is so affecting as simplicity, and nothing so forcible as truth. I shall there­fore send you the story exactly as I received it; [Page 106] and in such parts of it as want interest, I beg you will recollect that you are not reading a tale of fiction; and that in real life incidents are not always placed as they are in novels, so as to produce stage effect. In some parts of the nar­rative you will meet with a little romance; but perhaps you will wonder that you meet with no more; since the scene is not in the cold philo­sophic climate of England, but in the warm regions of the south of France, where the imag­ination is elevated, where the passions acquire extraordinary energy, and where the fire of poetry flashed from the harps of the Trouba­dours amidst the sullen gloom of the Gothic ages.

A young Frenchman, whose usual residence was at Paris, having travelled as far as Toul­ouse the year before the revolution, was invited by a party of his friends to accompany them to Bareges, where some of them were going in pursuit of amusement, and others in search of health from the medicinal springs which rise so plentifully, both in hot and cold streams, among the Pyrenean mountains.

This young Parisian, who had some taste for the sublime scenery of nature, felt that it would be luxury to leave a little longer the regular walks which art has planted in the Tuilleries, and the trim gardens and jets-d'eaux she has [Page 107] formed at Versailles; to wander amongst those piles of mountains which overehang each other, and listen to the torrents which fall down them with loud and irresistible impetuosity.

What powerful sensations does the first view of such a scene produce;—we seem to begin a new existence—every former impression is for a while erased from the memory, and the mind feels enwrapped and lost in the strong emotions of awe, astonishment, and admiration.

Bareges was crowded, as it usually is in the season, not only with French company, but also with strangers, who travel from other countries, in order to use its celebrated baths. The com­pany amused themselves, as they generally do at water-drinking places, by sauntering, lounging, cards, lotteries, jeux-d'ésprit, and scandal.

Bareges is a very expensive place. Even moderate accommodations must be purchased at a high rate; and provisions, as well as lodgings, are sometimes obtained with difficulty. Bareges [Page 108] is therefore seldom resorted to by any but people of considerable fortune, who can afford to level the obstacles which mountains interpose to their conveniences and comforts, by the all-subduing force of gold.

Among a number of persons of rank and for­tune, there was however one family at Bareges in a different situation. This family consisted of an elderly infirm French officer, who had long been afflicted with the palsy, and his daugh­ter a young woman about nineteen years of age. Their appearance and mode of living seemed to indicate, that, though in search of relief this old officer had journeyed to Bareges, he had in so doing far exceeded the bounds of economy which his circumstances prescribed, and was forced to deny himself every accommodation his infirmities could spare. He lived in the most retired manner, in the worst lodging at Bareges; and, while the other ladies were dres­sed in a style of expensive variety and profusion, his daughter wore only a plain linnen gown, which, though always perfectly clean, was coarse; and her dark hair was left unpowdered and without any ornament whatever. Fortu­nately for Madelaine however (for that was her name) her person was calculated to make her coarse gown appear to the best advantage; and [Page 109] though she was not very beautiful, her counte­nance had an expression of sweetness which an­swered the end of beauty by exciting love and admiration.

The company at Bareges soon became ac­quainted with each other, and the ladies always took notice of Madelaine when they met her in their walks, which however did not happen very often, for her father was frequently unable to go out. When he did, he was supported on one side by Madelaine, and on the other by his ser­vant. It was impossible to see with insensibility the attention which this interesting young wo­man paid her father, whom she never quitted one moment. It was remarked with what careful tenderness she used to lead him along the streets of Bareges, walking the slowest pace she could, and watching his steps as he moved feebly on. And when he was not able to ven­ture out, she was seen at the window of their little parlour reading in order to entertain him. Her looks and manner announced that her dis­position was naturally sprightly, and that she would have been gay, if her father had not been sick. But all the cheerfulness she could assume while he suffered, was exerted to amuse him, and shorten the tedious hours of languor and debility.

Though Madelaine was handsome, the obscu­rity [Page 110] and seclusion in which she lived preserved her from the envy of the women. They knew well enough that the gentleman at Bareges were for the most part men of the world, who, though they may admire beauty, and approve of virtue, are never so far the dupes of any tender of moral sentiment as to let it interfere either with their vanity, their ambition, or their interest. Al­though the French revolution had not yet hap­pened, these ladies were aware that, with respect to marriage, the age of calculators was already come, and therefore no rival was to be feared in Madelaine. The ladies joined with the men in admiring the graces of her person, and the amiable qualities which her conduct displayed. Madelaine in short became the object of general esteem.

Auguste, for so I shall call our young Parisian, who has lost his title since the laws of equality have be [...] established in his country—Auguste spoke l [...] of Madelaine than the other gentle­men at Bareges; but it was perhaps because he thought of her more. Sometimes in his solitary morning rambles he used to make comparisons between her and the Parisian ladies among whom he had passed the winter, and the com­parison generally ended with a deep sigh. The scene of these meditations was certainly much [Page 111] in Madelaine's favour. Perhaps at Paris or Versailles, Auguste might have been dazzled by the polished graces of a fine lady rouged, powdered, persumed, and equipped for conquest. These artificial attractions might perhaps have accorded well enough with clipped trees and an­gular walks. But Madelaine's simple manners, Madelaine's natural smiles and unstudied blushes were far more in unison with the Pyrenean mountains.

One evening, when Auguste was walking in the town of Bareges with some ladies, he saw Madelaine at a little distance assisting with great difficulty to support her father, who appeared to be seized with a fit. Auguste darted like an arrow towards the spot, and held up the officer till he found himself somewhat recovered; and then Auguste, with a sort of gentle violence, obliged Madelaine, who was pale and trembling, to let go her father's arm, and suffer him to assist the servant in leading him home, which was but a few steps farther. Auguste entered the house, where he remained till the old officer was a little revived; and, after prevailing upon Ma­delaine to take a few hartshorn drops, he retired.

The next morning he felt that common civil­ity required he should pay the old officer a visit, and learn how he had passed the night. It hap­pened [Page 112] that Madelaine had the very same idea. "Surely," thought she, "it will be very strange if this young man, who was so kind, so careful of my father, and who made me take some harts­horn drops, should neglect to call and enquire after us." This idea had come across her mind several times; and she was meditating upon it at her father's bedside, when Auguste was announced.

The old officer, who had all the finished politeness of his country and his profession, received him in the most courteous manner; and, though he spoke with some difficulty, yet he was profuse in acknowledgments for the service Auguste had rendered him. Madelaine's thanks were few and simply expressed; but the tone in which they were uttered was such that Auguste felt he could have sacrificed his life to have deserved them.

The old officer still continued sick, and there­fore Auguste still considered it as an indispensi­ble mark of attention to go every day, and learn the state of his health. He also began to feel that these visits became every day more necessa­ry to his own happiness. That happiness was indeed embittered by many painful reflections He well knew that to obtain his father the Count de—'s consent to marry Madelaine, [Page 113] was as impossible as it was for himself to conqu [...] the passion she had inspired. He knew exactly the order in which his father's enquiries would run on this subject. He was aware that there were two interrogatories to be answered. The first was—"How many thousand livres has she a year?" And the second—"Is she noble?" And nothing could be more embarrassing than that the enquiry concerning fortune would, he was sure, come first; since that was the only article which could not be answered in a satis­factory manner; for to Madelaine's family no objection could have been made. By the way, though the former nobility of France would not absolutely contaminate the pure streams of noble blood by an union with the daughter of a rotu­rier, they had always sufficient generosity to abate some generations of nobility in favour of a proper equivalent in wealth.

Auguste, while he was convinced of the im­possibility of obtaining his father's consent to his marriage, did not pay Madelaine one visit the less from that consideration; and when the usual hour of his visit arrived, he often suddenly broke a chain of admirable reasoning on the imprudence of his attachment, in order to hasten to the dwelling of her he loved. In a short time he ceased all kind of reasoning on the sub­ject, [Page 114] and abandoned his heart without reserve to the most violent and unconquerable passion.

Auguste made a declaration to the old officer of the sentiment which his daughter had inspi­red. The old gentleman mentioned it to Ma­delaine, and she only answered by tears of which he perfectly understood the meaning. When Auguste explained his situation with respect to his father, the officer desired him to think of his daughter no more. Auguste felt that he might as well have desired him to cease to breathe. He continued his visits, and the officer was soon reduced to that state of languor and debility which left him neither the power nor the wish to forbid them. His complaints increased ev­ery day, and were attended with many alarming symptoms. The season for the waters of Bar­eges was now past, and all the company left the place, except the old officer, who was too weak to be removed, and Auguste, who, while Ma­delaine remained, had no power to tear himself from the spot. In a few weeks the old officer felt that his dying hour was near. Auguste knelt with Madelaine at his bedside—her voice was suffocated by tears; and Auguste had scarcely power to articulate in broken accents that he would devote his life to the happiness of Madelaine. The old officer fixed his eyes with [Page 115] a look of tender anxiety upon his daughter, and soon after expired. Madelaine mourned for her father with uncontrouled affliction, nor could all the attentions of her lover dispel that anguish with which her affectionate heart la­mented the loss of her parent.

The winter being far advanced, she proposed to defer her journey to the distant province where she and her father had lived, until spring, and to place herself in the mean time in a con­vent not far from Bareges. Auguste exerted all the eloquence of love to induce her to con­sent immediately to a private marriage. She hesitated at this proposal; and while they were conversing together on the subject, the door of the room in which they were sitting was suddenly thrown open, and Auguste saw his father the Count de—enter. He had heard of the attachment which detained his son at Bareges, and had hastened to tear him from the spot before it was too late. He upbraided his son with great bitterness, and began also to up­braid Madelaine: but there was something in her looks, her silence, and her tears, which stifled the terms of haughty reproach in which he was prepared to address her; and ordering his son to leave the room, he desired to speak to her alone. After explaining to her the absolute impossibility [Page 116] of her being ever united to her son, and his deter­mination to disinherit him, and leave his whole fortune to his second son, if Auguste should persist in his attachment to her—after endeav­ouring to awaken her pride and her generosity, he desired to know where she proposed going. She told him her intention of placing herself immediately in the convent of—. He ap­proved of this design, and left her to go to his son. No sooner was the door of the room shut, than Madelaine gave way to those tears which she had scarcely been able to restrain while the Count was speaking. She had never felt so sensibly her orphan condition as at this moment; and the dear remembrance of her fond father was mingled with the agony of disap­pointed love.

Meantime the Count de—declared to his son, that his only chance of ever obtaining his mistress depended on his absolute unconditional submission to his commands, and that he must instantly attend him to Paris. Auguste eagerly enquired what was to become of Madelaine; and his father told him that she had determined to take refuge in the convent of—. Auguste absolutely refused to depart till he was allowed an interview with Madelaine. The Count [Page 117] was obliged to consent; but before he suffered them to meet, he obtained a promise from Ma­delaine not to mention to her lover any particu­lars of the conversation which had passed be­tween her and the Count.

Auguste, in this last interview with Made­laine, atoned for the cruel disdain of his father, by the most solemn and passionate assurances of fidelity, not to be shaken by time or circum­stance; and then, after attempting to leave the room several times, and returning a [...] often, he at length tore himself away. Madelaine, when she saw him depart, felt that every earthly hope had vanished with him.

She set out early the next morning for the convent of—; but not till after she had sat for some time weeping in the chair which Au­guste used to occupy.

Madelaine passed the remaining part of the winter in the convent of—, during which period she received frequent letters from Augus­te; and when spring arrived he conjured her, instead of removing to her own province, to re­main a little longer in her present situation; and flattered her with hopes of being able ere long to fulfil those engagements upon which all his hap­piness depended.

[Page 118] In the summer of this year an event took place which will render that summer for ever memorable. The French nation, too enlight­ened to bear any longer those monstrous oppres­sions which ignorance of its just rights alone had tolerated, shook off its [...]etters, and the revo­lution was accomplished.

Madelaine was a firm friend to the revolution, which she was told had made every Frenchman free. "And if every Frenchman is free," thought Madelaine "surely every Frenchman may marry the woman he loves." It appeared to Madelaine, that, putting all political consider­ations, points upon which she had not much meditated, out of the question, obtaining liberty of choice in marriage was alone well worth the troubles of a revolution; and she was as warm a patriot from this single idea, as if she had stu­died the declaration of rights made by the Con­stituent Assembly, in all its extent and conse­quences.

The Count de—, who was informed of the correspondence between the two lovers, and who saw little hopes of his son's subduing a passion which this intercourse of letters served to cherish, contrived means to have Auguste's letters intercepted at the convent. In vain Madelaine inquired with all the anxiety of ten­derness [Page 119] for letters. In vain she counted the hours till the return of the post-days. Post after post arrived, and brought no tidings of Auguste. Three months passed in the cruel torments of anxiety and suspense, and were at length suc­ceeded by despair. Madelaine believed she was forgotten—forgotten by Auguste!—She con­sulted her own heart, and it seemed to her impos­sible; yet, after a silence of three months, she could doubt no longer.

Poor Madelaine now recollected with an­guish, instead of pleasure, that all Frenchmen were [...]ree. She would have found some sad consolation in believing that all Frenchmen were slaves. It would have been some allevia­tion of her sorrows if Auguste had been forced to abandon her; and she fancied she could have borne to lose him, if she had been sure that he still loved her—it was losing him by his own fault that filled her heart with pangs almost in­supportable.

The little pittance which Madelaine, after paying her father's debts, had left for her own support, was insufficient to defray her expences as a pensioner in the convent. She had already, by her sweetness and gentleness, gained the af­fections of some of the nuns, to whom she was also attached, and who incessantly conjured her [Page 120] to take the veil. "And why," she sometimes exclaimed, "why should I hesitate any longer in so doing? Since Auguste is lost, what have I to regret in renouncing the world? What sa­crifice do I make? What happiness do I resign?"

Madelaine had no ties to the world, of which she knew but little: but to separate herself irre­coverably, and for ever, from him to whom her soul was devoted—to see him, to hear his voice no more—to take vows which would make it even a crime to think of him—to banish him even from her thoughts—alas! Madelaine felt like Eloisa—

Sometimes too the idea occurred that Auguste might love her still—"And am I then," thought Madelaine, "going to reduce myself to a state in which I shall be forced to wish he were un­faithful, in order to save me from the agonies of remorse!"—She put off her thoughts of en­tering on her novitiate for some weeks longer—no letters arrived, and again her resolution to take the veil returned. "Why," cried she, "why should I still continue to lament that inconstant lover who thinks of me no more? [Page 121] Alas, alas, did he not see the anguish of my soul at parting with him?—Does he not know the deserted situation in which I am left?—Oh, yes! he knows I have no other refuge, no other re­source than taking the veil—no doubt he wishes to hear I have done so—he will find in my re­nunciation of the world some excuse for his in­fidelity—Oh, heavens! will Auguste hear then that I am separated from him for ever without one sigh?—Ah, why need I deliberate any longer?—My trials will soon be past—I feel that my heart will break—yes, death will come to my relief—and in heaven I shall find my father!"

Madelaine at length determined to join the holy sisterhood of the convent. The white veil for her novitiate was prepared. The day was fixed, when, prostrate with her face towards the earth, and with flowers scattered over her, and a part of her long tresses cut off, she was to enter upon that solemn trial preparatory to her eternal renunciation of the world—of Auguste!

A few days before that which was appointed for the ceremony, Madelaine was called to the parlour, where she found her lover, with some of the municipal officers of the town, wearing their national scarfs.

[Page 122] Madelaine, at the sight of Auguste, with dif­ficulty reached a chair, in which she fell back senseless; while Auguste could not forbear utter­ing some imprecations against the iron grate by which they were separated, and which prevented him from flying to her assistance. He, how­ever, procured help, and Madelaine recovered.

One of the municipal officers then informed her, that they had received the day before a decree of the National Assembly, forbidding any nuns to be professed. He added, that the muni­cipality had already given information of this new law to the abbess, who had consented to allow Madelaine to leave the convent immedi­ately. As he pronounced these last words, Ma­delaine looked at her lover. Auguste hastened to explain to her that his uncle, who loved him and pitied his sufferings, had at length made a will, leaving him his fortune upon condition that his father consented to his marriage with Madelaine.

When her lover and the municipal officers departed, Madelaine retired to her apartment, to give way to those delicious tears which were poured from a heart overflowing with wonder, thankfulness, and joy. When her first emotions had subsided, she began to pack up her little wardrobe in preparation for leaving the convent [Page 123] on the following day. "I always loved the revolution," thought Madelaine, as she laid aside the white gown in which she was to be married the next morning; "and this last de [...]ree is surely of all others the best and wisest—but if it had come too late!"—At this idea Madel­aine took up the veil for her novitiate, which lay upon her table, and bathed it with a flood of tears.

The next morning Auguste and Madelaine were married in the parish-church of—, and immediately after the ceremony set out for Par­is, where they now live, and are, I am told, two of the happiest people and the best patriots in France.

LETTER XXII.

A Curé of my acquaintance is just going to be married. He has had a literary dis­pute with the bishop of his diocese, on the right of the clergy to marry. The curé insists that it is the natural right of every man to take unto himself a wife, if he thinks proper to run that risk; and he confessed to me yesterday, that, though he felt not the smallest inclination to enter into the marriage state, but on the contrary [Page 124] preferred a single life, he had resolved upon mat­rimony merely to shew Mons. l'Evêque, that a priest might take that measure if he pleased. I know some married people both in France and and England, who would perhaps think this is carrying the desire of triumph in argument rather too great a length; and who would, I believe, counsel the curé to yield this polemic victory, sooner than purchase it with a wife into the bargain. But my friend the curé is so amia­ble, that I am persuaded he will make an excel­lent husband, and will be happy in spite of the bishop.

I go frequently to a spacious church which the French protestants have lately purchased, called St. Thomas de Louvre, where divine worship is performed every Sunday, and where the sacra­ment was last week administered. The idea that in the bosom of that city, even on the very spot which a few ages past was stained by the most cruel persecution of the protestants, we were now publicly exercising the most solemn rite of our religion, in the presence of a consider­able number of Roman Catholics, who witnes­sed that sacred ceremony with the most respect­ful silence and attention—this reflection, joined to the tender recollection of my own country, to which I was led by hearing the service perfor­med [Page 125] for the first time in a foreign country, and in a foreign language; and to that retrospect of past life which naturally arises in a mind of any sensibility, when it renews this sacred engage­ment with the great Author of its existence—all these different impressions crowded upon my heart, my eyes were filled with tears, and I nev­er felt my mind more touched and elevated by devotion. Monsieur Mar [...]n, the French prot­estant minister, preaches with the most persua­sive eloquence. I wish our English clergy would sometimes address their discourses to the feelings, as well as to the understanding. It is not the reasoning but the sentimental part of religion that softens every evil to which human­ity is subject, that sooths the troubled spirit, that heals the broken heart.

LETTER XXIII.

I WRITE to you from Montreüil sur Mer, where I shall pass two or three weeks in my way to England. We left Paris the latter end of April, and [...]ound the country covered with that first fresh tint of spring which is so lovely, but so transient. The trees were white with blossoms; and nature, full of youth, hope, [Page 126] and joy, wore the aspect of all others the most enchanting to the eye, and the most soothing to the imagination. Yet the contemplation of returning spring naturally leads the mind to recal the springs that are past, and to take a retrospect of life: and those in whom such a retrospect excites no melancholy reflections must surely be either peculiarly fortunate, or peculiarly in­sensible.

But, at the same time, we find in the lovely images which spring presents, a cure for those gloomy reflections which the return of that season has perhaps awakened. For while we see nothing around us but images of beauty and delight, "while nothing strikes the eye but sights of bliss," the darker shades of care and sorrow vanish, and leave only that gentle and tender melancholy which it is luxury to indulge—"that sadness of the countenance by which the heart is made better."

My mother found herself, one evening dur­ing our journey, so much fatigued, that, instead of being able to reach Amiens, where we in­tended to sleep that night, we were obliged to stop at a very small village some leagues distant. The landlord of the little inn where we alighted, received us with an air of conscious dignity and self importance which but ill accorded with the [Page 127] appearance of his dwelling. We enquired if he could furnish us with beds: he seemed offended at the question, as implying in it some doubt, and answered with impatience, ^* "Mais, mad­ame, comme a la ville."—We [...]ound, however, that the walls of the rooms where people were lodged "comme à la ville," were of bare brick. "What is the name of this place? said I to a ruddy-cheeked servant-girl who waited upon us." ^† "Madame," said she, "c'est Ser [...]eaux, pour pous obéir.".

The master of the inn having got the better of the ill-humour our first enquiries had occa­sioned, assured us we should have an excellent supper, and that he understood the art of cook­ery perfectly, having assisted some years in the kitchen of Madame la Princesse de Monaco. He by no means over-rated his talents; the supper was extremely well dressed. When we has supped, the told us that we might consider ourselves as in perfect safety under his roof; "for I, ladies," added he, in an elevated accent, "am the mayor of the village, and have two national guards every night at my door. I sa­ved the chateau of a person who was very odious to his peasants, from being burnt, by harangu­ing [Page 128] the people, and convincing them of the enormity of the action; and my fellow-citizens, in gratitude for my services on that occasion, unanimously chose me for their mayor."

I congratulated Mons. Le Maire on the hap­py effects of his eloquence, and he immediately stepped out of the room, and returned with a national scarf in his hand, and a fierce grenadier's cap, which had been presented to him as trophies of his patriotism. I enquired how many nation­al guards there were in the village. "No less than eighty men," said [...]e; "and I am their "colonel." The honours, dignities, and high offices, civil and military, of our landlord, now crowded so thick upon us, that we could scarcely reconcile ourselves to the trouble we gave him of bringing little moveable frames, for mattresses, into the room where we had supped, and which the chief magistrate arranged with admirable dexterity. Next morning we found he had thrown aside his white jacket, and was arrayed in the national uniform. When we recollected that our v [...]alcutlets had been dressed by a colo­nel, and our mattresses arranged by a mayor, we felt ourselves somewhat in the situation of Don Quixote when queens saddled his horse, and duchesses held his bridle. We made very low curtsies to our host at parting, which he re­turned [Page 129] by clapping his hand on his military cap.—Apropos of travelling—a French gentle­man of my acquaintance told me, that he was once going in his cabriolet from Paris to Calais, when he was accosted by a man who was walk­ing along the road, and who begged the favour of him to let him put his great coat, which he [...]ound very heavy, into the carriage. "With all my heart," said the gentleman; "but if we should not be travelling to the same place, how will you get your coat?" "Monsieur," answer­ed the man with gr [...]t naïvete, ^* "je serai dedans." The gentleman immediately took him into his carriage.

Montreuil is an old melancholy looking town, with no trade, and few inhabitants. Some families of little noblesse who resided in this place, have thought proper to prove their nobil­ity by a trip to Coblentz. Their houses are left deserted; grass grows in the streets: and I expect to see the [...]ox which Ossian mentions, looking out of the window.

Here are a great number of very ancient Gothic edifices; and one of them, near which we are lodged, affords me frequent subject of meditation. This is the Hotel-Dieu. In every town of France you find one of those hospitals called Hotel-Dieu, where the sick are attended by an order of nuns, who take [Page 130] vows to devote their lives to that purpose. The most perfect cleanliness and order reigns in these houses. But how great are the sacrifices made, from a principle of piety, by these nuns, many of whom are in the very bloom of youth! to devote life to the most disgusting occupations—to breathe only the air of contagion—to watch in sad succession every sixth or eighth night, through the long years of life, in the chambers of disease—to dress wounds—to perform for strangers those offices at which nature most re­coils, and which we can scarcely fulfil without reluctance, even for those to whom our souls are bound by the strongest ties of duty and affection—to bear with unwearied patience the never-ceas­ing groans of those that suffer—to administer, with that unfailing tenderness which long habit has not blunted, the remedies prescribed—to live amongst the dying—these surely are sacri­fices which nothing but a sentiment of religion could inspire—Surely it may be said of such persons, "Ye are not of this world!"

When we turn our thoughts from such a scene as this, to that unfeeling indifference which prevails in the world—its selfish pursuit of its own interest—its eager search of its own gratifi­cations—its coldness to the pains of others—its vanities—its littleness—its luxuries—we find it at a distance so remote from such virtue, that [Page 131] the nuns of the Hotels-Dieu appear like beings elevated above our pity, and only call forth ad­miration.

On Sunday last, after vespers, the tree of lib­erty was planted, with great rejoicings, in the middle of the square in which we live. A flag, from which streamed the national colours, was [...]ened to the highest branches, crowned with a bonnet rouge. When this cherished tree was firmly rooted in the earth amidst the acclama­tions of the multitude, an officer of the national [...]uard mounted on a chair beneath the shade of [...], and read a paper of instruction to the people, who formed a circle round him, and listened with the most respectful attention. After descanting upon the blessings of the con­stitution, the orator enforced the necessity of the most absolute submission to the laws.—The tree of liberty, with its green branches, and waving streamers; the orator placed under its shade; and the circle which surrounded him, formed altogether a most picturesque groupe.—There was something in the scene which gave me an idea of the simplicity of ancient times. As soon as the harangue was ended, a gun was fired; and [...]ira, the beloved signal of gaiety, and ac­companiment of joy, was immediately played, while the people danced with all their hearts and [...]uls.

[Page 132] We have had, indeed, no less than two trees of liberty planted in the square: for the little boys of the town anticipated the ceremony by planting a young tree, of which they had got possession the day before it took place. This young tree had also a bonnet rouge, made of paper, and colours composed of the same mate­rials. It was not indeed very steadily seated in the earth, and might with propriety have been called ^* une liberté chancelante: but the winds did not visit it too roughly, and it kept its sta­tion. A national guard of citizens, from six to twelve years of age, was mounted near the tree, armed, in case of an attack, with wooden fusees. As we passed this formidable band, the captain demanded a few sous to buy a drum ^‖ pour la nation. We have too much friendship for the French nation to refuse so moderate a ^† don pat­riotique, and we produced some national coins. The little groupe, by way of thanking us, cri­ed over and over again, to the echoes of the hills, ^‡ "Vive, vive la nation!"

The French boys, with that spirit of imitation which belongs to children, have no amusements, [Page 133] no pastimes, that have not a reference to liber­ty. They imbibe these national lessons with great avidity; and I am apt to believe that, if the enemies of freedom could annihilate the present race of Frenchmen, the rising generation would, ten or twenty years hence, throw aside their wooden fusees for more terrible wea­pons, and act over again, in the sight of their oppressors, the martial exercises of their child­hood.

LETTER XXIV.

I HAVE nothing to relate but what is mel­ancholy and painful. The repulse which the French have met with at Tournay was tri­fling; and were it not, a defeat is the common chance of war, and would he an evil light indeed compared to the disgrace, the shocking crimin­ality which has attended it. A [...]ew days before I left Paris, the war with Germany was decla­red. The French, long insulted by the court of Vienna, rejoiced that the moment to assert the injured honour of a great and gallant nation was at length arrived. They saw before them, in long and radiant perspective, city after city yielding to the arms of men who, renouncing [Page 134] all views of extending the French empire, only armed themselves in defence of their just rights, and who felt that

Forced to engage in a war against the tyrants of the earth, the French had declared (to trans­late the words of Mons. Condorcet, in his sub­lime declaration made in the name of the Na­tional Assembly) "that the soldiers would con­duct themselves in a foreign territory as they would have conducted themselves on the terri­tory of France, had they been there forced to engage in combat; that even the accidental evils which the French troops might occasion to the people of those foreign territories, should be repaired; that to repulse violence, to resist oppression, to forget injuries that were past, to receive enemies reconciled, or disarmed, as bro­thers—such were the sentiments which the na­tion would find in the souls of Frenchmen, and such was the war which they declared against their enemies."

Thus had the French nation prepared every generous mind to espouse its cause. No soon­er was it made known that the armies on the frontiers stood in need of recruits, than the [Page 135] young men in every province of France enlisted themselves with an ardour which only the sacred sentiment of liberty could have inspired.

No sooner was the war declared, than the bar of the National Assembly was every day crowded with citizens, who according to their ability contributed, with fond enthusiasm, their mite towards the support of the common cause.

Little, indeed, did the people dream of defeat, but far less of dishonour. ^* "On tue les hom­mes; c'est le triste apenage du métier des rois: mais on ne tue pas l'honneur;" that victim must be offered by ourselves. Let us not, however, include the whole French nation in the disgrace of a few. The general gloom, indignation and horror, produced by the assassinations at Lisle prove that the French feel with the keenest sen­sibility the dishonour incurred by such atrocious conduct.

I am persuaded they will wipe away, by the performance of the most noble and heroic actions, the stain which has been cast upon the French arms. If you had an opportunity of knowing as well as I do, the generous, the sublime sacri­fices which are made by individuals in the com­mon cause—if you knew the energy of that pub­lic [Page 136] spirit, the force of that public virtue which the events of this great revolution are calculated not merely to display, but to create, and call forth—if you knew the inflexible purpose of the patriots of France, ^* "de vivre libres ou mourir"—you would, I believe, be convinced, as I am, that they can never be subdued; and that, in defiance of the house of Austria▪ and all the other despotic houses of Europe, " ^† cedil;a ira."

"Il faut, said a French gentleman with whom I was talking on this subject, " ^‡ il faut quelques victoires roturieres."

Let us also remember that the great cause of liberty remains uncontaminated by the assassina­tions at Lisle. Though fanatical bigots, in the rage of superstitious cruelty, have dragged their victims to the stake, would it be rational to extend our abhorrence of such actions to Chris­tianity itself?—to that benevolent religion which inculcates universal charity, love, and good will towards men, and choose the comfortless, the sullen indifference of atheism.

And shall we, because the fanatics of liberty have committed some detestable crimes, con­clude that liberty is an evil, and prefer the gloo­my [Page 137] tranquillity of despotism? If the blessings of freedom have sometimes been abused, it is be­cause they are not yet well understood. Those occasional evils which have happened in the infant state of liberty, are but the effects of des­potism. Men have been long treated with inhumanity, therefore they are ferocious. They have often been betrayed, therefore they are sus­picious. They have once been slaves, and there­fore they are tyrants. They have been used to a state of warfare, and are not yet accustom­ed to universal benevolence. They have long been ignorant, and have not yet attained sufficient knowledge. They have been con­demned to darkness, and their eyes are dazzled by light. The French have thrown aside the ritual of despotism; but they have not all had time to learn the liturgy of that new constitution which is laid upon the altar of their country. But the genuine principles of enlightened free­dom will soon be better comprehended, and may perhaps at no distant period be adopted by all the nations of Europe. Liberty may bring "her sons from afar, and her daughters from the ends of the earth."

The oppressions which mankind have suffered in every age, and almost in every country, will [Page 138] lead them to form more perfect systems of legis­lation than if they had suffered less; and they will only have to regret that their happiness has been purchased by the misery or pad ages.

Then will the reign of humanity, of order, and [...]peace begin; the gates of Janus will be for ever closed; liberty will extend her benign influence over the nations, and "ye shall know her by her fruits."