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I have long been of opinion, that the doctrines so much complained of among us as articles of French importation, are, in fact, no other than the common principles of our corrupted nature; and that we ourselves very largely partake of that apostacy from the faith of Christ, which we charge on the French nation. In the work, for example, of the philosophic Denon, I trace much the same opinions as those which have been censured in that of the gallant British officer. There is in the two books nearly the same mode of speaking of fate, destiny, and fortune; the same forgetful ness of the providence of a God; the same want of allusion to the justice of the cause for which war is undertaken; the same disposition to estimate character by military merit; the same mode of avoiding, when death is mentioned, the least reference to a future state.

Excuse me, Sir, if I speak with some warmth on this important subject. I detest the coldness of that philosophy, which teaches us to conceive of the man who is slain in battle, in the same manner as of the horse that may have fallen under him; which can contemplate our fellowcreatures as mere implements of destruction, forgetting the immortal soul that is in every soldier; which, instead of consoling itself, when the warrior dies, with the consideration that he has fallen in a good cause, and that he may, through the mercies of a Redeemer, be gone to his great reward, vapours about the human glory which has been acquired, and thinks to repay the sacrifice of life by two or three well turned expressions of impassioned sensibility.

Denon describes himself as weeping over the bodies of numberless Frenchmen which he saw cast ashore after the battle of Aboukir, and I do not mean to question the acuteness of his feelings on the occasion. His language is oratorical and striking, it is also affecting; but it appears to me remarkably to shew the emptiness of his philosophy and the vanity of human glory. It shall here be quoted.

"All these objects," says he, (meaning his companions in arms, whom be saw washed up by the tide) "were only a few months since youthful, and glowing with spirits, courage, and hope. They made a noble effort, and tore themselves, amidst Borrents of tears, from the embraces of

their mothers, sisters, and lovers, from
the feeble clings of their infants, and from
all by whom they were held dear. These,
anxious to hear of their triumph, prepare
for rejoicings, but the objects of their af-
fection grin ghastly on a foreign shore,
while their lifeless bodies are consumed by
a burning sand. Whose truncated skele-
ton is this which meets my view? Is it
thine, intrepid Thevenard? Unwilling to
submit to the amputation of thy fractured
limbs, thou only aspiredst to the honour of
dying at thy post. Another spectre suc-
ceeded; his head half buried in the sand
was covered by his arm. Dying in battle
hast thou wherewith to reproach thyself?
Thy mutilated limbs are witnesses of thy
bravery. Couldst thou then be more than
brave? Who is this next in an erect pos-
ture without any legs? His countenance
seems, for an instant, to stop the band of
death of whom he is already the victim.
It is, doubtless,' thee, courageous Dupeti-
tore! Receive the tribute of that enthu
siasm with which thou inspiredst me.—
Adieu, a tomb will not cover thy dust; but
the tears of the hero, who regrets thy fate,
are the indestructible trophy which will
enrol thy name in the temple of memory.
Who is this in the tranquil attitude of a
virtuous man, whose last action has been
dictated by wisdom and duty? He is still
observing the English fleet; and, like Ba-
yard, he wishes to expire with his face to-
wards the enemy: his hand is extended
towards a parcel of half rotten bones,
amongst which I, however, distinguished a
stretched out neck and extended arms.
Yes! They are thine, thou young hero,
amiable Casabianca! They can be none
other but thine. Death, inflexible death
has joined thee with thy father, which
union thou preferredst to life: sensible and
respectable youth! thou wert promised
glory by the hand of time, but thy filial
piety preferred death; receive then cur
lamentations as the price of thy virtue!"

Is this, then, all the recompence which these brave followers of Bonaparte obtained for their services? Melancholy reflection! Denon himself, even the gay Denon, evidently finds his mind rendered habitually sorrowful by the scenes of death which he witnesses; for death, in his view, is the termination of every hope. It puts a final period to existence. His very gaiety appears to me to be in some degree forced; for it was necessary to be light and gay, in order to avoid the pain which attended sober reflection.

Mr. Denon, notwithstanding all his praise of Bonaparte, and his ascriptions of glory to the French who fell in Egypt, seems occasionally to admit that they had no shadow of right to

set their foot on the Egyptian coast, and that they were the objects of the just execration of the inhabitants; for example, on approaching, in his little boat, the shores of Egypt, he remarks,

"Having trusted myself to the care of a Turkish boatman, I began to reflect that it was an act of madness on my part to have placed myself with a man, who, as rocil as all his countrymen, had good reason to hate the French, and to wish for an opportunity to avenge himself."

He also freely admits, in several parts of his work, that the treatment experienced by the natives was very often as cruel as the original landing was unjust; for example, he represents in the following pleasant language, the unceremonious manner in which the French applied to their own use the property, whether of enemies so called, or of acknowledged neutrals, which came within their reach.

"We seized," says he, "a convoy of eight hundred sheep, which I believe, without much difficulty, we persuaded ourselves belonged to the enemy; and in the evening it consoled our troops for the fatigues of the day. We arrived at Elsach, but too late to save the village from being pillaged. In a quarter of an hour there remained nothing at all in the houses, literally nothing. The Arab inhabitants had fled into the fields; we invited them back; they answered coldly, 'Why should we return to our houses? Are not the deserts now as good as our own homes? To this laconic answer we could make no reply." But I must quote one passage which will still more distinctly explain to the English reader the nature of that honourable warfare, in which the French soldiery were engaged.

"We (says Denon) who boasted that we were more just than the Mamelukes, committed daily and almost necessarily a

great number of iniquitous acts. The difficulty of distinguishing our enemies by their exterior form, was the cause of our continually putting to death innocent peasants; our soldiers, who were sent out on

who sought every opportunity to enrich themselves, being constantly obliged to abandon and forget their projects by the drum beating to arms. The situation of the inhabitants, for whose happiness and prosperity we had doubtless come to Egypt, approach they had been obliged to quit was no better. If through terror at our their houses, on their return, after we were withdrawn, they could find nothing but the mud which composed their walls; in short, of a combustible nature had been utensils, ploughs, doors, roofs, ever thing, burned for cooking; the earthen pots had

been broken, the corn consumed, and the

fowls and pigeons roasted and devoured: Nothing was to be found except the bodies of their dogs, killed in endeavouring to defend the property of their masters. If we resided for any time in a village, the unfortunate inhabitants, who had fled on our approach, were summoned to return under penalty of being treated as rebels who had joined the enemy, and of being they submitted to these threats, and came made to pay double contributions. When to pay the Miri, it sometimes happened that they were so numerous as to be mistaken for a body of men in arms, and their clubs considered as musquets; in which discharges from the riflemen and patroles, case they were always assailed by several before an explanation could take place. Those who were killed were interred, and the survivors remained friends with us until a proper opportunity offered for certain did not quit their dwellings, but paid the revenge. It is true, that provided they they saved themselves the trouble of a Miri and supplied the wants of the army, journey, and avoided the unpleasant abode of the desert. They then saw their provisions eaten with regularity, and might even have their share of them, preserving a seat at their doors, selling their eggs to the soldiers, and having a few of their wives and daughters" ill-treated and insulted.

This quotation needs no comment.

bly it is, that Bonaparte invaded a If it be true, as most unquestionaperfectly neutral and unoffending country, it follows that every Turkish subject put to death by the French must be considered as murdered, on account of his fighting in the defence reconnoitring parties, frequently mistook of his lawful sovereign; and the guilt for Meccans the poor merchants belonging of that murder lies at the door of Boto a caravan with whom they fell in; and naparte. before justice could be done them (even parts of the preceding extracts indiDenon himself, as some when the time and circumstances would cate, is not altogether insensible to allow of justice) two or three of them were shot, a part of their merchandize either this truth. Such, nevertheless, is his plundered or pilfered, and their camels idea of the glory attached to the proexchanged for ours which had been wound-fession of arms, exercised in whatever ed. The profit which resulted from these outrages fell invariably to the share of the bloodsuckers of the army, the commissaries, Copts, and interpreters; the soldiers,

cause, that his sensibility does not seem to prevent his triumphing in the idea of the immense multitude of Turks whom Bonaparte put to the

sword. Let the following passage be adduced in testimony of the justice of this observation.

"The enemy were attacked on all points and at every point were defeated. The cavalry charged the fugitives even into the sea, where they had thrown themselves, in the vain hope of reaching their fleet by swimming. The whole Turkish army amounted to twenty thousand. Six thousand were made prisoners, four thousand

were left on the field, and all the rest were

drowned. Never was a battle more imperiously necessary, never was a victory more complete! Thus did Bonaparte perform his promise to the brave troops whom he led from Syria. This was the last victory that he gained in Egypt. Inspired, no doubt, by his own good genius or by that of France, he felt that the Republic and all Europe demanded his return, to perform operations equally brilliant and still

more extensively useful."

I hope, Mr. Editor, that our countrymen in arms will take care that these "equally brilliant and still more extensively useful operations" shall not be "performed" in England; and that, by the blessing of a good Providence on their lawful cause, they will preserve our towns, our villages, our flocks of sheep, our wives, and our daughters, from those "necessary" severities which the Scavants of Bonaparte so feelingly lament, and which his military ruffians know so well how

to execute.

This writer, on whom I trust I have not been too severe, I understand is esteemed as a man of character and

feeling by his countrymen, possesses real science, and now enjoys a respectable situation under Bonaparte. These circumstances will only serve to point out more strongly the tendency of the common French principles; to shew that the greatest moral obliquity is perfectly consistent with true glory in the eye of an infidel philosophy; and to warn my countrymen against, not the crimes only, but the modes of thinking which are at this time current in the French

nation.

S. P.

To the Editor of the Christian Observer.

I AM One of those old fashioned Englisamen, who still retain their unphilosophical prejudices against the French nation and character; and I blushed, Sir, to see our public papers,

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during the late peace, crowded with paragraphs, describing the unrivalled glories of the Consular court, and the homage rendered to his Consular majesty by the British nobility! Being, however, anxious to learn the actual state of what Gallican legislators have termed regenerated France," I have perused, with no inconsiderable degree of curiosity, such productions of the press as profess to afford the desired information. The principal of these, in point of size and interest, is a thin quarto entitled "The Stranger in France," by John Carr, Esq. who dates his preface at Totness in Devonshire. The author is certainly an intelligent tourist, but at the same time too much, Sir, of a sentimentalist and cosmopolite either for such unenlightened people as myself, or, as I shrewdly guess, the Editor of the Christian Observer. I might also mention this gentleman's glowing partiality for Bonaparte*, a passion, which recent events may possibly have abated. Mr. Carr's work is, nevertheless, replete with information, and well worthy the attention of those who wish to discern the signs of the times," and have watched, with terror and surprise, the progress of a revolution founded on atheism, and cemented with blood.

A few detached extracts from The Stranger in France may, probably, not be unacceptable to your readers.

We entered the beautiful boulevards of Rouen about seven o'clock

in the evening. Upon our rapidly turning the corner of a street, as we entered the city, I suddenly found coach, horses, and all, in the aisle of an ancient Catholic Church. The gates were closed upon us; and in a moment, from the busy buzzing of the streets, we were translated into the silence of shattered tombs, and the gloom of cloisters: the only light which shone upon us issued through fragments of stained glass, and the apertures which were formerly filled with it. This Church, having devolv ed to the nation as its property, by force of a revolutionary decree, was sold for stables to one of the owners of the Rouen diligences. An old unsaleable cabriolet occupied the place of the altar, and the horses were very quietly eating their oats in the sacris ty!" p. 38.

See pp. 113, 116, &c.

"The Cathedral of Rouen is a grand and awful pile of Gothic architecture. During the revolution, this august edifice was converted into a sulphur and gunpowder manufactory; by which impious prostitution the pillars were defaced and broken, and the whole is blackened and dingy, The costly cenotaphs of white marble, enriched with valuable ornaments, containing the hearts of our Henry III. and Richard I. kings of England, which were formerly placed on each side of the grand altarpiece, were removed during the revolution." "I next visited the Church of St. Ouens*, which is not so large as the cathedral, but surpasses that, and every other sacred edifice I ever beheld, in point of elegance. This graceful pile has also had its share of suffering, during the reign of revolutionary barbarism. Its chaste and elegant pillars have been violated by the smoke of sulphur and wood, and in many places present to the eye chasms produced by massy forges, which were erected against them, for casting ball. The costly railing of brass, gilt, which half surrounded the altar, has been torn up and melted into cannon. The organs of all the Churches are broken and useless. They experienced this fate, in consequence of their having been considered as fanatical instruments during the time of terror." p. 46. "In Paris, the sabbath can only be considered as a day of dissipation to the lovers of gaiety, and a day of unusual profit to the man of trade. Here, it is true, upon particular festival days, considerable bodies of people are to be seen in the act of worship; but curiosity and the love of show assemble them together; if it was otherwise, their attendance would be more numerous and regular. The First Consul does not seem to possess much fashionable influence over the French in matters of religion; otherwise, as he has the credit of attending mass, with very pious punctuality, in his private chapel at Mal Maison, it might be rather expected that devotion would become a little more familiar to the people." p. 119. "The English convent, or as it is called, the convent of the Blue Nuns in the Rue de St. Victoire, is the only establish

* Described in the 285th page of your present volume, in the Tour communicated by Ponticus.

ment of the kind, which, throughout the Republic, has survived the revolution. Mrs. S, one of the sisterhood, led me to the chapel, where, when we entered, my surprise and abhorrence were equally excited. The windows were beaten through, the hangings were flapping in the wind, the altar was shattered in pieces and prostrate, the pavement was every where torn up, and the caves of the dead were still yawning upon us. From their solemn and hallowed depths, the mouldering relics of the departed had been raised by torch light, and heaped in frightful piles of unfinished decay against the walls, for the purpose of converting the lead, which contained these wretched fragments of mortality, into balls for the musketry of the revolution. The gar dens behind the chapel must have been once very pleasant, but they then had the appearance of a wilderness. Some of the nuns were reading upon shattered seats, under overgrown bowers; and others were walking in the melancholy shade of neglected avenues." p. 142.

The present system of French manners appears, from my author's description, to be founded on the pernicious maxim, that vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness. As an instance of this, we are informed, that an affectation of classical antiquity in dress, "the airiness of which to the eye of fancy," (the Tourist's fancy) "looked like the mist of incense, undulating over a display of beauty and symmetry," (p. 88) is the prevailing costume of the female fashionables of Paris. French virtue, however, made an heroic effort one evening in the Elysian Fieldst, and expelled from these campi nitentes no less a personage than Madame R, who "presented herself there in a dress which almost rivalled the robes of Paradise." p. 133. I leave it to the anatomists of the human, or rather French character, to determine the specific quality of that virtue, which, in the chosen haunts of profligacy, has thus its fits and starts of purity, and reddens with a capricious blush. And upon what principle does

+ Paris too, like the Virgilian Tartarus, has its Elysium! (See p. 205.) "locos lætos, et amœna vireta Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas." Æn. vi. 638.

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Such, Sir, have been the effects of an infidel revolution. The founders of that revolution, who, (to use Mr. Carr's words when speaking of their agent Robespierre) "like the revolting angel, appeared to have preferred the sceptre of hell and chaos, to order and social happiness, will

descend to posterity with no common attributes of distinction and pre-eminence. Their minds were fully suited to their labours, which, in their wide sphere of mischief, required more genius to direct them than was bestowed upon the worst of the ty rants of Rome; and a spirit of evil, which, with its broad circumference of guilt,' was calculated to darken the disk of their less expanded enormity."

BRITANNUS INCORRUPTUS.

MODERN CHARACTERS. No. VII.

CHARACTER OF EUSEBIĄ.
(Concluded from p. 351.)

IN some former papers I spoke of the education and of the religious principles of Eusebia, of her manner of interpreting scripture, and of her reasons for being a member of the Church of England. I shall now conclude my account of her by adding some farther particulars respecting her conduct, and in the course of my remarks shall again occasionally advert to the character both of Amanda and of Theodosia.

Great diversities of sentiment prevail among professed Christians on the subject of practice. Some have represented christianity as a religion consisting chiefly in austerities. Persons of a naturally harsh temper, of a narrow mind, and of a melancholy unsocial disposition, have inclined to these views of religion. There have been men of this class in almost all

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ages. We read in the Old Testament of those who "bowed down their head as a bulrush," and were willing to "fast and afflict their souls;" but, nevertheless, continued to oppress their fellow-creatures by exacting all their" accustomed "labours." In the time of Christ the Pharisees disfigured their faces; they were, in some things, scrupulous even to excess; they "tithed mint, and cummin, and anise," but neglected "justice, mercy, and truth." The Pa pists have largely partaken in the same error. They have obliged men abstain from meats, which God hath commanded to be received with thankfulness;" have forbidden the marriage of priests; and actuated party, as must be granted, by a pious spirit, have encouraged monastic institutions. Some of the Puritans imbibed a portion of the like spirit. They severely condemned the common vices of the world, but they did not guard, with sufficient care, against the different kinds of spiritual wickedness, against censoriousness and uncharitableness, against self-sufficiency and conceit.

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Theodosia mistakes on this side. Error, however, has various modifications and degrees. When I say that Theodosia is severe, I only mean that she is violent on the side of those strictnesses of her party, the practice of which is easy to a woman of her temper and in her circumstances; for I do not think her by any means inclined to all the austerities common in former days; for example, she does not, like the Pharisee, "fast oft." I doubt whether she may not a little too much indulge her appetite at table; and in no respect can she be said to torment her body for the good of her soul; for she is rather late in bed, and has many self-indulgent ways. Her strictness chiefly consists in absenting herself from places of fashionable amusement.

There is a second class of persons who, professing to avoid the error which has just been described, frequent without scruple the common scenes of dissipation. They consume their morning in ceremonious visits, give their evening to cards, or attend the ball, the play, and the masquerade; and perceiving that fashionable society has established a certain code of laws for the prevention of flagitious crimes, they assume that a pune

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