their progress than physical ones, because they not only shock the prejudices, but often the interest of the most influential class of society. If then, persons were once found so wedded to the Aristotelian theories of philosophy as to refuse, after the invention of the Telescope, to look through that instrument lest it might reveal to them the absurdities of their faith, is there any reason to be surprised that there should now exist in the world a class of valetudinary politicians, who reject, with impatient incredulity, any evidence, no matter how strong, of the advantages which the old nations of Europe are destined to derive from revolution? Nor would it be necessary if the fountain of the Clarion Apollo, existed in these modern times, to drink of its waters of inspiration in order to foretel those advantages; they have been admirably developed in England, and are now very powerfully exhibited in France, where the clouds of political darkness are beginning to break up; where

"The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow." Baltimore, 1822.

LETTER I.

Paris, Feb. 1st, 1820.

MY DEAR SIR,

I am very sensible of your kindness in requesting to know what changes of opinion on the causes and consequences of the French revolution, my short residence in this country may have occasioned As my present impressions, however, are the results of some observation and research, I must claim your permission in delivering them, to run over the train of reflection which produced them. You are aware that I came to France with an opinion very prevalent in foreign countries, that the French were demoralized by the revolution, and scarcely fit for a better constitution of government than the military despotism of Napoleon. Even the dreadful energy, or enthusiasm for glory which they displayed under his dominion, and which was in a great degree a momentum derived from the impulse of the revolution, I was inclined to consider a proof of the suitableness of that government only to their national character. But after a very diligent examination of their past history and of their actual condition, I must confess, I am not only at a loss to point out any period in which the complexion of the public and private morals of France was fairer than at present, but even one in which there existed half so many happy and unequivocal indications of improvement. Although it may be impossible therefore to study her history without having one's entertainment occasionally dashed with sadness, there is something delightfully consoling in the contemplation of the prospect which more propitious circumstances are opening before her.

Two sets of men have exerted their talents with unrelenting zeal to misrepresent the effects of the revolution on the French, character, and in doing so have concurred, from opposite motives, in attributing those crimes which sullied it, and which

were the natural offspring of despotism, to the spirit of liberty. The first class may be said to have been actuated by principle and the second by interest. The one deprecated the revolution from an impression that the old system of Europe not only offered the most beautiful "and august spectacle ever presented to the moral eye in the long series of ages that have furnished the matter of history;" but that all classes of society had acquired under that system the highest attainable degree of moral and intellectual improvement. The other dreaded the revolution because it sapped the foundations of their peculiar privileges and threatened to deprive all those, who had greater reason to boast of their birth than of their merit, of the exclusive enjoyment of hereditary wealth and honours. When the first signal of political reform' appeared in France, these two classes contained most of the rank or fashion, and much of the talent of Europe. Accordingly an outcry of ominous prediction broke out almost simultaneously in every country; passionate resentments were kindled by inflammatory accusations; all arts were essayed to defeat the plans of the reformers, and a dreadful scene of confusion ensued, which seemed for a time to verify the apprehensions of the Aristocrats. But of late, great political events have unfolded themselves in such rapid succession, and the temper of contemplating them has been so much sobered down by the general peace, that a feeling of hesitation and of doubt, as to the correctness of the anti-revolutionary theories, has begun to manifest itself very generally on the continent. The revolutionary flame too, which was supposed to have been extinguished at the restoration in France, has since broken out in the neighbouring countries, and continues every where to smoke and sparkle so vigourously under the rubbish that covers it, as to justify the belief that it will in the course of the present century consume the whole fabric of arbitrary power in this quarter of the world. In order to form a rational conjecture of the probable consequences of this change on the system and state of Europe, it is necessary to run back a little into past ages, and to examine in regular sequence the political chain of causes and effects which have influenced the moral condition of mankind, since the discovery of the art of printing. I shall therefore endeavour in the course of these letters, first to ascer V tain the origin of the spirit of political reform in France, and to

show how it advanced commensurately with the genius of civilization; and afterwards to ascertain the effects which the revolu tion it occasioned has produced on the French nation, so as to determine with tolerable precision what will result from similar changes in other countries.

The History of France, prior to the commencement of the sixteenth century, exhibits only a spectacle of barbarism alternately venting itself in acts of vexatious cruelty at home, and of sanguinary tyranny abroad. It offers but few recollections on which the heart can repose with complacency, or the mind meditate for instruction. The history of a people plunged in ignorance; the dupes of priests, and the slaves of nobles; of a government degenerating into despotism, and a religion sliding into superstition, presents pretty much the same sort of character in all countries. In the long catalogue of the earlier kings of France, how many bad hearts and depraved understandings-how many acts of injustice, rapine and cruelty start up in our memories, at the names of Charles, and Louis, and Philip. Prior, indeed, to the sixteenth century, the spirit of chivalry may have shed the first dawnings of civilization on the higher classes of society; but the great body of the people were essentially what Cæsar represents them to have been before the Christian era, a nation of fierce and cunning barbarians; faithless, full of vivacity, and easily elated by success; but equally incapable of magnanimity in triumph, and of fortitude in misfortune. In speaking of the French in the middle ages, M. De Voltaire observes, that "on remarquera seulement que la nation française etait plongée dans COWY l'ignorance sans excepter qui croient n'etre point peuple."

About the middle of the fifteenth century, almost at the same moment that the Eastern Empire expired under the sword of Mahomet 2d, and the art of printing was discovered in Germany, the English were expelled from France, and the monarchy restored to its ancient beauty. The consolidation of Spain by the junction of Castile and Arragon, and of England, by the union of the two roses, together with the discovery of America, followed soon after; so that an important revolution took place almost simultaneously in all the great states of Europe, and prepared the way for that progressive amelioration of morals and manners which constitutes the peculiar glory of modern times.

Charles VII. under whom France achieved her independence, was rather the spectator than the creator of the wonders of his reign, and owed more perhaps to the imbecile inertness of his rival, Henry VI. than to the inspirations of his own genius. The jealous, fiery, and imperious temper, and the profound dissimulation of his son and successor Louis XI. did so much to weaken the insurgent ability of the nobles, that although he left them rather confounded than subdued, he may be said to have laid the solid foundations of the French monarchy. His son, Charles VIII. whose reign closed the fifteenth century, secured still further the internal tranquillity of the kingdom by the acquisition of Brittany to the crown, but wasted its resources by a wild chivalrous expedition into Italy. As the links in the chain of causes, which have combined to produce the modern French character, become visible only during these reigns, I cannot pass over in silence a circumstance which, whilst it points out the furious tyranny that had previously prevailed, may aid the judgment in forming an idea of the social relations of this people in that age. I allude to the very touching picture of national distress presented to Charles VIII. by the states general assembled at Tours. They stated that the people were so oppressed by military and civil officers, as to be obliged to fly from their ruined houses, and subsist in the forests-that they were so impoverished by the seizure of their cattle and property, as to be forced to attach their wives or children to their ploughs-that some were obliged to work by night, and conceal themselves in the day, in order to avoid being seized and thrown into dungeons, and that others, reduced to the last extremity of despair, had been known to murder their families, and abscond into foreign countries for nourishment!

Charles unquestionably did something to abate the severity of these distresses; but it was the milder and more beneficent administration of Louis XII. that principally softened the rigour of regal tyranny in France, and exercised such a sweetening influence on her morals, as made her at his death the most beautiful inheritance in Europe. Good and valiant princes are so rare, that it is always painful to point out their errors, if these proceed from the folly of the head, or the corruption of the heart; but it can scarcely tarnish the glory of the short and illustrious