Our whole community are in deſpair to-day. Dumont has been here, and thoſe who accoſted him, as well as thoſe who only ventured to interpret his looks, all agree in their reports that he is in a "bad humour."—The brighteſt eyes in France have ſupplicated in vain—not one grace of any ſort has been accorded—and we begin to cheriſh even our preſent ſituation, in the apprehenſion that it may become worſe.—Alaſ! you know not of what evil portent is the "bad humour" of a Repreſentant. We are half of us now, like the Perſian Lord, feeling if our heads are ſtill on our ſhoulders.—I could add much to the concluſion of one of my laſt letters. Surely this inceſſant ſolicitude for mere exiſtence debilitateſ the mind, and impairs even its paſſive faculty of ſuffering. We intrigue for the favour of the keeper, ſmile complacently at the groſſ pleaſantries of a Jacobin, and tremble at the frown of a Dumont.—I am aſhamed to be the chronicler of ſuch humiliation: but, "tuſh, Hal; men, mortal men!" I can add no better apology, and quit you to moralize on it.—Yours.
[No date given.]
Were I a mere ſpectator, without fear for myſelf or compaſſion for others, the ſituation of this country would be ſufficiently amuſing. The effects produced (many perhaps unavoidably) by a ſtate of revolution—the ſtrange remedies deviſed to obviate them—the alternate neglect and ſeverity with which the laws are executed—the mixture of want and profuſion that diſtinguiſh the lower claſſes of people—and the diſtreſſ and humiliation of the higher; all offer ſcenes ſo new and unaccountable, as not to be imagined by a perſon who has lived only under a regular government, where the limits of authority are defined, the neceſſaries of life plentiful, and the people rational and ſubordinate. The conſequences of a general ſpirit of monopoly, which I formerly deſcribed, have lately been ſo oppreſſive, that the Convention thought it neceſſary to interfere, and in ſo extraordinary a way, that I doubt if (as uſual) "the diſtemper of their remedieſ" will not make us regret the original diſeaſe. Almoſt every article, by having paſſed through a variety of hands, had become enormouſly dear; which, operating with a real ſcarcity of many things, occaſioned by the war, had excited univerſal murmuringſ and inquietude. The Convention, who know the real ſource of the evil (the diſcredit of aſſignats) to be unattainable, and who are more ſolicitous to divert the clamours of the people, than to ſupply their wants, have adopted a meaſure which, according to the preſent appearances, will ruin one half of the nation, and ſtarve the other. A maximum, or higheſt price, beyond which nothing is to be ſold, is now promulgated under very ſevere penalties for all who ſhall infringe it. Such a regulation as this, muſt, in its nature, be highly complex, and, by way of ſimplifying it, the price of every kind of merchandiſe is fixed at a third above what it bore in 1791: but as no diſtinction is made between the produce of the country, and articles imported—between the ſmall retailer, who has purchaſed perhaps at double the rate he iſ allowed to ſell at, and the wholeſale ſpeculator, this very ſimplification renders the whole abſurd and inexecutable.—The reſult waſ ſuch as might have been expected; previous to the day on which the decree was to take place, ſhopkeepers ſecreted as many of their goods as they could; and, when the day arrived, the people laid ſiege to them in crowds, ſome buying at the maximum, others leſs ceremonious, and in a few hours little remained in the ſhop beyond the fixtures. The farmers have ſince brought neither butter nor eggs to market, the butchers refuſe to kill as uſual, and, in ſhort, nothing is to be purchaſed openly. The country people, inſtead of ſelling proviſions publicly, take them to private houſes; and, in addition to the former exorbitant prices, we are taxed for the riſk that is incurred by evading the law. A dozen of eggs, or a leg of mutton, are now conveyed from houſe to houſe with as much myſtery, as a caſe of fire-arms, or a treaſonable correſpondence; the whole republic is in a ſort of training like the Spartan youth; and we are obliged to have recourſe to dexterity and intrigue to procure us a dinner.
Our legiſlators, aware of what they term the "ariſtocratie marchande,"— that is to ſay, that tradeſmen would naturally ſhut up their ſhops when nothing was to be gained—provided, by a clauſe in the above law, that no one ſhould do this in leſs time than a year; but as the injunction only obliged them to keep the ſhops open, and not to have goods to ſell, every demand is at firſt always anſwered in the negative, till a ſort of intelligence becomes eſtabliſhed betwixt the buyer and ſeller, when the former, if he may be truſted, is informed in a low key, that certain articles may be had, but not au maximum.—Thus even the rich cannot obtain the neceſſaries of life without difficulty and ſubmitting to impoſition—and the decent poor, who will not pillage nor intimidate the tradeſmen, are more embarraſſed than ever.
The above ſpecies of contraband commerce is carried on, indeed, with great circumſpection, and no avowed hoſtilities are attempted in the towns. The great war of the maximum was waged with the farmers and higlers, as ſoon as it was diſcovered that they took their commoditieſ privily to ſuch people as they knew would buy at any price, rather than not be ſupplied. In conſequence, the guards were ordered to ſtop all refractory butter-women at the gates, and conduct them to the town-houſe, where their merchandize was diſtributed, without pity or appeal, au maximum, to thoſe of the populace who could clamour loudeſt.
Theſe proceedings alarmed the peaſants, and our markets became deſerted. New ſtratagems, on one ſide, new attacks on the other. The ſervants were forced to ſupply themſelves at private rendezvous in the night, until ſome were fined, and others arreſted; and the ſearching all comers from the country became more intolerable than the vexations of the ancient Gabelle.—Detachments of dragoons are ſent to ſcour the farm-yards, arreſt the farmers, and bring off in triumph whatever the reſtive houſewives have amaſſed, to be more profitably diſpoſed of.
In this ſituation we remain, and I ſuppoſe ſhall remain, while the law of the maximum continues in force. The principle of it was certainly good, but it is found impoſſible to reduce it to practice ſo equitably as to affect all alike: and as laws which are not executed are for the moſt part rather pernicious than nugatory, informations, arreſts, impoſition, and ſcarcity are the only ends which this meaſure ſeems to have anſwered.
The houſes of detention, before inſupportable, are now yet more crouded with farmers and ſhopkeepers ſuſpected of oppoſing the law.—Many of the former are ſo ignorant, as not to conceive that any circumſtances ought to deprive them of the right to ſell the produce of their farms at the higheſt price they can get, and regard the maximum much in the ſame light as they would a law to authorize robbing or houſebreaking: as for the latter, they are chiefly ſmall dealers, who bought dearer than they have ſold, and are now impriſoned for not ſelling articles which they have not got. An informer by trade, or a perſonal enemy, lodges an accuſation againſt a particular tradeſman for concealing goods, or not ſelling au maximum; and whether the accuſation be true or falſe, if the accuſed iſ not in office, or a Jacobin, he has very little chance of eſcaping impriſonment.—It is certain, that if the perſecution of theſe claſſes of people continue, and commerce (already nearly annihilated by the war) be thus ſhackled, an abſolute want of various articles of primary conſumption muſt enſue; but if Paris and the armies can be ſupplied, the ſtarving the departments will be a mere pleaſurable experiment to their humane repreſentativeſ!
March 1, 1794.
The freedom of the preſs is ſo perfectly well regulated, that it is not ſurprizing we are indulged with the permiſſion of ſeeing the public papers: yet this indulgence is often, I aſſure you, a ſource of much perplexity to me—our more intimate aſſociates know that I am a native of England, and as often as any debates of our Houſe of Commons are publiſhed, they apply to me for explanations which it is not always in my power to give them. I have in vain endeavoured to make them comprehend the nature of an oppoſition from ſyſtem, ſo that when they ſee any thing advanced by a member exactly the reverſe of truth, they are wondering how he can be ſo ill informed, and never ſuſpect him of ſaying what he doeſ not believe himſelf. It muſt be confeſſed, however, that our extractſ from the Engliſh papers often form ſo complete a contraſt with facts, that a foreigner unacquainted with the tactics of profeſſional patriotiſm, may very naturally read them with ſome ſurprize. A noble Peer, for example, (whoſe wiſdom is not to be diſputed, ſince the Abbe Mably calls him the Engliſh Socrates,*) aſſerts that the French troopſ are the beſt clothed in Europe; yet letters, of nearly the ſame date with the Earl's ſpeech, from two Generals and a Deputy at the head of different armies intreat a ſupply of covering for their denudated legions, and add, that they are obliged to march in wooden ſhoeſ!**
* It is ſurely a reflection on the Engliſh diſcernment not to have adopted this happy appellation, in which, however, as well as in many other parts of "the rights of Man and the Citizen," the Abbe ſeems to have conſulted his own zeal, rather than the noble Peer'ſ modeſty. ** If the French troops are now better clothed, it is the effect of requiſitions and pre-emptions, which have ruined the manufacturers. —Patriots of the North, would you wiſh to ſee our ſoldiers clothed by the ſame means?
—On another occaſion, your Britiſh Sage deſcribes, with great eloquence, the enthuſiaſm with which the youth of France "ſtart to arms at the call of the Convention;" while the peaceful citizen anticipates, with equal eagerneſs, the leſs glorious injunction to extract ſaltpetre.—The revolts, and the coercion, neceſſary to enforce the departure of the firſt levies (however fear, ſhame, and diſcipline, may have ſince made them ſoldiers, though not republicans) might have corrected the ardour of the orator's inventive talents; and the zeal of the French in manufacturing ſalpetre, has been of ſo ſlow a growth, that any reference to it is peculiarly unlucky. For ſeveral months the Convention haſ recommended, invited, intreated, and ordered the whole country to occupy themſelves in the proceſs neceſſary for obtaining nitre; but the republican enthuſiaſm was ſo tardy, that ſcarcely an ounce appeared, till a long liſt of ſound penal laws, with fines and impriſonments in every line, rouſed the public ſpirit more effectually.*
* Two years impriſonment was the puniſhment aſſigned to a Citizen who ſhould be found to obſtruct in any way the fabricating ſaltpetre. If you had a houſe that was adjudged to contain the materials required, and expoſtulated againſt pulling it down, the penalty was incurred.—I believe ſomething of this kind exiſted under the old government, the abuſes of which are the only parts the republic ſeems to have preſerved.
—Another cauſe alſo has much favoured the extenſion of this manufacture: the neceſſity of procuring gunpowder at any rate has ſecured an exemption from ſerving in the army to thoſe who ſhall be employed in making it.—*
* Many, under this pretext, even procured their diſcharge from the army; and it was eventually found requiſite to ſtop this commutation of ſervice by a decree.
—On this account vaſt numbers of young men, whoſe martial propenſitieſ are not too vehement for calculation, conſidering the extraction of ſaltpetre as more ſafe than the uſe of it, have ſeriouſly devoted themſelves to the buſineſs. Thus, between fear of the Convention and of the enemy, has been produced that enthuſiaſm which ſeems ſo grateful to Lord S____. Yet, if the French are ſtruck by the diſſimilitude of factſ with the language of your Engliſh patriots, there are other circumſtanceſ which appear ſtill more unaccountable to them. I acknowledge the word patriotiſm is not perfectly underſtood any where in France, nor do my priſon-aſſociates abound in it; but ſtill they find it difficult to reconcile the love of their country, ſo excluſively boaſted by certain ſenators, with their eulogiums on a government, and on men who avow an implacable hatred to it, and are the profeſſed agents of its future deſtruction. The Houſes of Lords and Commons reſound with panegyrics on France; the Convention with "delenda eſt Carthate"—"ces vilſ Inſulaireſ"—"de peuple marchand, boutiquier"—"ces laches Angloiſ". ("Carthage muſt be deſtroyed"—"thoſe vile Iſlanderſ"—"that nation of ſhopkeeperſ"—"thoſe cowardly Engliſhmen"—&c.)
The efforts of the Engliſh patriots overtly tend to the conſolidation of the French republic, while the demagogues of France are yet more ſtrenuous for the abolition of monarchy in England. The virtues of certain people called Muir and Palmer,* are at once the theme of Mr. Fox and Robeſpierre,** of Mr. Grey and Barrere,***, of Collot d'Herboiſ**** and Mr. Sheridan; and their fate is lamented as much at the Jacobins aſ at St. Stephen's.*****
* If I have not mentioned theſe gentlemen with the reſpect due to their celebrity, their friends muſt pardon me. To ſay truth, I did not at this time think of them with much complacence, as I had heard of them only from the Jacobins, by whom they were repreſented as the leaders of a Convention, which was to arm ninety thouſand men, for the eſtabliſhment of a ſyſtem ſimilar to that exiſting in France. **The French were ſo much miſled by the eloquence of theſe gentlemen in their favour, that they were all exhibited on the ſtage in red caps and cropped heads, welcoming the arrival of their Gallic friends in England, and triumphing in the overthrow of the Britiſh conſtitution, and the dethronement of the King. *** If we may credit the aſſertions of Barrere, the friendſhip of the Committee of Public Welfare was not merely verbal. He ſays, the ſecret regiſter of the Committee furniſhes proofs of their having ſent three frigates to intercept theſe diſtinguiſhed victims, whom their ungrateful country had ſo ignominiouſly baniſhed. **** This humane and ingenious gentleman, by profeſſion a player, iſ known likewiſe as the author of ſeveral farces and vaudevilles, and of the executions at Lyons.—It is aſſerted, that many of the inhabitants of this unfortunate city expiated under the Guillotine the crime of having formerly hiſſed Collot's ſucceſſful attempts on the ſtage. ***** The printing of a particular ſpeech was interdicted on account of its containing alluſions to certain circumſtances, the knowledge of which might be of diſſervice to their unfortunate friends during their trial.
—The conduct of Mr. Pitt is not more acrimoniouſly diſcuſſed at the Palais National than by a part of his colleagues; and the cenſure of the Britiſh government, which is now the order of the day at the Jacobins, iſ nearly the echo of your parliamentary debates.*
* Allowing for the difference of education in the orators, a journeyman ſhoemaker was, I think, as eloquent, and not more abuſive, than the facetious _ci-devant_ protege of Lord T____d.
—All this, however, does not appear to me out of the natural order of things; it is the ſorry hiſtory of oppoſition for a century and an half, and our political rectitude, I fear, is not increaſing: but the French, who are in their way the moſt corrupt people in Europe, have not hitherto, from the nature of their government, been familiar with thiſ particular mode of provoking corruption, nor are they at preſent likely to become ſo. Indeed, I muſt here obſerve, that your Engliſh Jacobins, if they are wiſe, ſhould not attempt to introduce the revolutionary ſyſtem; for though the total poſſeſſion of ſuch a government is very alluring, yet the prudence, which looks to futurity, and the incertitude of ſublunary events, muſt acknowledge it is "Caeſar or nothing;" and that it offers no reſource in caſe of thoſe ſegregations, which the jealouſy of power, or the appropriation of ſpoil, may occaſion, even amongſt the moſt virtuous aſſociates.—The eloquence of a diſcontented orator is here ſilenced, not by a penſion, but by a mandat d'arret; and the obſtinate patriotiſm, which with you could not be ſoftened with leſs than a participation of authority, is more cheaply ſecured by the Guillotine. A menace is more efficacious than a bribe, and in this reſpect I agree with Mr. Thomas Paine,* that a republic is undoubtedly more oeconomical than a monarchy; beſides, that being conducted on ſuch principles, it has the advantage of ſimplifying the ſcience of government, as it conſultſ neither the intereſts nor weakneſſes of mankind; and, diſdaining to adminiſter either to avarice or vanity, ſubdues its enemies by the ſole influence of terror.—*
* This gentleman's fate is truly to be pitied. After rejecting, aſ his friends aſſert, two hundred a year from the Engliſh Miniſtry, he is obliged now to be ſilent gratis, with the additional deſagrement of occupying a corner in the Luxembourg.
—Adieu!—Heaven knows how often I may have to repeat the word thuſ unmeaningly. I ſit here, like Pope's bard "lulled by ſoft zephyrſ through the broken pane," and ſcribbling high-ſounding phraſes of monarchy, patriotiſm, and republics, while I forget the humbler ſubject of our wants and embarraſſments. We can ſcarcely procure either bread, meat, or any thing elſe: the houſe is crouded by an importation of priſoners from Abbeville, and we are more ſtrictly guarded than ever. My friend ennuyes as uſual, and I grow impatient, not having ſang froid enough for a true French ennuie in a ſituation that would tempt one to hang one's ſelf.
March, 1794.
The aſpect of the times promiſes no change in our favour; on the contrary, every day ſeems to bring its attendant evil. The gentry who had eſcaped the comprehenſive decree againſt ſuſpected people, are now ſwept away in this and the three neighbouring departments by a private order of the repreſentatives, St. Juſt, Lebas, and Dumont.*
* The order was to arreſt, without exception, all the ci-devant Nobleſſſe, men, women, and children, in the departments of the Somme, North, and Pas de Calais, and to exclude them rigourouſly from all external communication—(mettre au ſecret).
—A ſeverer regimen is to be adopted in the priſons, and huſbands are already ſeparated from their wives, and fathers from their daughters, for the purpoſe, as it is alledged, of preſerving good morals. Both thiſ place and the Bicetre being too full to admit of more inhabitants, two large buildings in the town are now appropriated to the male priſoners.— My friends continue at Arras, and, I fear, in extreme diſtreſs. I underſtand they have been plundered of what things they had with them, and the little ſupply I was able to ſend them was intercepted by ſome of the harpies of the priſons. Mrs. D____'s health has not been able to ſuſtain theſe accumulated miſfortunes, and ſhe is at preſent at the hoſpital. All this is far from enlivening, even had I a larger ſhare of the national philoſophy; and did I not oftener make what I obſerve, than what I ſuffer, the ſubject of my letters, I ſhould tax your patience aſ much by repetition, as I may by dullneſs.
When I enumerated in my laſt letters a few of the obligations the French have to their friends in England, I ought alſo to have obſerved, with how little gratitude they behave to thoſe who are here. Without mentioning Mr. Thomas Paine, whoſe perſecution will doubtleſs be recorded by abler pens, nothing, I aſſure you, can be more unpleaſant than the ſituation of one of theſe Anglo-Gallican patriots. The republicans, ſuppoſing that an Engliſhman who affects a partiality for them can be only a ſpy, execute all the laws, which concern foreigners, upon him with additional rigour;* and when an Engliſh Jacobin arrives in priſon, far from meeting with conſolation or ſympathy, his diſtreſſes are beheld with triumph, and hiſ perſon avoided with abhorrence. They talk much here of a gentleman, of very democratic principles, who left the priſon before I came. It ſeems, that, notwithſtanding Dumont condeſcended to viſit at his houſe, and waſ on terms of intimacy with him, he was arreſted, and not diſtinguiſhed from the reſt of his countrymen, except by being more harſhly treated. The caſe of this unfortunate gentleman was rendered peculiarly amuſing to his companions, and mortifying to himſelf, by his having a very pretty miſtreſs, who had ſufficient influence over Dumont to obtain any thing but the liberation of her protector. The Deputy was on this head inflexible; doubtleſs, as a proof of his impartial obſervance of the laws, and to ſhow that, like the juſt man in Horace, he deſpiſed the clamour of the vulgar, who did not ſcruple to hint, that the crime of our countryman was rather of a moral than a political nature—that he waſ unaccommodating, and recalcitrant—addicted to ſuſpicions and jealouſies, which it was thought charitable to cure him of, by a little wholeſome ſecluſion. In fact, the ſummary of this gentleman's hiſtory is not calculated to tempt his fellow ſocietiſts on your ſide of the water to imitate his example.—After taking refuge in France from the tyranny and diſappointments he experienced in England, and purchaſing a large national property to ſecure himſelf the rights of a citizen, he iſ awakened from his dream of freedom, to find himſelf lodged in a priſon, his eſtate under ſequeſtration, and his miſtreſs in requiſition.—Let uſ leave this Coriolanus among the Volſcianſ—it is a perſecution to make converts, rather than martyrs, and
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"Quand le malheur ne ſeroit bon, "Qu'a mettre un ſot a la raiſon, "Toujours ſeroit-ce a juſte cauſe "Qu'on le dit bon a quelque choſe."* |
* If calamity were only good to reſtore a fool to his ſenſes, ſtill we might juſtly ſay, "that it was good for ſome thing."
Yours, &c.
March 5, 1794.
Of what ſtrange influence is this word revolution, that it ſhould thus, like a taliſman of romance, keep inchained, as it were, the reaſoning faculties of twenty millions of people! France is at this moment looking for the deciſion of its fate in the quarrels of two miſerable clubs, compoſed of individuals who are either deſpiſed or deteſted. The municipality of Paris favours the Cordeliers, the Convention the Jacobins; and it is eaſy to perceive, that in this cafe the auxiliarieſ are principals, and muſt ſhortly come to ſuch an open rupture, as will end in the deſtruction of either one or the other. The world would be uninhabitable, could the combinations of the wicked be permanent; and it is fortunate for the tranquil and upright part of mankind, that the attainment of the purpoſes for which ſuch combinations are formed, iſ uſually the ſignal of their diſſolution.
The municipality of Paris had been the iniquitous drudges of the Jacobin party in the legiſlative aſſembly—they were made the inſtruments of maſſacring the priſoners,* of dethroning and executing the king,** and ſucceſſively of deſtroying the Briſſotine faction,*** filling the priſonſ with all who were obnoxious to the republicans,**** and of involving a repentant nation in the irremidiable guilt of the Queen's death.—*****
* It is well known that the aſſaſſins were hired and paid by the municipality, and that ſome of the members preſided at theſe horrorſ in their ſcarfs of office. ** The whole of what is called the revolution of the 10th of Auguſt may very juſtly be aſcribed to the municipality of Pariſ—I mean the active part of it. The planning and political part has been ſo often diſputed by different members of the Convention, that it iſ not eaſy to decide on any thing, except that the very terms of theſe diſputes fully evince, that the people at large, and more particularly the departments, were both innocent, and, until it took place, ignorant of an event which has plunged the country into ſo many crimes and calamities. *** A former impriſonment of Hebert formed a principal charge againſt the Briſſotines, and, indeed, the one that was moſt inſiſted on at their trial, if we except that of having precipitated France into a war with England.—It muſt be difficult for the Engliſh Jacobins to decide on this occaſion between the virtues of their dead friends and thoſe of their living ones. **** The famous definition of ſuſpected perſons originated with the municipality of Paris. ***** It is certain that thoſe who, deceived by the calumnies of faction, permitted, if not aſſented to, the King's death, at thiſ time regretted it; and I believe I have before obſerved, that one of the reaſons urged in ſupport of the expediency of putting the Queen to death, was, that it would make the army and people deciſive, by baniſhing all hope of peace or accommodation. See the Moniteur of that time, which, as I have elſewhere obſerved, may be alwayſ conſidered as official.
—Theſe ſervices being too great for adequate reward, were not rewarded at all; and the municipality, tired of the odium of crime, without the participation of power, has ſeized on its portion of tyranny; while the convention, at once jealous and timid, exaſperated and doubtful, yet menaces with the trepidation of a rival, rather than with the ſecurity of a conqueror.
Hebert, the Deputy-ſolicitor for the commune of Paris, appears on thiſ occaſion as the opponent of the whole legiſlature; and all the temporizing eloquence of Barrere, and the myſterious phraſeology of Robeſpierre, are employed to decry his morals, and to reproach the miniſters with the ſums which have been the price of his labours.—*
* Five thouſand pounds, two thouſand pounds, and other conſiderable ſums, were paid to Hebert for ſupplying the army with his paper, called "La Pere Duchene." Let whoever has read one of them, conceive the nature of a government to which ſuch ſupport waſ neceſſary, which ſuppoſed its intereſts promoted by a total extinction of morals, decency, and religion. I could almoſt wiſh, for the ſake of exhibiting vice under its moſt odious colours, that my ſex and my country permitted me to quote one.
—Virtuous republicanſ! the morals of Hebert were pure when he outraged humanity in his accuſations of the Queen—they were pure when he proſtrated the ſtupid multitude at the feet of a Goddeſs of Reaſon;* they were pure while his execrable paper ſerved to corrupt the army, and to eradicate every principle which yet diſtinguiſhed the French as a civilized people.
* Madame Momoro, the unfortunate woman who expoſed herſelf in thiſ pageant, was guillotined as an accomplice of Hebert, together with the wives of Hebert and Camille Deſmoulins.
—Yet, atrocious as his crimes are, they form half the Magna Charta of the republic,* and the authority of the Convention is ſtill ſupported by them.
* What are the death of the King, and the murders of Auguſt and September, 1792, but the Magna Charta of the republicans?
—It is his perſon, not his guilt, that is proſcribed; and if the one be threatened with the ſcaffold, the fruits of the other are held ſacred. He will fall a ſacrifice—not to offended religion or morality, but to the fears and reſentment of his accompliceſ!
Amidſt the diſſentions of two parties, between which neither reaſon nor humanity can diſcover a preference, a third ſeems to have formed itſelf, equally inimical to, and hated by both. At the head of it are Danton, Camille Deſmoulins, Philipeaux, &c.—I own I have no better opinion of the integrity of theſe, than of the reſt; but they profeſs themſelves the advocates of a ſyſtem of mildneſs and moderation, and, ſituated as thiſ country is at preſent, even the affectation of virtue is captivating.— As far as they dare, the people are partial to them: bending beneath the weight of a ſanguinary and turbulent deſpotiſm, if they ſigh not for freedom, they do for repoſe; and the haraſſed mind, bereft of its own energy, looks up with indolent hope for relief from a change of factions. They forget that Danton is actuated by ambitious jealouſy, that Camille Deſmoulins is hacknied in the atrocities of the revolution, and that their partizans are adventurers, with neither honour nor morals. Yet, after all, if they will deſtroy a few of the guillotines, open our baſtilles, and give us at leaſt the ſecurity of ſervitude, we ſhall be content to leave theſe retroſpections to poſterity, and be thankful that in this our day the wicked ſometimes perceive it their intereſt to do good.
In this ſtate of ſecluſion, when I remark to you the temper of the public at any important criſis, you are, perhaps, curious to know my ſources of intelligence; but ſuch details are unneceſſary. I might, indeed, write you a manuel des priſons, and, like Trenck or Latude, by a vain diſplay of ingenuity, deprive ſome future victim of a reſource. It is enough, that Providence itſelf ſeems to aid our invention, when its object is to elude tyranny; beſides that a conſtant acceſſion of priſoners from all parts, who are too numerous to be kept ſeparate, neceſſarily circulateſ among us whatever paſſes in the world.
The Convention has lately made a ſort of pas retrogade [Retrogade movement.] in the doctrine of holy equality, by decreeing, that every officer who has a command ſhall be able to read and write, though it cannot be denied that their reaſons for this leſe democratie are of ſome weight. All gentlemen, or, as it is expreſſed here, nobleſſe, have been recalled from the army, and replaced by officers choſen by the ſoldierſ themſelves, [Under the rank of field-officers.] whoſe affections are often conciliated by qualities not eſſentially military, though ſometimeſ profeſſional. A buffoon, or a pot-companion, is, of courſe, often more popular than a diſciplinarian; and the brighteſt talents loſe their influence when put in competition with a head that can bear a greater number of bottles.*
* Hence it happened, that a poſt was ſometimes confided to one who could not read the parole and counterſign; expeditions failed, becauſe commanding officers miſtook on the map a river for a road, or woods for mountains; and the moſt ſecret orders were betrayed through the inability of thoſe to whom they were entruſted to read them.
—Yet this reading and writing are a ſort of ariſtocratic diſtinctions, and not among the primeval rights of man; ſo that it is poſſible your Engliſh patriots will not approve of any regulations founded on them. But this is not the only point on which there is an apparent diſcordance between them and their friends here—the ſeverity of Meſſrs. Muir and Palmer's ſentence is pathetically lamented in the Houſe of Commons, while the Tribunal Revolutionnaire (in obedience to private orders) iſ petitioning, that any diſreſpect towards the convention ſhall be puniſhed with death. In England, it is aſſerted, that the people have a right to decide on the continuation of the war—here it is propoſed to declare ſuſpicious, and treat accordingly, all who ſhall dare talk of peace.—Mr. Fox and Robeſpierre muſt ſettle theſe trifling variations at the general congreſs of republicans, when the latter ſhall (as they profeſs) have dethroned all the potentates in Europe!
Do you not read of cart-loads of patriotic gifts,* bales of lint and bandages, and ſtockings, knit by the hands of fair citizens, for the uſe of the ſoldiers?
* A ſum of money was at this time publicly offered to the Convention for defraying the expences and repairs of the guillotine.—I know not if it were intended patriotically or correctionally; but the legiſlative delicacy was hurt, and the bearer of the gift ordered for examination to the Committee of General Safety, who moſt probably ſent him to expiate either his patriotiſm or his pleaſantry in a priſon.
—Do you not read, and call me calumniator, and aſk if theſe are proofſ that there is no public ſpirit in France? Yes, the public ſpirit of an eaſtern tributary, who offers, with apprehenſive devotion, a part of the wealth which he fears the hand of deſpotiſm may raviſh entirely.—The wives and daughters of huſbands and fathers, who are pining in arbitrary confinement, are employed in theſe feeble efforts, to deprecate the malice of their perſecutors; and theſe voluntary tributes are but too often proportioned, not to the abilities, but the miſeries of the donor.*
* A lady, confined in one of the ſtate priſons, made an offering, through the hands of a Deputy, of ten thouſand livres; but the Convention obſerved, that this could not properly be deemed a gift— for, as ſhe was doubtleſs a ſuſpicious perſon, all ſhe had belonged of right to the republic:
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"Elle doit etre a moi, dit il, et la raiſon, "C'eſt que je m'appelle Lion "A cela l'on n'a rien a dire." — La Fontaine. |
Sometimes theſe dons patriotiqueſ were collected by a band of Jacobins, at others regularly aſſeſſed by a Repreſentative on miſſion; but on all occaſions the ariſtocrats were moſt aſſiduouſ and moſt liberal:
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"Urg'd by th' imperious ſoldier's fierce command, "The groaning Greeks break up their golden caverns, "The accumulated wealth of toiling ages; . . . . . . . . "That wealth, too ſacred for their country's uſe; "That wealth, too pleaſing to be loſt for freedom, "That wealth, which, granted to their weeping Prince, "Had rang'd embattled nations at their gates." — Johnſon. |
Or, what is ſtill better, have relieved the exigencies of the ſtate, without offering a pretext for the horrors of a revolution.—O ſelfiſh luxury, impolitic avarice, how are ye puniſhed? robbed of your enjoyments and your wealth—glad even to commute both for a painful exiſtence!
—The moſt ſplendid ſacrifices that fill the bulletin of the Convention, and claim an honourable mention in their regiſters, are made by the enemies of the republican government—by thoſe who have already been the objects of perſecution, or are fearful of becoming ſuch.—Ah, your priſon and guillotine are able financiers: they raiſe, feed, and clothe an army, in leſs time than you can procure a tardy vote from the moſt complaiſant Houſe of Commonſ!—Your, &c.
March 17, 1794.
After ſome days of agitation and ſuſpenſe, we learn that the popularity of Robeſpierre is victorious, and that Hebert and his partizans are arreſted. Were the intrinſic claims of either party conſidered, without regard to the circumſtances of the moment, it might ſeem ſtrange I ſhould expreſs myſelf as though the reſult of a conteſt between ſuch men could excite a general intereſt: yet a people ſadly ſkilled in the gradationſ of evil, and inured to a choice only of what is bad, learn to prefer comparatively, with no other view than that of adopting what may be leaſt injurious to themſelves; and the merit of the object is out of the queſtion. Hence it is, that the public wiſh was in favour of Robeſpierre; for, beſides that his cautious character has given him an advantage over the undiſguiſed profligacy of Hebert, it is conjectured by many, that the more merciful politics profeſſed by Camille Deſmoulins, are ſecretly ſuggeſted, or, at leaſt aſſented to, by the former.*
* This was the opinion of many.—The Convention and the Jacobins had taken alarm at a paper called "The Old Cordelier," written by Camille Deſmoulins, apparently with a view to introduce a milder ſyſtem of government. The author had been cenſured at the one, expelled the other, and defended by Robeſpierre, who ſeems not to have abandoned him until he found the Convention reſolved to perſiſt in the ſanguinary plan they had adopted. Robeſpierre afterwardſ ſacrificed his friends to retrieve his influence; but could hiſ views have been anſwered by humane meaſures, as certainly as by cruel ones, I think he would have preferred the firſt; for I repeat, that the Convention at large were averſe from any thing like reaſon or juſtice, and Robeſpierre more than once riſked his popularity by profeſſions of moderation.—The moſt eloquent ſpeech I have ſeen of his was previous to the death of Danton, and it ſeems evidently intended to ſound the principles of his colleagues as to a change of ſyſtem.—Camille Deſmoulins has excited ſome intereſt, and has been deemed a kind of martyr to humanity. Perhaps nothing marks the horrors of the time more than ſuch a partiality.—Camille Deſmoulins, under an appearance of ſimplicity, was an adventurer, whoſe pen had been employed to miſlead the people from the beginning of the revolution. He had been very active on the 10th of Auguſt; and even in the papers which have given him a comparative reputation, he is the panegyriſt of Marat, and recommends "une Guillotine economique;" that is, a diſcrimination in favour of himſelf and his party, who now began to fear they might themſelveſ be ſacrificed by the Convention and deſerted by Robeſpierre—after being the accomplices and tools of both.
The viciſſitudes of the revolution have hitherto offered nothing but a change of vices and of parties; nor can I regard this defeat of the municipality of Paris as any thing more: the event is, however, important, and will probably have great influence on the future.
After having ſo long authorized, and profited by, the crimes of thoſe they have now ſacrificed, the Convention are willing to have it ſuppoſed they were themſelves held in ſubjection by Hebert and the other repreſentatives of the Pariſian mob.—Admitting this to be true, having regained their independence, we ought naturally to expect a more rational and humane ſyſtem will take place; but this is a mere hope, and the preſent occurrences are far from juſtifying it. We hear much of the guilt of the fallen party, and little of remedying its effectſ—much of puniſhment, and little of reform; and the people are excited to vengeance, without being permitted to claim redreſs. In the meanwhile, fearful of truſting to the cold preference which they owe to a ſuperior abhorrence of their adverſaries, the Convention have ordered their colleagues on miſſion to glean the few arms ſtill remaining in the handſ of the National Guard, and to arreſt all who may be ſuſpected of connection with the adverſe party.—Dumont has performed this ſervice here very diligently; and, by way of ſupererogation, has ſent the Commandant of Amiens to the Bicetre, his wife, who was ill, to the hoſpital, and two young children to this place.
As uſual, theſe proceedings excite ſecret murmurs, but are nevertheleſſ yielded to with perfect ſubmiſſion.
One can never, on theſe occaſions, ceaſe admiring the endurance of the French character. In other countries, at every change of party, the people are flattered with the proſpect of advantage, or conciliated by indulgences; but here they gain nothing by change, except an accumulation of oppreſſion—and the ſucceſs of a new party is always the harbinger of ſome new tyranny. While the fall of Hebert is proclaimed as the triumph of freedom, all the citizens are diſarmed by way of collateral ſecurity; and at the inſtant he is accuſed by the Convention of atheiſm and immorality,* a militant police is ſent forth to devaſtate the churches, and puniſh thoſe who are detected in obſerving the Sabbath—"mais plutot ſouffrir que mourir, c'eſt la deviſe des Francois." ["To ſuffer rather than die is the motto of Frenchmen."]
* It is remarkable, that the perſecution of religion was never more violent than at the time when the Convention were anathematizing Hebert and his party for athieſm.
—Briſſot and his companions died ſinging a paraphraſe of my quotation:
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"Plutot la mort que l'eſclavage, "C'eſt la deviſe des Francois." |
["Death before ſlavery, is the Frenchman's motto."]
—Let thoſe who reflect on what France has ſubmitted to under them and their ſucceſſors decide, whether the original be not more appoſite.
I hope the act of accuſation againſt Chabot has been publiſhed in England, for the benefit of your Engliſh patriots: I do not mean by way of warning, but example. It appears, that the ſaid Chabot, and four or five of his colleagues in the Convention, had been bribed to ſerve a ſtock-jobbing buſineſs at a ſtipulated ſum,* and that the money was to be divided amongſt them.
* Chabot, Fabre d'Eglantine, (author of "l'Intrigue Epiſtolaire," and ſeveral other admired dramatic pieces,) Delaunay d'Angers, Julien de Toulouſe, and Bazire, were bribed to procure the paſſing certain decrees, tending to enrich particular people, by defrauding the Eaſt India Company.—Delaunay and Julien (both re-elected into the preſent Aſſembly) eſcaped by flight, the reſt were guillotined. —It is probable, that theſe little peculations might have paſſed unnoticed in patriots of ſuch note, but that the intrigues and popular character of Chabot made it neceſſary to diſpoſe of him, and his accomplices ſuffered to give a countenance to the meaſure.
—Chabot, with great reaſon, inſiſted on his claim to an extra ſhare, on account, as he expreſſed it, of having the reputation of one of the firſt patriots in Europe. Now this I look upon to be a very uſeful hint, as it tends to eſtabliſh a tariff of reputations, rather than of talents. In England, you diſtinguiſh too much in favour of the latter; and, in a queſtion of purchaſe, a Miniſter often prefers a "commodity" of rhetoricians, to one of "good names."—I confeſs, I am of Chabot'ſ opinion; and think a vote from a member who has ſome reputation for honeſty, ought to be better paid for than the eloquence which, weakened by the vices of the orator, ceaſes to perſuade. How it is that the patriotic harangues at St. Stephen's ſerve only to amuſe the auditors, who identify the ſentiments they expreſs as little with the ſpeaker, aſ they would thoſe of Cato's ſoliloquy with the actor who perſonates the character for the night? I fear the people reaſon like Chabot, and are "fools to fame." Perhaps it is fortunate for England, that thoſe whoſe talents and principles would make them moſt dangerous, are become leaſt ſo, becauſe both are counteracted by the public contempt. Ought it not to humble the pride, and correct the errors, which too often accompany great genius, that the meaneſt capacity can diſtinguiſh between talentſ and virtue; and that even in the moment our wonder is excited by the one, a ſort of intrinſic preference is given to the other?—Yours, &c.
Providence, April 15, 1794.
"The friendſhip of bad men turns to fear:" and in this ſingle phraſe of our popular bard is comprized the hiſtory of all the parties who have ſucceeded each other during the revolution.—Danton has been ſacrificed to Robeſpierre's jealouſy,* and Camille Deſmoulins to ſupport hiſ popularity;** and both, after ſharing in the crimes, and contributing to the puniſhment, of Hebert and his aſſociates, have followed them to the ſame ſcaffold.
* The ferocious courage of Danton had, on the 10th of Auguſt, the 2d of September, the 31ſt of May, and other occaſions, been the ductile inſtrument of Robeſpierre; but, in the courſe of their iniquitouſ connection, it ſhould ſeem, they had committed themſelves too much to each other. Danton had betrayed a deſire of more excluſively profiting by his crimes; and Robeſpierre's views been equally ambitious, though leſs daring, their mutual jealouſies had riſen to a height which rendered the ſacrifice of one party neceſſary—and Robeſpierre had the addreſs to ſecure himſelf, by ſtriking the firſt blow. They had ſupped in the country, and returned together to Paris, on the night Danton was arreſted; and, it may be ſuppoſed, that in this interview, which was intended to produce a reconciliation, they had been convinced that neither was to be truſted by the other. ** There can be no doubt but Robeſpierre had encouraged Camille Deſmoulins to publiſh his paper, intitled "The Old Cordelier," in which ſome tranſlations from Tacitus, deſcriptive of every kind of tyranny, were applied to the times, and a change of ſyſtem indirectly propoſed. The publication became highly popular, except with the Convention and the Jacobins; theſe, however, it waſ requiſite for Robeſpierre to conciliate; and Camille Deſmoulins waſ ſacrificed, to prove that he did not favour the obnoxious moderation of his friend.
I know not if one's heart gain any thing by this habitual contemplation of ſucceſſive victims, who ought not to inſpire pity, and whom juſtice and humanity forbid one to regret.—How many parties have fallen, who ſeem to have laboured only to tranſmit a dear-bought tyranny, which they had not time to enjoy themſelves, to their ſucceſſors: The French revolutioniſts may, indeed, adopt the motto of Virgil's Bees, "Not for ourſelves, but for you." The monſtrous powers claimed for the Convention by the Briſſotines,* with the hope of excluſively exerciſing them, were fatal to themſelveſ—the party that overthrew the Briſſotines in its turn became inſignificant—and a ſmall number of them only, under the deſcription of Committees of Public Welfare and General Safety, gradually uſurped the whole authority.
* The victorious Briſſotines, after the 10th of Auguſt, availing themſelves of the ſtupor of one part of the people, and the fanaticiſm of the other, required that the new Convention might be entruſted with unlimited powers. Not a thouſandth portion of thoſe who elected the members, perhaps, comprehended the dreadful extent of ſuch a demand, as abſurd as it has proved fatal.—"Tout pouvoir ſans bornes ne fauroit etre legitime, parce qu'il n'a jamais pu avoir d'origine legitime, car nous ne pouvons pas donner a un autre plus de pouvoir ſur nous que nous n'en avons nous-memeſ" [Monteſquieu.]:—that is, the power which we accord to others, or which we have over ourſelves, cannot exceed the bounds preſcribed by the immutable laws of truth and juſtice. The united voice of the whole French nation could not beſtow on their repreſentatives a right to murder or oppreſs one innocent man.
—Even of theſe, ſeveral have already periſhed; and in the hands of Robeſpierre, and half a dozen others of equal talents and equal atrocity, but leſs cunning, center at preſent all the fruits of ſo many miſeries, and ſo many crimes.
In all theſe conflicts of party, the victory ſeems hitherto to have remained with the moſt artful, rather than the moſt able; and it is under the former title that Robeſpierre, and his colleagues in the Committee of Public Welfare, are now left inheritors of a power more deſpotic than that exerciſed in Japan.—Robeſpierre is certainly not deficient in abilities, but they are not great in proportion to the influence they have acquired him. They may, perhaps, be more properly called ſingular than great, and conſiſt in the art of appropriating to his own advantage both the events of chance and the labours of others, and of captivating the people by an exterior of ſevere virtue, which a cold heart enableſ him to aſſume, and which a profligacy, not the effect of ſtrong paſſions, but of ſyſtem, is eaſily ſubjected to. He is not eloquent, nor are hiſ ſpeeches, as compoſitions,* equal to thoſe of Collot d'Herbais, Barrere, or Billaud Varennes; but, by contriving to reſerve himſelf for extraordinary occaſions, ſuch as announcing plots, victories, and ſyſtemſ of government, he is heard with an intereſt which finally becomeſ tranſferred from his ſubject to himſelf.**
* The moſt celebrated members of the Convention are only readers of ſpeeches, compoſed with great labour, either by themſelves or others; and I think it is diſtinguiſhable, that many are manufactured by the ſame hand. The ſtyle and ſpirit of Lindet, Barrere, and Carnot, ſeem to be in common. ** The following paſſages, from a ſpeech of Dubois Crance, who may be ſuppoſed a competent judge, at once furniſh an idea of Robeſpierre's oratory, exhibit a leading feature in his character, and expoſe ſome of the arts by which the revolutionary deſpotiſm waſ maintained: "Rapportant tout a lui ſeul, juſqu'a la patrie, il n'en parla jamais que pour ſ'en deſigner comme l'unique defenſeur: otez de ſeſ longs diſcours tout ce qui n'a rapport qu'a ſon perſonnel, vous n'y trouverez plus que de ſeches applications de prinipes connus, et ſurtout de phraſes preparees pour amener encore ſon eloge. Vouſ l'avez juge timide, parce que ſon imagination, que l'on croyait ardente, qui n'etait que feroce, paraſſait exagerer ſouvent les maux de ſon pays. C'etait une jonglerie: il ne croyait ni aux conſpirations don't il faiſait tant d'etalage, ni aux poignardſ aux-quels il feignoit de ſſe devouer; mais il vouloit que leſ citoyens fuſſſent conſtamment en defiance l'un de l'autre," &c. "Affecting to conſider all things, even the fate of the country, aſ depending on himſelf alone, he never ſpoke of it but with a view to point himſelf out its principal defender.—If you take away from hiſ long harangues all that regards him perſonally, you will find only dry applications of familiar principles, and, above all, thoſe ſtudied turns, which were artfully prepared to introduce his own eternal panegyric.—You ſuppoſed him timid becauſe his imagination (which was not merely ardent, as was ſuppoſed, but ferocious) ſeemed often to exaggerate the miſfortunes of his country.—This was a mere trick: he believed neither in the conſpiracies he made ſo great a parade of, nor in the poignards to which he pretended to devote himſelf as a victim.—His real deſign was to infuſe into the mindſ of all men an unceaſing diffidence of each other."
One cannot ſtudy the characters of theſe men, and the revolution, without wonder; and, after an hour of ſuch ſcribbling, I wake to the ſcene around me, and my wonder is not a little increaſed, at the idea that the fate of ſuch an individual as myſelf ſhould be at all dependent on either.—My friend Mad. de ____ is ill,* and taken to the hoſpital, ſo that having no longer the care of diſſipating her ennui, I am at full liberty to indulge my own.
* I have generally made uſe of the titles and diſtinctions by which the people I mention were known before the revolution; for, beſideſ that I found it difficult to habituate my pen to the republican ſyſtem of levelling, the perſon to whom theſe letters were addreſſed would not have known who was meant by the new appellations. It is, however, to be obſerved, that, except in private ariſtocratic intercourſe, the word Citizen was in general uſe; and that thoſe who had titles relinquiſhed them and aſſumed their family names.
—Yet I know not how it is, but, as I have before obſerved to you, I do not ennuye—my mind is conſtantly occupied, though my heart is vacant— curioſity ſerves inſtead of intereſt, and I really find it ſufficiently amuſing to conjecture how long my head may remain on my ſhoulders.—You will, I dare ſay, agree with me that any doubts on ſuch a ſubject are very well calculated to remove the tranquil ſort of indifference which produces ennui; though, to judge by the greater part of my fellow-priſoners, one would not think ſo.—There is ſomething ſurely in the character of the French, which makes them differ both in proſperity and adverſity from other people. Here are many amongſt us who ſee little more in the loſs of their liberty than a privation of their uſual amuſements; and I have known ſome who had the good fortune to obtain their releaſe at noon, exhibit themſelves at the theatre at night.—God knows how ſuch minds are conſtituted: for my part, when ſome conſolatory illuſion reſtores me to freedom, I aſſociate with it no idea of poſitive pleaſure, but long for a ſort of intermediate ſtate, which may repoſe my haraſſed faculties, and in which mere comfort and ſecurity are portrayed as luxuries. After being ſo long deprived of the decent accommodationſ of life, ſecluded from the intercourſe which conſtitutes its beſt enjoyments, trembling for my own fate, and hourly lamenting that of my friends, the very thoughts of tumult or gaiety ſeem oppreſſive, and the deſire of peace, for the moment, baniſhes every other. One muſt have no heart, after ſo many ſufferings, not to prefer the caſtle of Indolence to the palace of Armida.
The coarſe organs of an Argus at the door, who is all day employed in calling to my high-born companions by the republican appellations of "Citoyen," and "Citoyenne," has juſt interrupted me by a ſummons to receive a letter from my unfortunate friends at Arras.—It was given me open;* of courſe they ſay nothing of their ſituation, though I have reaſon to believe it is dreadful.
* The opening of letters was now ſo generally avowed, that people who correſponded on buſineſs, and were deſirous their letters ſhould be delivered, put them in the poſt without ſealing; otherwiſe they were often torn in opening, thrown aſide, or detained, to ſave the trouble of peruſing.
—They have now written to me for aſſiſtance, which I have not the meanſ of affording them. Every thing I have is under ſequeſtration; and the difficulty which attends the negociating any drafts drawn upon England, has made it nearly impoſſible to procure money in the uſual way, even if I were not confined. The friendſhip of Mad. de ____ will be little available to me. Her extenſive fortune, before frittered to mere competency by the extortions of the revolution, now ſcarcely ſupplies her own wants; and her tenants humanely take the opportunity of her preſent diſtreſs to avoid paying their rent.*
* In ſome inſtances ſervants or tenants have been known to ſeize on portions of land for their own uſe—in others the country municipalities exacted as the price of a certificate of civiſm, (without which no releaſe from priſon could be obtained,) ſuch leaſes, lands, or privileges, as they thought the embarraſſments of their landlords would induce them to grant. Almoſt every where the houſes of perſons arreſted were pilfered either by their own ſervants or the agents of the republic. I have known an elegant houſe put in requiſition to erect blackſmithſ' forges in for the uſe of the army, and another filled with tailors employed in making ſoldierſ' clothes.—Houſes were likewiſe not unfrequently abandoned by the ſervants through fear of ſharing the fate of their maſters, and ſometimes expoſed equally by the arreſt of thoſe who had been left in charge, in order to extort diſcoveries of plate, money, &c. the concealment of which they might be ſuppoſed privy to.
—So that I have no reſource, either for myſelf or Mrs. D____, but the ſale of a few trinkets, which I had fortunately ſecreted on my firſt arreſt. How are we to exiſt, and what an exiſtence to be ſolicitouſ about! In gayer moments, and, perhaps, a little tinctured by romantic refinement, I have thought Dr. Johnſon made poverty too excluſively the ſubject of compaſſion: indeed I believe he uſed to ſay, it was the only evil he really felt for. This, to one who has known only mental ſuffering, appears the notion of a coarſe mind; but I doubt whether, the firſt time we are alarmed by the fear of want, the dread of dependence does not render us in part his converts. The opinion of our Engliſh ſage is more natural than we may at firſt imagine; or why is it that we are affected by the ſimple diſtreſſes of Jane Shore, beyond thoſe of any other heroine?—Yours.