LETTER X.

Paris.

MY DEAR

I alluded, in my last, to the feeling that prevails amongst the thoughtful and enlightened, respecting the present state of France. To what I then said, I ought to add, that the general impression is in favour of the king. He is considered a mild and benignant prince-anxious for the welfare of his people.-But alas! the people are restless and turbulent, and a monarch of less amiable qualities would suit them better. The exploits and enterprises of their former ruler have rendered them a martial people—their ears have been accustomed to the shouts of victory-their eyes to the pomp and splendour of military spectacles-and their vanity has been flattered by the spoils of conquered nations collected in their capital. Destitute, then, of that moral principle which exults when the wrongs of the injured are redressed-and those domestic habits and attachments which are favourable to the cultivation of the arts of peace, how can it be expected that they should sit down at once, contented in the tranquillity, that has settled on the ruins of their independence-that throws them back upon themselves to brood upon their national degradation -and gives them leisure to contemplate the proud and giddy eminence from which they have fallen.

It must be expected, that after the cessation of such a tempest, a considerable agitation should long be felt, and it will be well, indeed, if the elements are not gathering strength for another storm. Perhaps, while the present monarch lives, no immediate danger need be apprehended. If he should adopt a liberal and enlightened policy-if he should unshackle himself from the fetters which a superstitious and a mercenary priesthood are striving, but too successfully, to rivet on him-if he should adopt efficient plans for the instruction of the rising gene. ration in the principles of the bible, which are those of morality, loyalty, and peace-and if God, by whom kings rule and princes decree justice, should spare him for a few years, to foster and to cherish these wise and salutary measures, the danger will be greatly lessened. By the influence of such an education, pure and upright principles will be instilled into the minds of the rising population-domestic virtues will be inculcated, and domestic habits formed the national character will become more benevolent and mild--and the people, recovered from the wild and feverish dreams of anarchy and conquest, will learn how much more conducive to their real interests and genuine happiness, is the calm and steady process of affairs, beneath the auspices of a legitimate and paternal prince, than the impetuous torrent that hurried them along, in wild and giddy transport, in the guilty schemes and boundless projects of a proud usurper.

With respect to the other branches of the family, except, perhaps, the amiable, but superstitious,

FEELING TOWARDS THE ENGLISH.

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Dutchess D'Angouleme, the public feeling is by no means as favourable. It is to be feared, therefore, that the death of the present monarch, should it happen before the public mind is more generally tranquillized and settled, would bring a dreadful day to France! I should not wish to be in Paris, at that period.-There is certainly no great love for the English in the breasts of our French neighbours-nor can it be expected that there should be. They tolerate us, however, for our money-they feel the circulation of our cash throughout their capital, and they are contented, for a season, to bury their deep-rooted animosity in their coffers, while they return us secret curses for the wealth we squander. Here and there, they show their spite in ridiculous caricatures, and theatrical exhibitions, with, now and then, a haughty look and a disdainful sneer-like the snarling of the mastiff at the hands that supply his food and rivet his chain!--But, if ever the mastiff should get loose, wo to the objects of his long-smothered and deeply-cherished hate. Much, indeed, of the cringing servility of the French manners is gone. The immense crowds of clerks and apprentices, and coarse and unmannerly clodhoppers, who, fired with the ambition of seeing foreign parts, and laughing at the French, have poured into the Boulevards, and jostled through the streets of Paris-swearing and blustering at the waiters in the cafès and restaurateurs-exclaiming against extortion and imposition in the shops of the tradesmen, and, not unfrequently, taking what they call French leave, with a sufficient token of remembrance in an unpaid reckoning left behind

have much sunk the English character in their estimation. Milord Anglais is a sound at present but seldom heard at least my ears have not been saluted with it--and our countrymen are unquestionably held in very different estimation now, to what they were before the revolution, when every Englishman that travelled on the continent, was received with the respect and honours of a prince.

With regard to the higher classes of society, this observation cannot apply. The superior sort of English move about in their carriages, and reside, chiefly, at their hotels--and if they mix in company at all, it is, of course, in that of their own rank.

One is very much struck, in walking through the streets and public places of Paris, with the number of men that meet you with orders of knighthood in their coat. The sentinels on duty are almost constantly in action, presenting arms to them as they pass along, for every one that wears the insignia receives this honour. But some of them are mean and contemptible enough in their appearance: and I have scarcely seen one, by a comparison with whom, any of our city knights, much as they are despised, might not deem himself degraded. Indeed, poverty and splendour-nobility and meanness, seem to be constant companions here, and, I am told, that a court day at the Thuileries, presents some curious illustrations of the combination. The noblesse of the old régime have been restored, many of them, to their titles, but alas! few to their estates. The lean kine that rose up from the troubled sea of anarchy and blood, have devoured them-and the unhappy

fugitives, on their return, receive again the empty title, and the proud insignia, but not the full purse, and the fair domain. Hence, many a peer may be observed, creeping down from an upper room in one of the dark and narrow lanes of this crowded city, and with his bag-wig and sword, making the best of his way through the muddy streets, to the audiencechamber of his prince. But is it not in the power of the monarch to relieve them by a comfortable place, or a more comfortable pension?-Alas! there are so many to be served-and there is so little to spare. On the one hand, the harpies of the church are so clamorous-on the other, the members of his own family-those that have not, are so eager to get, those that have, are so anxious to retain-the public coffers are so exhausted, and so immense an army is still to be maintained-while there are no resources now to be anticipated from the plunder of other nations, or the lawful spoils of war-that many, it is to be feared, have no brighter prospect, than to drag on the declining years of life in splendid misery-stealing, more like spectres than men, about the palaces their ancestors contributed to rear, and exiled from the mansions in which their better days of childhood and of youth were passed in gayety and splendour.

Your's, &c.