performance. We should imagine they are the Letters of a very young Lady; as such they can hardly fail to be amusing.

This lady was fortunate enough to obtain a ticket for the cathedral at Notre Dame, at the entrée of Louis XVIII. into Paris. We subjoin her description of the spectacle, as a specimen of the performance.

Soon after eleven, every one began to be anxious, and listening to every sound. About one o'clock, we heard the distant roll of cannon, which increased until the feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of expectation. Gradually the sound of drums, and the exclamations of the populace were heard, swelling, until the burst of applause, the cries of Vive, Vive le Roi! gave us the welcome intelligence that the procession was near. At a quarter past two it arrived. Never can I forget the deep impression it made on my heart! The sacredness of the place was no restraint; but every heart, every voice exclaimed as they entered, "Vive Vive le Roi!" The cathedral echoed with the bursts of applause and delight.-Many ladies threw themselves on their knees as the king passed, and all waved their handkerchiefs. When the "Domine salvum fac Regem" began, which was not only performed by the choristers, but joined by the whole congregation, it was more deep y affecting than I can describe. Uninterested as it might be supposed that I felt, wept like an infant; and entered as sincerely into the feelings of the moment as any Frenchman in Notre Dame.' pp. 51-52.

The Parisians are notorious for their want of sincerity, and I cannot pretend to defend them, yet never did I witness more genuine affection and joy, than in the circle where I sat in Notre Dame.

Their feelings were elevated almost to wildness and I confess, proud as I ever am of being born an English woman, I never felt more happy, more gratified on this account, than on that day. Every one was eagerly endeavouring to speak or look at the English, and when the King entered, many pressed forward and said to us, "We owe all these blessings to you," and could I be an English woman born, and not be delighted at such a moment! I would not have bartered my little simple hat for all the towering plumes or jewels in the world! I would not have exchanged my common English face, to have been the most celebrated belle on the Continent! Oh! how proud, how vain did I feel! yet not on my account, but for dear happy England!' pp. 54-55.

Art. VIII. A Letter from Paris, to George Petre, Esq. By the Reverend John Chetwode Eustace: Sixth Edition, 8vo. pp. 98. Price 4s. Mawman, 1814.

AND what says Mr. Eustace to Paris? The readers of his Classical Tour through Italy, will naturally expect to find, in a Letter from him, the characteristic marks of no superficial observer; and to obtain that sort of information which is elicited by reflection from the scenes and occurrences beheld alike by all travellers, and detailed, perhaps, in their

journals, but which only a philosophic mind can convert into real knowledge, by tracing their meaning and their bearings on the past and on the future. It is but a small portion of an object, which the eye actually perceives;-the mere outline and shading, are all that are received on the retina; its size, its distance, its latent or impalpable qualities, the species to which it is to be referred, the use to which it may be applied, all these are taken in apparently at a glance of observation, but they are in fact, perceived as the result of habits of experience and judgement; and to the mind, not previously exercised upon them, they would be imperceptible. Equally imperfect, as a representation of the thing, is the simple impression received by observation, of the circumstance, or scene, or person, that comes before us: its nature, its origin, its relations, which constitute the most essential part of its identity, are visible only to the contemplative mind. Mr. Eustace is no ordinary observer. He is rather liable to err in seeing, from the force of imagination, more than actually attaches to the reality, instead of overlooking any thing which comes before him. His Letter contains a series of observations rather than of matter of fact details; and it is to us so much the more interesting.

France, (he observes,) during the space of twenty-four years, has passed through all the gradations of revolution and rebellion, of civil and external war, of anarchy and despotism, of republican and military government. In the progress of revolutionary madness, a plan was formed the most daring and the most sacrilegious ever conceived, of annihilating all the institutions of thirty million of people; of suppressing all that had previously existed, and replacing the whole religious and civil system, by new and unauthorized whims and theories. Thus an attempt was made to strike out one fink in the chain of generations, to separate man from his God and his ancestors, to deprive him of all the lights of history, and all the benefits of experience, and to let him loose upon himself and his fellow creatures, untutored, undisciplined, without any guide but passion, any impulse but interest.' p. 1, 2.

This system of complete disorganization was carried on through every period and by every party that succeeded each other during the whole revolution; sometimes indeed with less publicity, but always with equal art and perseverance. To trace the effects of such a system operating for a considerable time on a country of such extent and population, is part of the occupation of a traveller, who looks beyond mere amusement, and endeavours to turn the excursion of the season to some permanent advantage. With this object in view, you will peruse the following observations.' p. 3. He thus characterizes the scenery of France.

The scenery of France, as that of the continent in general, is upon a larger scale than the scenery of England. The vales spread

wider; the hills form more extensive swells; there are no hedges or divisions; and the trees are either collected in clumps and masses, round the villages, or form large woods and forests that sweep over hills and dales, and sometimes shade the whole horizon with a dark border. The roads are generally lined either with fruit trees, or lofty elms, sometimes in double and triple rows. These rows, however, as there are no fences, do not obstruct the view; and the eye may generally range over an immense tract of plains and hills, of wood and tillage, and not unfrequently expatiate over an ocean of corn waving for miles around without interruption, and presenting no other variety than the tints which its own motion and the passing clouds cast over it. Cultivation, if we except the neighb urhood of Paris, seems to have been carried on every where with the utmost vigor; and not a spot of earth appears to have escaped the vigilance and the industry of the husbandman.* Roads wide, straight, generally paved in the middle, and always excellent, intersect this scene of fertility, and conduct the traveller from post to post with ease and rapidity.' p. 4, 5.

So far the picture is pleasing: but its colors will lose much of their brilliancy when I inform you, that the villages and towns are crowded with beggars, and that whenever you stop, your carriage is instantly surrounded with a groupe of objects the most miserable and disgusting. In a country where the poor and distressed are abandoned to the charity of individuals, the number of Aiendicants must be greater than in one where public provision is made for the suffering class: this is true; yet the number, who in France fall under that denomination, seems to me far beyond the usual proportion, especially as idleness in a country so well cultivated, can scarcely be the cause of such poverty; nor is it a mere pretence employed to extort donations, as the haggard looks, the nakedness, and oftentimes the ulcers and the deformities of the claimants too clearly prove its reality. In truth, there is great poverty in France; and however fertile the soil, a very small portion of its produce seems to fall to the lot of the common people.' p. 6, 7.

Mr. Eustace adds, that besides this poverty, there is also a great appearance of depopulation, which is especially evidenced by the ruinous state of most of the towns. The operations of agriculture are carried on by old men, women, and children; (there are supposed to be twelve women to one effective man!!) and few, indeed, he adds, of any other description, are to be seen, either in the fields, on the roads, or in public places.

*I speak here not of the real but of the apparent cultivation. I suspect that our English farmers would discover much bad husbandry; the breed of cattle, of sheep, of swine, is most strikingly bad: and the quantity of stock very small indeed. An observation which, however, I do not mean to extend beyond the country between Calais and Paris.' Eustace's Letter, p. 5, Note.

These exertions, premature in boys, and misplaced in women, must not only check the growth of the rising generation, but eventually degrade the sex, whose virtues are principally domestic, and whose charms shed their best influence around the fire-side, and give to home all its attractions. Add to this evil, another of equal magnitude; employment of children in their infancy, by calling them away from home, withdraws them from the control, and deprives them of the instructions and the example of their mothers instructions and example of all others the most important, because to them the infant owes the first ideas of decency, the first emotions of piety, the sentiments and the manners that raise the citizen above the savage, the Christian above the barbarian. To deprive children, therefore, of this early tuition, and to let them loose unrestrained in the fields, is to abandon them to the innate corruption of their own hearts, and to fit them beforehand for guilt and profligacy. Accordingly, vice and ferocity seem imprinted on the countenances of many of the rising generation; and have effaced those features of joy and good humour, and that merry grimace, which was supposed to characterize even the infants of ancient France.' p. 8, 9.

We refer our readers to the pamphlet itself for a description of Paris, given with Mr. Eustace's usual felicity of pencil, and conveying, by minute discriminating touches, the evident likeness of what he depicts. Above forty pages are occupied with architectural observations on the public edifices and recent improvements in the capital. But I have dwelt, perhaps, too long,' he says on the material part of Paris-you are impatient to hear something about the manner and character of the modern Parisians.' The following description of what they once were, will be recognised as nicely accurate.

Has the Revolution altered their ancient habits, or are they still the same good-humoured and lively people, proud of themselves, and indulgent to others, content with the amusement of the day, with little foresight or retrospect, polite and attentive, always desirous to please, and not unfrequently very pleasing?-Alas! no my friendso many deeds of blood, so many scenes of misery, so many years of military oppression, and such a familiarity with injustice and slaughter, must be supposed not only to have checked the native sprightliness of the race, but to have instilled into it a considerable portion of gloom and ferocity.' p. 60, 61.

In assigning the causes of this deterioration of character, he remarks,

Now what was the spirit of the French army under Napoleon; a spirit of atheism and vice almost incredible. The French soldier was taught to adore his emperor and to obey his officers, and this was his only creed, his only daty: beyond this he was abandoned to his own discretion, that is to his passions and to his ignorance; and encouraged to give every appetite its full play. Hence those scenes

of rapine, lust, and cruelty, exhibited in Spain and Portugal, and all the accumulated woes of unhappy Germany. I shall be told without doubt by the panegyrists of Napoleon, that soldiers of all nations are disorderly and vicious, and that the British army itself has left some memorials of its lawless spirit at Bajadoz and St. Sebastian. But if armies, formed of individuals, whose minds, in general at least, have been seasoned by christian instruction, and whose consciences, however denled, are yet alive to the distinction between right and wrong, and awake to the pangs of remorse, and the terrors of divine vengeance; if armies acting under officers of principle, honour, and humanity, and kept in constant check, not only by the authority of their superiors, but by the more powerful influence of the opinion and the estimation of their Christian countrymen, are yet so depraved and so mischievous, so apt to indulge foul passions, and to perpetrate deeds of cruelty, what must an army be, when free from all these wholesome restraints, when ignorant and regardless of virtue and of vice, without fear of God, without respect for themselves or their fellow-creatures, without one thought or one wish beyond the moment, and scoffing alike at the hopes and the terrors of immortality." p. 64, 65.

Such an army is a confederacy of banditti, a legion of demons, let loose upon the creation to disfigure and to destroy its beauties. Now, into this school of wickedness every youth in France was compelled to enter; and it is easy to imagine the deep, the indelible impression which the blasphemies, and the crimes of so many thousand fiends, must make upon the minds of boys of seventeen.' p. 65, 66.

We must make room for two more extracts. The first suggests many important reflections, in which we have not room to indulge. Mr. Eustace's usual accuracy leaves us little occasion to harbour any doubts in regard to the circumstances which he advances as facts.

It has been stated by some of the newspapers in England, that Protestantism has made considerable progress in France, and that Protestant churches are common both in Paris and in the country towns This statement is inaccurate. In Paris there are only three Protestant temples, for so they are called, and those are of no magnitude, nor can their congregations be numerous. In the northern provinces there are no Protestants; and even in the two southern provinces, where they were formerly most numerous, they do not, I believe, increase. The truth is, that the only religious contest now carried on in France, is not between Catholics and Protestants but between Christians and unbelievers. The Catholic religion has a peculiar hold upon the feelings of a Frenchman; it is interwoven with the whole history of the nation; it combines its influence with the glory of the French arms, with the charms of French literature, with the fame of French heroes, and with the virtues of Frenchr worthies. If a Frenchman is a Christian he must naturally be a Catholic; he considers the two appellations as synonimous, and