I HAD the honour to receive your letter of the 17th of November laſt, in which, with ſome exceptions, you are pleaſed to conſider favour⯑ably the letter I have written on the affairs of France. I ſhall ever accept any mark of appro⯑bation, attended with inſtruction, with more pleaſure than general and unqualified praiſes. The latter can ſerve only to flatter our vanity; the former, whilſt it encourages us to proceed, may help to improve us in our progreſs.

Some of the errors you point out to me in my printed letter are really ſuch. One only I find to be material. It is corrected in the edition which I take the liberty of ſending to you. As to the cavils which may be made on ſome part of my remarks, with regard to the gradations in your new conſtitution, you obſerve juſtly, [2] that they do not affect the ſubſtance of my ob⯑jections. Whether there be a round more or leſs in the ladder of repreſentation, by which your workmen aſcend from their parochial tyranny to their federal anarchy, when the whole ſcale is falſe, appears to me of little or no impor⯑tance.

I publiſhed my thoughts on that conſtitution, that my countrymen might be enabled to eſti⯑mate the wiſdom of the plans which were held out to their imitation. I conceived that the true character of thoſe plans would be beſt collected from the committee appointed to prepare them. I thought that the ſcheme of their building would be better comprehended in the deſign of the ar⯑chitects than in the execution of the maſons. It was not worth my reader's while to occupy him⯑ſelf with the alterations by which bungling prac⯑tice corrects abſurd theory. Such an inveſtiga⯑tion would be endleſs: becauſe every day's paſt experience of impracticability has driven, and every day's future experience will drive, thoſe men to new devices as exceptionable as the old; and which are no otherwiſe worthy of obſerva⯑tion than as they give a daily proof of the delu⯑ſion of their promiſes, and the falſehood of their profeſſions. Had I followed all theſe changes, [3] my letter would have been only a gazette of their wanderings; a journal of their march from error to error, through a dry dreary deſart, un⯑guided by the lights of heaven, or by the con⯑trivance which wiſdom has invented to ſupply their place.

I am unalterably perſuaded, that the attempt to oppreſs, degrade, impoveriſh, confiſcate, and extinguiſh the original gentlemen, and landed property of an whole nation, cannot be juſti⯑fied under any form it may aſſume. I am ſatiſ⯑fied beyond a doubt, that the project of turn⯑ing a great empire into a veſtry, or into a col⯑lection of veſtries, and of governing it in the ſpirit of a parochial adminiſtration, is ſenſeleſs and abſurd, in any mode, or with any qualifica⯑tions. I can never be convinced, that the ſcheme of placing the higheſt powers of the ſtate in churchwardens and conſtables, and other ſuch officers, guided by the prudence of litigious attornies and Jew brokers, and ſet in action by ſhameleſs women of the loweſt condition, by keepers of hotels, taverns, and brothels, by pert apprentices, by clerks, ſhop-boys, hair-dreſſers, fidlers, and dancers on the ſtage, (who, in ſuch a commonwealth as your's, will in future over⯑bear, as already they have overborne, the ſober in⯑capacity [4] of dull uninſtructed men, of uſeful but la⯑borious occupations) can never be put into any ſhape, that muſt not be both diſgraceful and deſtructive. The whole of this project, even if it were what it pretends to be, and was not in reality the dominion, through that diſgraceful medium, of half a dozen, or perhaps fewer, in⯑triguing politicians, is ſo mean, ſo low-minded, ſo ſtupid a contrivance, in point of wiſdom, as well as ſo perfectly deteſtable for its wickedneſs, that I muſt always conſider the correctives which might make it in any degree practicable, to be ſo many new objections to it.

In that wretched ſtate of things, ſome are afraid that the authors of your miſeries may be led to precipitate their further deſigns, by the hints they may receive from the very arguments uſed to expoſe the abſurdity of their ſyſtem, to mark the incongruity of its parts, and its inconſiſtency with their own principles; and that your maſters may be led to render their ſchemes more conſiſtent, by rendering them more miſchievous. Excuſe the liberty which your indulgence authoriſes me to take, when I obſerve to you, that ſuch apprehenſions as theſe would prevent all exertion of our faculties in this great cauſe of mankind.

[5]A raſh recourſe to force is not to be juſtified in a ſtate of real weakneſs. Such attempts bring on diſgrace; and, in their failure, diſcounte⯑nance and diſcourage more rational endeavours. But reaſon is to be hazarded, though it may be perverted by craft and ſophiſtry; for reaſon can ſuffer no loſs nor ſhame, nor can it impede any uſeful plan of future policy. In the unavoidable uncertainty, as to the effect, which attends on every meaſure of human prudence, nothing ſeems a ſurer antidote to the poiſon of fraud than its detection. It is true the fraud may be ſwal⯑lowed after this diſcovery; and perhaps even ſwallowed the more greedily for being a detected fraud. Men ſometimes make a point of honour not to be diſabuſed; and they had rather fall into an hundred errors than confeſs one. But after all,—when neither our principles nor our diſ⯑poſitions, nor, perhaps, our talents, enable us to encounter deluſion with deluſion, we muſt uſe our beſt reaſon to thoſe that ought to be reaſon⯑able creatures, and to take our chance for the event. We cannot act on theſe anomalies in the minds of men. I do not conceive that the perſons who have contrived theſe things can be made much the better or the worſe for any thing which can be ſaid to them. They [6] are reaſon proof. Here and there, ſome men, who were at firſt carried away by wild good intentions, may be led, when their firſt fervors are abated, to join in a ſober ſurvey of the ſchemes into which they have been deluded. To thoſe only (and I am ſorry to ſay they are not likely to make a large deſcription) we apply with any hope. I may ſpeak it upon an aſſurance almoſt approaching to abſolute know⯑ledge, that nothing has been done that has not been contrived from the beginning, even before the ſtates had aſſembled. Nulla nova mihi res inopinave ſurgit. They are the ſame men and the ſame deſigns that they were from the firſt, though varied in their appearance. It was the very ſame animal that at firſt crawled about in the ſhape of a caterpillar, that you now ſee riſe into the air, and expand his wings to the ſun.

Proceeding, therefore, as we are obliged to proceed, that is upon an hypotheſis that we addreſs rational men, can falſe political principles be more effectually expoſed, than by demonſtrating that they lead to conſequences directly inconſiſtent with and ſubverſive of the arrangements ground⯑ed upon them? If this kind of demonſtration is not permitted, the proceſs of reaſoning called [7] deductio ad abſurdum, which even the ſeverity of geometry does not reject, could not be employ⯑ed at all in legiſlative diſcuſſions. One of our ſtrongeſt weapons againſt folly acting with autho⯑rity, would be loſt.

You know, Sir, that even the virtuous efforts of you patriots to prevent the ruin of your coun⯑try have had this very turn given to them. It has been ſaid here, and in France too, that the reigning uſurpers would not have carried their tyranny to ſuch deſtructive lengths, if they had not been ſtimulated and provoked to it by the acrimony of your oppoſition. There is a dilem⯑ma to which every oppoſition to ſucceſsful ini⯑quity muſt, in the nature of things, be liable. If you lie ſtill, you are conſidered as an accomplice in the meaſures in which you ſilently acquieſce. If you reſiſt, you are accuſed of provoking ir⯑ritable power to new exceſſes. The conduct of a loſing party never appears right: at leaſt it never can poſſeſs the only infallible criterion of wiſdom to vulgar judgments—ſucceſs.

The indulgence of a ſort of undefined hope, an obſcure confidence, that ſome lurking re⯑mains of virtue, ſome degree of ſhame, might exiſt in the breaſts of the oppreſſors of France, has been among the cauſes which have helped to [8] bring on the common ruin of king and people. There is no ſafety for honeſt men, but by believ⯑ing all poſſible evil of evil men, and by acting with promptitude, deciſion, and ſteadineſs on that belief. I well remember, at every epocha of this wonderful hiſtory, in every ſcene of this tragic buſineſs, that when your ſophiſtic uſur⯑pers were laying down miſchievous principles, and even applying them in direct reſolutions, it was the faſhion to ſay, that they never intended to execute thoſe declarations in their rigour. This made men cautious in their oppoſition, and remiſs in early precaution. By holding out this fallacious hope, the impoſtors deluded ſome⯑times one deſcription of men, and ſometimes another, ſo that no means of reſiſtance were pro⯑vided againſt them, when they came to execute in cruelty what they had planned in fraud.

There are caſes in which a man would be aſhamed not to have been impoſed on. There is a confidence neceſſary to human intercourſe, and without which men are often more injured by their own ſuſpicions than they could be by the perfidy of others. But when men, whom we know to be wicked, impoſe upon us, we are ſomething worſe than dupes. When we know them, their fair pretences become new motives [9] for diſtruſt. There is one caſe, indeed, in which it would be madneſs not to give the fulleſt credit to the moſt deceitful of men, that is, when they make declarations of hoſtility againſt us.

I find, that ſome perſons entertain other hopes, which I confeſs appear more ſpecious than thoſe by which at firſt ſo many were deluded and diſ⯑armed. They flatter themſelves that the extreme miſery brought upon the people by their folly, will at laſt open the eyes of the multitude, if not of their leaders. Much the contrary, I fear. As to the leaders in this ſyſtem of impoſture,—you know, that cheats and deceivers never can repent. The fraudulent have no reſource but in fraud. They have no other goods in their magazine. They have no virtue or wiſdom in their minds, to which, in a diſappointment concerning the pro⯑fitable effects of fraud and cunning, they can retreat. The wearing out of an old, ſerves only to put them upon the invention of a new delu⯑ſion. Unluckily too, the credulity of dupes is as inexhauſtible as the invention of knaves. They never give people poſſeſſion; but they always keep them in hope. Your ſtate doctors do not ſo much as pretend that any good whatſoever has hitherto been derived from their operations, or that the public has proſpered in any one inſtance, under their management. The nation is ſick, [10] very ſick, by their medicines. But the charlatan tells them that what is paſt cannot be helped;—they have taken the draught, and they muſt wait its operation with patience;—that the firſt effects indeed are unpleaſant, but that the very ſick⯑neſs is a proof that the doſe is of no ſlug⯑giſh operation;—that ſickneſs is inevitable in all conſtitutional revolutions;—that the body muſt paſs through pain to eaſe;—that the preſcriber is not an empirick who proceeds by vulgar expe⯑rience, but one who grounds his practice on ^* the ſure rules of art, which cannot poſſibly fail. You have read Sir, the laſt Manifeſto, or Moun⯑tebank's bill, of the National Aſſembly. You ſee their preſumption in their promiſes is not leſſened by all their failures in the performance. Compare this laſt addreſs of the Aſſembly, and the preſent ſtate of your affairs with the early en⯑gagements of that body; engagements which, not content with declaring, they ſolemnly de⯑poſed upon oath, ſwearing luſtily that if they were ſupported they would make their country glorious and happy; and then judge whether thoſe who can write ſuch things, or thoſe who can bear [11] to read them, are of themſelves to be brought to any reaſonable courſe of thought or action.

As to the people at large, when once theſe miſerable ſheep have broken the fold, and have got themſelves looſe, not from the reſtraint, but from the protection of all the principles of na⯑tural authority, and legitimate ſubordination, they became the natural prey of impoſtors. When they have once taſted of the flattery of knaves, they can no longer endure reaſon, which appears to them only in the form of cenſure and reproach. Great diſtreſs has never hitherto taught, and whilſt the world laſts it never will teach, wiſe leſſons to any part of mankind. Men are as much blinded by the extremes of miſery as by the extremes of proſperity. Deſperate ſituations produce deſperate councils, and deſperate mea⯑ſures. The people of France, almoſt generally, have been taught to look for other reſources than thoſe which can be derived from order, frugality, and induſtry. They are generally armed; and they are made to expect much from the uſe of arms. Nihil non arrogant armis. Beſides this, the retrograde order of ſociety has ſomething flattering to the diſpoſitions of man⯑kind. The life of adventurers, gameſters, gip⯑ſies, beggars, and robbers, is not unpleaſant. It requires reſtraint to keep men from falling [12] into that habit. The ſhifting tides of fear and hope, the flight and purſuit, the peril and eſcape, the alternate famine and feaſt, of the ſavage and the thief, after a time, render all courſe of ſlow, ſteady, progreſſive, unvaried occupation, and the proſpect only of a limited mediocrity at the end of long labour, to the laſt degree tame, languid, and inſipid. Thoſe who have been once in⯑toxicated with power, and have derived any kind of emolument from it, even though but for one year, never can willingly abandon it. They may be diſtreſſed in the midſt of all their power; but they will never look to any thing but power for their relief. When did diſtreſs ever oblige a prince to abdicate his authority? And what effect will it have upon thoſe who are made to believe themſelves a people of princes?

The more active and ſtirring part of the lower orders having got government, and the diſtribution of plunder, into their hands, they will uſe its reſources in each municipality to form a body of adherents. Theſe rulers, and their adherents, will be ſtrong enough to overpower the diſcontents of thoſe who have not been able to aſſert their ſhare of the ſpoil. The unfor⯑tunate adventurers in the cheating lottery of plunder will probably be the leaſt ſagacious, or the moſt inactive and irreſolute of the gang. [13] If, on diſappointment, they ſhould dare to ſtir, they will ſoon be ſuppreſſed as rebels and muti⯑neers by their brother rebels. Scantily fed for a while, with the offal of plunder, they will drop off by degrees; they will be driven out of ſight, and out of thought; and they will be left to periſh obſcurely, like rats, in holes and corners.

From the forced repentance of invalid muti⯑neers and diſbanded thieves, you can hope for no reſource. Government itſelf, which ought to conſtrain the more bold and dextrous of theſe robbers, is their accomplice. Its arms, its treaſures, its all, are in their hands. Judi⯑cature, which above all things ſhould awe them, is their creature and their inſtrument. Nothing ſeems to me to render your internal ſituation more deſperate than this one circumſtance of the ſtate of your judicature. Many days are not paſt ſince we have ſeen a ſet of men brought forth by your rulers for a moſt critical function. Your rulers brought forth a ſet of men, ſteaming from the ſweat and drudgery, and all black with the ſmoak and foot of the forge of confiſcation and robbery—ardentis maſſae fuligine lippos, a ſet of men brought forth from the trade of ham⯑mering arms of proof, offenſive and defenſive, [14] in aid of the enterprizes, and for the ſubſequent protection of houſebreakers, murderers, traitors, and malefactors; men, who had their minds ſea⯑ſoned with theories perfectly conformable to their practice, and who had always laughed at poſ⯑ſeſſion and preſcription, and defied all the fundamental maxims of juriſprudence. To the horror and ſtupefaction of all the honeſt part of this nation, and indeed of all nations who are ſpectators, we have ſeen, on the credit of thoſe very practices and principles, and to carry them further into effect, theſe very men placed on the ſacred ſeat of juſtice in the capital city of your late kingdom. We ſee, that in future, you are to be deſtroyed with more form and re⯑gularity. This is not peace; it is only the in⯑troduction of a ſort of diſcipline in their hoſtility. Their tyranny is complete, in their juſtice; and their lanthorn is not half ſo dreadful as their court.

One would think that out of common de⯑cency they would have given you men who had not been in the habit of trampling upon law and juſtice in the aſſembly, neutral men, or men apparently neutral, for judges, who are to diſpoſe of your lives and fortunes.

Cromwell, when he attempted to legalize his power, and to ſettle his conquered country in a [15] ſtate of order, did not look for his diſpenſers of juſtice in the inſtruments of his uſurpation. Quite the contrary. He ſought out with great ſollicitude and ſelection, and even from the party moſt oppoſite to his deſigns, men of weight, and decorum of character; men unſtained with the violence of the times, and with hands not fouled with confiſcation and ſacrilege: for he choſe an Hales for his chief juſtice, though he abſolutely refuſed to take his civic oaths, or to make any acknowledgment whatſoever of the legality of his government. Cromwell told this great lawyer, that ſince he did not approve his title, all he required of him was, to adminiſ⯑ter, in a manner agreeable to his pure ſentiments and unſpotted character, that juſtice without which human ſociety cannot ſubſiſt: that it was not his particular government, but civil order itſelf, which as a judge he wiſhed him to ſupport. Cromwell knew how to ſeparate the inſtitutions expedient to his uſurpation from the adminiſtra⯑tion of the public juſtice of his country. For Cromwell was a man in whom ambition had not wholly ſuppreſſed, but only ſuſpended the ſenti⯑ments of religion, and the love (as far it could conſiſt with his deſigns) of fair and honourable reputation. Accordingly, we are indebted to this act of his for the preſervation of our laws, [16] which ſome ſenſeleſs aſſertors of the rights of men were then on the point of entirely eraſing, as relicks of feudality and barbariſm. Beſides, he gave in the appointment of that man, to that age, and to all poſterity, the moſt brilliant ex⯑ample of ſincere and fervent piety, exact juſtice, and profound juriſprudence^*. But theſe are not the things in which your philoſophic uſurpers chooſe to follow Cromwell.

One would think, that after an honeſt and ne⯑ceſſary Revolution (if they had a mind that theirs ſhould paſs for ſuch) your maſters would have imitated the virtuous policy of thoſe who have been at the head of revolutions of that glorious character. Burnet tells us, that no⯑thing tended to reconcile the Engliſh nation to the government of King William ſo much as the care he took to fill the vacant biſhoprics with men who had attracted the public eſteem by their learning, eloquence, and piety, and above all, by their known moderation in the ſtate. With you, in your purifying Revolu⯑tion, whom have you choſen to regulate the church? Mr. Mirabeau is a fine ſpeaker—and a fine writer,—and a fine—a very fine man;—but really nothing gave more ſurprize to every [17] body here, than to find him the ſupreme head of your eccleſiaſtical affairs. The reſt is of courſe. Your Aſſembly addreſſes a manifeſto to France in which they tell the people, with an inſulting irony, that they have brought the church to its primitive condition. In one reſpect their de⯑claration is undoubtedly true; for they have brought it to a ſtate of poverty and perſecution. What can be hoped for after this? Have not men (if they deſerve the name) under this new hope and head of the church, been made bi⯑ſhops, for no other merit than having acted as inſtruments of atheiſts; for no other merit than having thrown the children's bread to dogs; and in order to gorge the whole gang of uſurers; pedlars, and itinerant Jew-diſcounters at the corners of ſtreets, ſtarved the poor of their Chriſtian flocks, and their own brother paſtors? Have not ſuch men been made biſhops to ad⯑miniſter in temples, in which (if the patriotic donations have not already ſtripped them of their veſſels) the churchwardens ought to take ſecurity for the altar plate, and not ſo much as to truſt the chalice in their ſacrilegious hands, ſo long as Jews have aſſignats on eccleſiaſtic plunder, to exchange for the ſilver ſtolen from churches?

[18]I am told, that the very ſons of ſuch Jew-jobbers have been made biſhops; perſons not to be ſuſpected of any ſort of Chriſtian ſuperſtition, fit colleagues to the holy prelate of Autun; and bred at the feet of that Gamaliel. We know who it was that drove the money-changers out of the temple. We ſee too who it is that brings them in again. We have in London very re⯑ſpectable perſons of the Jewiſh nation, whom we will keep: but we have of the ſame tribe others of a very different deſcription,—houſebreakers, and receivers of ſtolen goods, and forgers of paper currency, more than we can conveniently hang. Theſe we can ſpare to France, to fill the new epiſcopal thrones: men well verſed in ſwear⯑ing; and who will ſcruple no oath which the fer⯑tile genius of any of your reformers can de⯑viſe.

In matters ſo ridiculous, it is hard to be grave. On a view of their conſequences it is almoſt inhuman to treat them lightly. To what a ſtate of ſavage, ſtupid, ſervile inſenſibility muſt your people be reduced, who can endure ſuch pro⯑ceedings in their church, their ſtate, and their judicature, even for a moment! But the de⯑luded people of France are like other madmen, who, to a miracle, bear hunger, and thirſt, and [19] cold, and confinement, and the chains and laſh of their keeper, whilſt all the while they ſup⯑port themſelves by the imagination that they are generals of armies, prophets, kings, and em⯑perors. As to a change of mind in theſe men, who conſider infamy as honour, degradation as preferment, bondage to low tyrants as liberty, and the practical ſcorn and contumely of their upſtart maſters, as marks of reſpect and homage, I look upon it as abſolutely impracticable. Theſe madmen, to be cured, muſt firſt, like other madmen, be ſubdued. The ſound part of the community, which I believe to be large, but by no means the largeſt part, has been taken by ſurprize, and is disjointed, terrified, and diſ⯑armed. That ſound part of the community muſt firſt be put into a better condition, before it can do any thing in the way of deliberation or perſuaſion. This muſt be an act of power, as well as of wiſdom; of power, in the hands of firm, determined patriots, who can diſtinguiſh the miſled from traitors, who will regulate the ſtate (if ſuch ſhould be their fortune) with a diſcriminating, manly, and provident mer⯑cy; men who are purged of the ſurfeit and indigeſtion of ſyſtems, if ever they have been admitted into the habit of their minds; men who will lay the foundation of a real re⯑form, [20] in effacing every veſtige of that philoſo⯑phy which pretends to have made diſcoveries in the terra auſtralis of morality; men who will fix the ſtate upon theſe baſes of morals and po⯑litics, which are our old, and immemorial, and, I hope, will be our eternal poſſeſſion.

This power, to ſuch men, muſt come from without. It may be given to you in pity; for ſurely no nation ever called ſo pathetically on the compaſſion of all its neighbours. It may be given by thoſe neighbours on motives of ſafety to themſelves. Never ſhall I think any country in Europe to be ſecure, whilſt there is eſtabliſhed, in the very centre of it, a ſtate (if ſo it may be called) founded on principles of anarchy, and which is, in reality, a college of armed fanatics, for the propagation of the principles of aſſaſ⯑ſination, robbery, rebellion, fraud, faction, op⯑preſſion, and impiety. Mahomet, hid, as for a time he was, in the bottom of the ſands of Arabia, had his ſpirit and character been diſcovered, would have been an object of precaution to pro⯑vident minds. What if he had erected his fa⯑natic ſtandard for the deſtruction of the Chriſ⯑tian religion in luce Aſiae, in the midſt of the then noon-day ſplendour of the then civilized world? The princes of Europe, in the beginning of this century, did well not to ſuffer the monarchy of [21] France to ſwallow up the others. They ought not now, in my opinion, to ſuffer all the mo⯑narchies and commonwealths to be ſwallowed up in the gulph of this polluted anarchy. They may be tolerably ſafe at preſent, becauſe the comparative power of France for the pre⯑ſent is little. But times and occaſions make dangers. Inteſtine troubles may ariſe in other countries. There is a power always on the watch, qualified and diſpoſed to profit of every conjuncture, to eſtabliſh its own principles and modes of miſchief, wherever it can hope for ſucceſs. What mercy would theſe uſurpers have on other ſovereigns, and on other nations, when they treat their own king with ſuch unparalleled indignities, and ſo cruelly oppreſs their own countrymen?

The king of Pruſſia, in concurrence with us, nobly interfered to ſave Holland from confuſion. The ſame power, joined with the reſcued Hol⯑land and with Great Britain, has put the em⯑peror in the poſſeſſion of the Netherlands; and ſecured, under that prince, from all arbitrary in⯑novation, the antient, hereditary conſtitution of thoſe provinces. The chamber of Wetzlar has reſtored the Biſhop of Leige, unjuſtly diſpoſſeſſ⯑ed by the rebellion of his ſubjects. The king [22] of Pruſſia was bound by no treaty, nor alli⯑ance of blood, nor had any particular reaſons for thinking the emperor's government would be more miſchievous or more oppreſſive to hu⯑man nature than that of the Turk; yet on mere motives of policy that prince has in⯑terpoſed with the threat of all his force, to ſnatch even the Turk from the pounces of the imperial eagle. If this is done in favour of a barbarous nation, with a barbarous neglect of police, fatal to the human race, in favour of a nation, by principle in eternal enmity with the Chriſtian name; a nation which will not ſo much as give the ſalutation of peace (Salam) to any of us; nor make any pact with any Chriſtian nation beyond a truce;—if this be done in favour of the Turk, ſhall it be thought either impolitic, or unjuſt, or un⯑charitable, to employ the ſame power, to reſcue from captivity a virtuous monarch (by the courteſy of Europe conſidered as Moſt Chriſtian) who, after an intermiſſion of 175 years, had called together the ſtates of his kingdom, to re⯑form abuſes, to eſtabliſh a free government, and to ſtrengthen his throne; a monarch, who at the very outſet, without force, even without ſollicitation, had given to his people ſuch a [23] Magna Charta of privileges, as never was given by any king to any ſubjects?—Is it to be tamely borne by kings who love their ſubjects, or by ſubjects who love their kings, that this monarch, in the midſt of theſe gracious acts, was inſo⯑lently and cruelly torn from his palace, by a gang of traitors and aſſaſſins, and kept in cloſe priſon to this very hour, whilſt his royal name and ſacred character were uſed for the total ruin of thoſe whom the laws had appointed him to protect?

The only offence of this unhappy monarch towards his people, was his attempt, under a monarchy, to give them a free conſtitution. For this, by an example hitherto unheard of in the world, he has been depoſed. It might well diſgrace ſovereigns to take part with a depoſed tyrant. It would ſuppoſe in them a vitious ſym⯑pathy. But not to make a common cauſe with a juſt prince, dethroned by traitors and rebels, who proſcribe, plunder, confiſcate, and in every way cruelly oppreſs their fellow citizens, in my opinion is to forget what is due to the honour, and to the rights of all virtuous and legal government.

I think the king of France to be as much an object both of policy and compaſſion as the [24] Grand Seignor or his ſtates. I do not conceive, that the total annihilation of France (if that could be effected) is a deſirable thing to Europe; or even to this its rival nation. Provident patriots did not think it good for Rome, that even Carthage ſhould be quite deſtroyed; and he was a wiſe Greek, wiſe for the general Grecian intereſts, as well as a brave Lacedemo⯑nian enemy, and generous conqueror, who did not wiſh, by the deſtruction of Athens, to pluck out the other eye of Greece.

However, Sir, what I have here ſaid of the interference of foreign princes is only the opinion of a private individual; who is neither the re⯑preſentative of any ſtate, nor the organ of any party; but who thinks himſelf bound to expreſs his own ſentiments with freedom and energy in a criſis of ſuch importance to the whole human race.

I am not apprehenſive that in ſpeaking freely on the ſubject of the King and Queen of France, I ſhall accelerate (as you fear) the execution of traiterous deſigns againſt them. You are of opinion, Sir, that the uſurpers may, and that they will, gladly lay hold of any pretext to throw off the very name of a king;—aſſuredly I do not wiſh ill to your king; but better for him not to [25] live (he does not reign) than to live the paſſive inſtrument of tyranny and uſurpation.

I certainly meant to ſhew, to the beſt of my power, that the exiſtence of ſuch an exe⯑cutive officer, in ſuch a ſyſtem of republic as theirs, is abſurd in the higheſt degree. But in demonſtrating this—to them, at leaſt, I can have made no diſcovery. They only held out the royal name to catch thoſe Frenchmen to whom the name of king is ſtill venerable. They calcu⯑late the duration of that ſentiment; and when they find it nearly expiring, they will not trouble themſelves with excuſes for extinguiſhing the name, as they have the thing. They uſed it as a ſort of navel-ſtring to nouriſh their unnatural offspring from the bowels of royalty itſelf. Now that the monſter can purvey for its own ſubſiſt⯑ence, it will only carry the mark about it, as a token of its having torn the womb it came from. Tyrants ſeldom want pretexts. Fraud is the ready miniſter of injuſtice; and whilſt the currency of falſe pretence and ſophiſtic reaſoning was expedient to their deſigns, they were under no neceſſity of drawing upon me to furniſh them with that coin. But pretexts and ſophiſms have had their day; and have done their work. The [26] uſurpation no longer ſeeks plauſibility. It truſts to power.

Nothing that I can ſay, or that you can ſay, will haſten them by a ſingle hour, in the execu⯑tion of a deſign which they have long ſince en⯑tertained. In ſpite of their ſolemn declarations, their ſoothing addreſſes, and the multiplied oaths which they have taken, and forced others to take, they will aſſaſſinate the king when his name will no longer be neceſſary to their deſigns; but not a moment ſooner. They will probably firſt aſſaſſinate the queen, whenever the renewed menace of ſuch an aſſaſſination loſes its effect upon the anxious mind of an affectionate huſband. At preſent, the advantage which they derive from the daily threats againſt her life, is her only ſecurity for preſerving it. They keep their ſo⯑vereign alive for the purpoſe of exhibiting him, like ſome wild beaſt at a fair; as if they had a Bajazet in a cage. They chooſe to make monar⯑chy contemptible by expoſing it to deriſion, in the perſon of the moſt benevolent of their kings.

In my opinion, their inſolence appears more odious even than their crimes. The horrors of the 5th and 6th of October were leſs deteſtable than the feſtival of the 14th of July. There are [27] ſituations (God forbid I ſhould think that of the 5th and 6th of October one of them) in which the beſt men may be confounded with the worſt, and in the darkneſs and confuſion, in the preſs and medley of ſuch extremities, it may not be ſo eaſy to diſcriminate the one from the other. The neceſſities created, even by ill deſigns, have their excuſe. They may be forgotten by others, when the guilty themſelves do not chooſe to cheriſh their recollection, and by ruminating their offences, nouriſh themſelves through the example of their paſt, to the perpetration of future crimes. It is in the relaxation of ſecurity, it is in the expanſion of proſperity, it is in the hour of dilatation of the heart, and of its ſoften⯑ing into feſtivity and pleaſure, that the real character of men is diſcerned. If there is any good in them, it appears then or never. Even wolves and tygers, when gorged with their prey, are ſafe and gentle. It is at ſuch times that noble minds give all the reins to their good-na⯑ture. They indulge their genius even to intem⯑perance, in kindneſs to the afflicted, in generoſity to the conquered; forbearing inſults, forgiving injuries, overpaying benefits. Full of dignity themſelves, they reſpect dignity in all, but they feel it ſacred in the unhappy. But it is then, and [28] baſking in the ſunſhine of unmerited fortune, that low, ſordid, ungenerous, and reptile ſouls ſwell with their hoarded poiſons; it is then that they diſplay their odious ſplendor, and ſhine out in the full luſtre of their native villainy and baſe⯑neſs. It is in that ſeaſon that no man of ſenſe or honour can be miſtaken for one of them. It was in ſuch a ſeaſon, for them of political eaſe and ſecurity, tho' their people were but juſt emerged from actual famine, and were ready to be plunged into a gulph of penury and beggary, that your philoſophic lords choſe, with an oſtentatious pomp and luxury, to feaſt an in⯑credible number of idle and thoughtleſs people collected with art and pains, from all quarters of the world. They conſtructed a vaſt amphi⯑theatre in which they raiſed a ſpecies of ^* pillory. On this pillory they ſet their lawful king and queen, with an inſulting figure over their heads. There they expoſed theſe objects of pity and re⯑ſpect to all good minds, to the deriſion of an unthinking and unprincipled multitude, dege⯑nerated even from the verſatile tenderneſs which marks the irregular and capricious feelings of the populace. That their cruel inſult might have [29] nothing wanting to complete it, they choſe the anniverſary of that day in which they expoſed the life of their prince to the moſt imminent dangers, and the vileſt indignities, juſt following the inſtant when the aſſaſſins, whom they had hired without owning, firſt openly took up arms againſt their king, corrupted his guards, ſurprized his caſtle, butchered ſome of the poor invalids of his garriſon, murdered his governor, and, like wild beaſts, tore to pieces the chief magiſtrate of his capital city, on account of his fidelity to his ſervice.

Till the juſtice of the world is awakened, ſuch as theſe will go on, without admonition, and without provocation, to every extremity. Thoſe who have made the exhibition of the 14th of July, are capable of every evil. They do not commit crimes for their deſigns; but they form deſigns that they may commit crimes. It is not their neceſſity, but their nature, that impels them. They are modern philoſophers, which when you ſay of them, you expreſs every thing that is ig⯑noble, ſavage, and hard-hearted.

Beſides the ſure tokens which are given by the ſpirit of their particular arrangements, there are ſome characteriſtic lineaments in the general policy of your tumultuous deſpo⯑tiſm, [30] which, in my opinion, indicate beyond a doubt that no revolution whatſoever in their diſ⯑poſition is to be expected. I mean their ſcheme of educating the riſing generation, the principles which they intend to inſtil, and the ſympathies which they wiſh to form in the mind, at the ſeaſon in which it is the moſt ſuſceptible. In⯑ſtead of forming their young minds to that do⯑cility, to that modeſty, which are the grace and charm of youth, to an admiration of famous ex⯑amples, and to an averſeneſs to any thing which approaches to pride, petulance, and ſelf-conceit, (diſtempers to which that time of life is of it⯑ſelf ſufficiently liable) they artificially foment theſe evil diſpoſitions, and even form them into ſprings of action. Nothing ought to be more weighed than the nature of books recommended by public authority. So recommended, they ſoon form the character of the age. Uncertain indeed is the efficacy, limited indeed is the ex⯑tent of a virtuous inſtitution. But if education takes in vice as any part of its ſyſtem, there is no doubt but that it will operate with abundant energy, and to an extent indefinite. The ma⯑giſtrate, who in favour of freedom thinks him⯑ſelf obliged to ſuffer all ſorts of publications, is under a ſtricter duty than any other, well to [31] conſider what ſort of writers he ſhall authorize; and ſhall recommend, by the ſtrongeſt of all ſanctions, that is, by public honours and rewards. He ought to be cautious how he recommends authors of mixed or ambiguous morality. He ought to be fearful of putting into the hands of youth writers indulgent to the peculiarities of their own complexion, leſt they ſhould teach the humours of the profeſſor, rather than the prin⯑ciples of the ſcience. He ought, above all, to be cautious in recommending any writer who has carried marks of a deranged underſtanding; for where there is no ſound reaſon, there can be no real virtue; and madneſs is ever vitious and malignant.

The National Aſſembly proceeds on maxims the very reverſe of theſe. The Aſſembly re⯑commends to its youth a ſtudy of the bold expe⯑rimenters in morality. Every body knows that there is a great diſpute amongſt their leaders, which of them is the beſt reſemblance to Rouſ⯑ſeau. In truth, they all reſemble him. His blood they transfuſe into their minds and into their man⯑ners. Him they ſtudy; him they meditate; him they turn over in all the time they can ſpare from the laborious miſchief of the day, or the de⯑bauches of the night. Rouſſeau their canon of [32] holy writ; in his life he is their canon of Polycle⯑tus; he is their ſtandard figure of perfection. To this man and this writer, as a pattern to authors and to Frenchmen, the founderies of Paris are now running for ſtatues, with the kettles of their poor and the bells of their churches. If an author had written like a great genius on geometry, though his practical and ſpeculative morals were vitious in the extreme, it might ap⯑pear that in voting the ſtatue, they honoured only the geometrician. But Rouſſeau is a mo⯑raliſt, or he is nothing. It is impoſſible, there⯑fore, putting the circumſtances together, to miſ⯑take their deſign in chooſing the author, with whom they have begun to recommend a courſe of ſtudies.

Their great problem is to find a ſubſtitute for all the principles which hitherto have been employed to regulate the human will and action. They find diſpoſitions in the mind, of ſuch force and quality, as may fit men, far better than the old morality, for the purpoſes of ſuch a ſtate as theirs, and may go much further in ſupport⯑ing their power, and deſtroying their enemies. They have therefore choſen a ſelfiſh, flattering, ſeductive, oſtentatious vice, in the place of plain duty. True humility, the baſis of the Chriſtian [33] ſyſtem, is the low, but deep and firm founda⯑tion of all real virtue. But this, as very pain⯑ful in the practice, and little impoſing in the appearance, they have totally diſcarded. Their object is to merge all natural and all ſocial ſen⯑timent in inordinate vanity. In a ſmall degree, and converſant in little things, vanity is of little moment. When full grown, it is the worſt of vices, and the occaſional mimick of them all. It makes the whole man falſe. It leaves no⯑thing ſincere or truſt-worthy about him. His beſt qualities are poiſoned and perverted by it, and operate exactly as the worſt. When your lords had many writers as immoral as the ob⯑ject of their ſtatue (ſuch as Voltaire and others) they choſe Rouſſeau; becauſe in him that pecu⯑liar vice which they wiſhed to erect into a ruling virtue, was by far the moſt conſpicuous.

We have had the great profeſſor and founder of the philoſophy of vanity in England. As I had good opportunities of knowing his proceedings almoſt from day to day, he left no doubt in my mind, that he entertained no principle either to influence his heart, or to guide his underſtand⯑ing, but vanity. With this vice he was poſſeſſed to a degree little ſhort of madneſs. It is from the ſame deranged eccentric vanity, that this, the [34] inſane Socrates of the National Aſſembly, was impelled to publiſh a mad Confeſſion of his mad faults, and to attempt a new ſort of glory, from bringing hardily to light the obſcure and vulgar vices which we know may ſometimes be blended with eminent talents. He has not obſerved on the nature of vanity, who does not know that it is omnivorous; that it has no choice in its food; that it is fond to talk even of its own faults and vices, as what will excite ſurprize and draw attention, and what will paſs at worſt for openneſs and candour. It was this abuſe and per⯑verſion, which vanity makes even of hypocriſy, which has driven Rouſſeau to record a life not ſo much as chequered, or ſpotted here and there, with virtues, or even diſtinguiſhed by a ſingle good action. It is ſuch a life he chooſes to offer to the attention of mankind. It is ſuch a life, that with a wild defiance, he flings in the face of his Creator, whom he acknowledges only to brave. Your Aſſembly, knowing how much more powerful example is found than precept, has choſen this man (by his own ac⯑count without a ſingle virtue) for a model. To him they erect their firſt ſtatue. From him they commence their ſeries of honours and diſ⯑tinctions.

It is that new-invented virtue which your [35] maſters canonize, that led their moral hero con⯑ſtantly to exhauſt the ſtores of his powerful rhetoric in the expreſſion of univerſal benevo⯑lence; whilſt his heart was incapable of har⯑bouring one ſpark of common parental affection. Benevolence to the whole ſpecies, and want of feeling for every individual with whom the profeſſors come in contact, form the character of the new philoſophy. Setting up for an unſocial independence, this their hero of vanity refuſes the juſt price of common labour, as well as the tribute which opulence owes to genius, and which, when paid, honours the giver and the receiver; and then he pleads his beggary as an excuſe for his crimes. He melts with tender⯑neſs for thoſe only who touch him by the re⯑moteſt relation, and then, without one natural pang, caſts away, as a ſort of offal and excre⯑ment, the ſpawn of his diſguſtful amours, and ſends his children to the hoſpital of foundlings. The bear loves, licks, and forms her young; but bears are not philoſophers. Vanity, however, finds its account in reverſing the train of our na⯑tural feelings. Thouſands admire the ſentimental writer; the affectionate father is hardly known in his pariſh.

Under this philoſophic inſtructor in the ethics [36] of vanity, they have attempted in France a re⯑generation of the moral conſtitution of man. Stateſmen, like your preſent rulers, exiſt by every thing which is ſpurious, fictitious, and falſe; by every thing which takes the man from his houſe, and ſets him on a ſtage, which makes him up an artificial creature, with painted theatric ſentiments, fit to be ſeen by the glare of candle⯑light, and formed to be contemplated at a due diſtance. Vanity is too apt to prevail in all of us, and in all countries. To the improvement of Frenchmen it ſeems not abſolutely neceſſary that it ſhould be taught upon ſyſtem. But it is plain that the preſent rebellion was its legitimate offspring, and it is piouſly fed by that rebellion, with a daily dole.

If the ſyſtem of inſtitution, recommended by the Aſſembly, is falſe and theatric, it is becauſe their ſyſtem of government is of the ſame cha⯑racter. To that, and to that alone, it is ſtrictly conformable. To underſtand either, we muſt connect the morals with the politics of the le⯑giſlators. Your practical philoſophers, ſyſte⯑matic in every thing, have wiſely began at the ſource. As the relation between parents and children is the firſt among the elements of vul⯑gar, [37] natural morality^*, they erect ſtatues to a wild, ferocious, low-minded, hard-hearted father, of fine general feelings; a lover of his kind, but a hater of his kindred. Your maſters reject the duties of this vulgar relation, as contrary to li⯑berty; as not founded in the ſocial compact; and not binding according to the rights of men; becauſe the relation is not, of courſe, the reſult of free election; never ſo on the ſide of the chil⯑dren, not always on the part of the parents.

The next relation which they regenerate by their ſtatues to Rouſſeau, is that which is next in ſanctity to that of a father. They differ from thoſe old-faſhioned thinkers, who con⯑ſidered pedagogues as ſober and venerable cha⯑racters, and allied to the parental. The mora⯑liſts of the dark times, preceptorem ſancti voluere parentis eſſe loco. In this age of light, they teach the people, that preceptors ought to be in the place of gallants. They ſyſtematically corrupt a very corruptible race, (for ſome time a growing nuiſance amongſt you) a ſet of pert, petulant, [38] literators, to whom, inſtead of their proper, but ſe⯑vere, unoſtentatious duties, they aſſign the brilliant part of men of wit and pleaſure, of gay, young, military ſparks, and danglers at toilets. They call on the riſing generation in France, to take a ſympathy in the adventures and fortunes, and they endeavour to engage their ſenſibility on the ſide of pedagogues, who betray the moſt awful family truſts, and vitiate their female pu⯑pils. They teach the people, that the de⯑bauchers of virgins, almoſt in the arms of their parents, may be ſafe inmates in their houſe, and even fit guardians of the honour of thoſe huſ⯑bands who ſucceed legally to the office which the young literators had pre-occupied, without aſking leave of law or conſcience.

Thus they diſpoſe of all the family relations of parents and children, huſbands and wives. Through this ſame inſtructor, by whom they corrupt the morals, they corrupt the taſte. Taſte and elegance, though they are reckoned only among the ſmaller and ſecondary morals, yet are of no mean importance in the regulation of life. A moral taſte is not of force to turn vice into virtue; but it recommends virtue with ſomething like the blandiſhments of pleaſure; and it infinitely abates the evils of vice, [39] Rouſſeau, a writer of great force and vivacity, is totally deſtitute of taſte in any ſenſe of the word. Your maſters, who are his ſcholars, con⯑ceive that all refinement has an ariſtocratic cha⯑racter. The laſt age had exhauſted all its pow⯑ers in giving a grace and nobleneſs to our na⯑tural appetites, and in raiſing them into higher claſs and order than ſeemed juſtly to belong to them. Through Rouſſeau, your maſters are reſolved to deſtroy theſe ariſtocratic prejudices. The paſſion called love, has ſo general and powerful an influence; it makes ſo much of the entertainment, and indeed ſo much the occupa⯑tion of that part of life which decides the cha⯑racter for ever, that the mode and the principles on which it engages the ſympathy, and ſtrikes the imagination, become of the utmoſt import⯑ance to the morals and manners of every ſociety. Your rulers were well aware of this; and in their ſyſtem of changing your manners to ac⯑commodate them to their politics, they found nothing ſo convenient as Rouſſeau. Through him they teach men to love after the faſhion of philoſophers; that is, they teach to men, to Frenchmen, a love without gallantry; a love without any thing of that fine flower of youth⯑fulneſs and gentility, which places it, if not [40] among the virtues, among the ornaments of life. Inſtead of this paſſion, naturally allied to grace and manners, they infuſe into their youth an unfaſhioned, indelicate, ſour, gloomy, fero⯑cious medley of pedantry and lewdneſs; of me⯑taphyſical ſpeculations, blended with the coarſeſt ſenſuality. Such is the general morality of the paſſions to be found in their famous philoſopher, in his famous work of philoſophic gallantry, the Noucelle Eloiſe.

When the fence from the gallantry of pre⯑ceptors is broken down, and your families are no longer protected by decent pride, and ſalutary domeſtic prejudice, there is but one ſtep to a frightful corruption. The rulers in the National Aſſembly are in good hopes that the females of the firſt families in France may become an eaſy prey to dancing-maſters, fidlers, pattern-draw⯑ers, friſeurs, and valets de chambre, and other active citizens of that deſcription, who having the entry into your houſes, and being half-do⯑meſticated by their ſituation, may be blended with you by regular and irregular relations. By a law, they have made theſe people your equals. By adopting the ſentiments of Rouſſeau, they have made them your rivals. In this man⯑ner, theſe great legiſlators complete their plan [41] of levelling, and eſtabliſh their rights of men on a ſure foundation.

I am certain that the writings of Rouſſeau lead directly to this kind of ſhameful evil. I have often wondered how he comes to be ſo much more admired and followed on the conti⯑tinent than he is here. Perhaps a ſecret charm in the language may have its ſhare in this extra⯑ordinary difference. We certainly perceive, and to a degree we feel, in this writer, a ſtyle glowing, animated, enthuſiaſtic; at the ſame time that we find it lax, diffuſe, and not in the beſt taſte of compoſition; all the members of the piece being pretty equally laboured and ex⯑panded, without any due ſelection or ſubordi⯑nation of parts. He is generally too much on the ſtretch, and his manner has little variety. We cannot reſt upon any of his works, though they contain obſervations which occaſionally diſ⯑cover a conſiderable inſight into human nature. But his doctrines, on the whole, are ſo inappli⯑cable to real life and manners, that we never dream of drawing from them any rule for laws or conduct, or for fortifying or illuſtrating any thing by a reference to his opinions. They have with us the fate of older paradoxes,

[42]Perhaps bold ſpeculations are more acceptable, becauſe more new to you than to us, who have been long ſince ſatiated with them. We con⯑tinue, as in the two laſt ages, to read more gene⯑rally, than I believe is now done on the continent, the authors of ſound antiquity. Theſe occupy our minds. They give us another taſte and turn; and will not ſuffer us to be more than tranſiently amuſed with paradoxical morality. It is not that I conſider this writer as wholly deſtitute of juſt notions. Amongſt his irregula⯑rities, it muſt be reckoned, that he is ſometimes moral, and moral in a very ſublime ſtrain. But the general ſpirit and tendency of his works is miſchie⯑vous; and the more miſchievous for this mix⯑ture: For, perfect depravity of ſentiment is not reconcileable with eloquence; and the mind (though corruptible, not complexionally vitious) would reject and throw off with diſguſt, a leſſon of pure and unmixed evil. Theſe writers make even virtue a pander to vice.

However, I leſs conſider the author, than the ſyſtem of the Aſſembly in perverting morality, through his means. This I confeſs makes me nearly deſpair of any attempt upon the minds of their followers, through reaſon, honour, or conſcience. The great object of your tyrants, [43] is to deſtroy the gentlemen of France; and for that purpoſe they deſtroy, to the beſt of their power, all the effect of thoſe relations which may render conſiderable men powerful or even ſafe. To deſtroy that order, they vitiate the whole community. That no means may exiſt of confederating againſt their tyranny, by the falſe ſympathies of this Nouvelle Eloiſe, they endeavour to ſubvert thoſe principles of do⯑meſtic truſt and fidelity, which form the diſci⯑pline of ſocial life. They propagate principles by which every ſervant may think it, if not his duty, at leaſt his privilege, to betray his maſter. By theſe principles, every conſiderable father of a family loſes the ſanctuary of his houſe. Debet ſua cuique domus eſſe perfugium tu tiſſimum, ſays the law, which your legiſlators have taken ſo much pains firſt to decry, then to repeal. They de⯑ſtroy all the tranquillity and ſecurity of domeſtic life; turning the aſylum of the houſe into a gloomy priſon, where the father of the family muſt drag out a miſerable exiſtence, endangered in proportion to the apparent means of his ſafety; where he is worſe than ſolitary in a croud of domeſtics, and more apprehenſive from his ſervants and inmates, than from the hired blood-thirſty [44] mob without doors, who are ready to pull him to the lanterne.

It is thus, and for the ſame end, that they endeavour to deſtroy that tribunal of conſcience which exiſts independently of edicts and decrees. Your deſpots govern by terror. They know, that he who fears God fears nothing elſe; and therefore they eradicate from the mind, through their Voltaire, their Helvetius, and the reſt of that infamous gang, that only ſort of fear which generates true courage. Their object is, that their fellow citizens may be under the dominion of no awe, but that of their committee of re⯑ſearch, and of their lanterne.

Having found the advantage of aſſaſſination in the formation of their tyranny, it is the grand reſource in which they truſt for the ſupport of it. Whoever oppoſes any of their proceedings, or is ſuſpected of a deſign to oppoſe them, is to anſwer it with his life, or the lives of his wife and chil⯑dren. This infamous, cruel, and cowardly practice of aſſaſſination, they have the impudence to call merciful. They boaſt that they have operated their uſurpation rather by terror than by force; and that a few ſeaſonable murders have prevented the bloodſhed of many battles. There is no [45] doubt they will extend theſe acts of mercy when⯑ever they ſee an occaſion. Dreadful, however, will be the conſequences of their attempt to avoid the evils of war, by the merciful policy of murder. If, by effectual puniſhment of the guilty, they do not wholly diſavow that practice, and the threat of it too, as any part of their policy; if ever a foreign prince enters into France, he muſt enter it as into a country of aſſaſſins. The mode of civilized war will not be practiſed: nor are the French who act on the preſent ſyſtem entitled to expect it. They, whoſe known policy it is to aſſaſſinate every citizen whom they ſuſpect to be diſcontented by their tyranny, and to corrupt the ſoldiery of every open enemy, muſt look for no modified hoſtility. All war, which is not battle, will be military execution. This will beget acts of retaliation from you; and every retaliation will beget a new revenge. The hell-hounds of war, on all ſides, will be uncoupled and unmuzzled. The new ſchool of murder and barbariſm, ſet up in Paris, having deſtroyed (ſo far as in it lies) all the other manners and principles which have hitherto civilized Europe, will deſtroy alſo the mode of civilized war, which, more than any thing elſe, has diſtinguiſhed the Chriſtian world. [46] Such is the approaching golden age, which the ^*Virgil of your Aſſembly has ſung to his Pollios!

In ſuch a ſituation of your political, your civil, and your ſocial morals and manners, how can you be hurt by the freedom of any diſcuſ⯑ſion? Caution is for thoſe who have ſomething to loſe. What I have ſaid to juſtify myſelf in not apprehending any ill conſequence from a free diſcuſſion of the abſurd conſequences which flow from the relation of the lawful King to the uſurped conſtitution, will apply to my vindica⯑tion with regard to the expoſure I have made of the ſtate of the army under the ſame ſophiſtic uſurpation. The preſent tyrants want no argu⯑ments to prove, what they muſt daily feel, that no good army can exiſt on their principles. They are in no want of a monitor to ſuggeſt to them the policy of getting rid of the army, as well as of the King, whenever they are in a condition to effect that meaſure. What hopes may be entertained of your army for the reſtora⯑tion of your liberties, I know not. At preſent, yielding obedience to the pretended orders of a King, who, they are perfectly appriſed, has no will, and who never can iſſue a mandate, which is not intended, in the firſt operation, or [47] in its certain conſequences, for his own deſtruc⯑tion, your army ſeems to make one of the prin⯑cipal links in the chain of that ſervitude of anar⯑chy, by which a cruel uſurpation holds an undone people at once in bondage and confuſion.

You aſk me what I think of the conduct of General Monk. How this affects your caſe, I cannot tell. I doubt whether you poſſeſs, in France, any perſons of a capacity to ſerve the French monarchy in the ſame manner in which Monk ſerved the monarchy of England. The army which Monk commanded had been form⯑ed by Cromwell to a perfection of diſcipline which perhaps has never been exceeded. That army was beſides of an excellent compoſition. The ſoldiers were men of extraordinary piety after their mode, of the greateſt regularity, and even ſeverity of manners; brave in the field, but modeſt, quiet and orderly, in their quarters; men who abhorred the idea of aſſaſ⯑ſinating their officers or any other perſons; and who (they at leaſt who ſerved in this iſland) were firmly attached to thoſe generals, by whom they were well treated and ably com⯑manded. Such an army, once gained, might be depended on. I doubt much, if you could [48] now find a Monk, whether a Monk could find, in France, ſuch an army.

I certainly agree with you, that in all proba⯑bility we owe our whole conſtitution to the reſtoration of the Engliſh monarchy. The ſtate of things from which Monk relieved England, was however by no means, at that time, ſo de⯑plorable in any ſenſe, as yours is now, and un⯑der the preſent ſway is likely to continue. Cromwell had delivered England from anarchy. His government, though military and deſpotic, had been regular and orderly. Under the iron, and under the yoke, the ſoil yielded its produce. After his death, the evils of anar⯑chy were rather dreaded than felt. Every man was yet ſafe in his houſe and in his property. But it muſt be admitted, that Monk freed this nation from great and juſt apprehenſions both of future anarchy and of probable tyranny in ſome form or other. The king whom he gave us was indeed the very reverſe of your benignant ſo⯑vereign, who in reward for his attempt to beſtow liberty on his ſubjects, languiſhes himſelf in pri⯑ſon. The perſon given to us by Monk was a man without any ſenſe of his duty as a prince; without any regard to the dignity of his crown; [49] without any love to his people; diſſolute, falſe, venal, and deſtitute of any poſitive good qua⯑lity whatſoever, except a pleaſant temper, and the manners of a gentleman. Yet the reſtora⯑tion of our monarchy, even in the perſon of ſuch a prince, was every thing to us; for without monarchy in England, moſt certainly we never can enjoy either peace or liberty. It was under this conviction that the very firſt regular ſtep which we took on the Revolution of 1688, was to fill the throne with a real king; and even before it could be done in due form, the chiefs of the nation did not attempt themſelves to exer⯑ciſe authority ſo much as by interim. They in⯑ſtantly requeſted the Prince of Orange to take the government on himſelf. The throne was not effectively vacant for an hour.

Your fundamental laws, as well as ours, ſup⯑poſe a monarchy. Your zeal, Sir, in ſtanding ſo firmly for it as you have done, ſhews not only a ſacred reſpect for your honour and fidelity, but a well-informed attachment to the real wel⯑fare and true liberties of your country. I have expreſſed myſelf ill, if I have given you cauſe to imagine, that I prefer the conduct of thoſe who have retired from this warfare to your beha⯑viour, who, with a courage and conſtancy almoſt [50] ſupernatural, have ſtruggled againſt tyranny, and kept the field to the laſt. You ſee I have cor⯑rected the exceptionable part in the edition which I now ſend you. Indeed in ſuch terrible extremities as yours, it is not eaſy to ſay, in a political view, what line of conduct is the moſt adviſeable. In that ſtate of things, I cannot bring myſelf ſeverely to condemn perſons who are wholly unable to bear ſo much as the ſight of thoſe men in the throne of legiſlation, who are only fit to be the objects of criminal juſtice. If fatigue, if diſguſt, if unſurmountable nauſea, drive them away from ſuch ſpectacles, ubi miſe⯑riarum pars non mimima erat, videre et aſpici, I cannot blame them. He muſt have an heart of adamant who could hear a ſet of traitors puffed up with unexpected and undeſerved power, ob⯑tained by an ignoble, unmanly, and perfidious rebellion, treating their honeſt fellow citizens as rebels, becauſe they refuſed to bind themſelves through their conſcience, againſt the dictates of conſcience itſelf, and had declined to ſwear an active compliance with their own ruin. How could a man of common fleſh and blood endure, that thoſe, who but the other day had ſkulked unobſerved in their antichambers, ſcornfully in⯑ſulting men, illuſtrious in their rank, ſacred in [51] their function, and venerable in their character, now in decline of life, and ſwimming on the wrecks of their fortunes, that thoſe miſcreants ſhould tell ſuch men ſcornfully and outrageouſly, after they had robbed them of all their property, that it is more than enough if they are allowed what will keep them from abſolute famine, and that for the reſt, they muſt let their grey hairs fall over the plough, to make out a ſcanty ſub⯑ſiſtence with the labour of their hands! Laſt, and worſt, who could endure to hear this un⯑natural, inſolent, and ſavage deſpotiſm called liberty? If, at this diſtance, ſitting quietly by my fire, I cannot read their decrees and ſpeeches without indignation, ſhall I condemn thoſe who have fled from the actual ſight and hearing of all theſe horrors? No, no! mankind has no title to demand that we ſhould be ſlaves to their guilt and inſolence; or that we ſhould ſerve them in ſpite of themſelves. Minds, ſore with the poignant ſenſe of inſulted virtue, filled with high diſdain againſt the pride of triumphant baſeneſs, often have it not in their choice to ſtand their ground. Their complexion (which might defy the rack) cannot go through ſuch a trial. Something very high muſt fortify men to that proof. But when I am driven to compariſon, [52] ſurely I cannot heſitate for a moment to prefer to ſuch men as are common, thoſe heroes, who in the midſt of deſpair perform all the taſks of hope; who ſubdue their feelings to their duties; who, in the cauſe of humanity, liberty, and ho⯑nour, abandon all the ſatisfactions of life, and every day incur a freſh riſque of life itſelf. Do me the juſtice to believe that I never can pre⯑fer any faſtidious virtue (virtue ſtill) to the un⯑conquered perſeverance, to the affectionate pa⯑tience of thoſe who watch day and night, by the bed-ſide of their delirious country, who, for their love to that dear and venerable name, bear all the diſguſts, and all the buffets they re⯑ceive from their frantic mother. Sir, I do look on you as true martyrs; I regard you as ſoldiers who act far more in the ſpirit of our Comman⯑der in chief, and the Captain of our ſalvation, than thoſe who have left you; though I muſt firſt bolt myſelf very thoroughly, and know that I could do better, before I can cenſure them. I aſſure you, Sir, that, when I conſider your unconquerable fidelity to your ſovereign, and to your country, the courage, fortitude, magnanimity, and long-ſuffering of yourſelf, and the Abbé Maury, and of Mr. Cazales, and of many worthy perſons of all orders, in your [53] Aſſembly, I forget, in the luſtre of theſe great qualities, that on your ſide has been diſplayed an eloquence ſo rational, manly, and convinc⯑ing, that no time or country, perhaps, has ever excelled. But your talents diſappear in my ad⯑miration of your virtues.

As to Mr. Mounier and Mr. Lally, I have al⯑ways wiſhed to do juſtice to their parts, and their eloquence, and the general purity of their motives. Indeed I ſaw very well from the beginning, the miſchiefs which, with all theſe talents and good intentions, they would do to their country, through their confidence in ſyſtems. But their diſtem⯑per was an epidemic malady. They were young and inexperienced; and when will young and inexperienced men learn caution and diſtruſt of themſelves? And when will men, young or old, if ſuddenly raiſed to far higher power than that which abſolute kings and emperors commonly enjoy, learn any thing like moderation? Mo⯑narchs in general reſpect ſome ſettled order of things, which they find it difficult to move from its baſis, and to which they are obliged to con⯑form, even when there are no poſitive limita⯑tions to their power. Theſe gentlemen con⯑ceived that they were choſen to new model the ſtate, and even the whole order of civil ſociety [54] itſelf. No wonder that they entertained dange⯑rous viſions, when the King's miniſters, truſtees for the ſacred depoſit of the monarchy, were ſo infected with the contagion of project and ſyſ⯑tem (I can hardly think it black premeditated treachery) that they publicly advertiſed for plans and ſchemes of government, as if they were to provide for the rebuilding of an hoſpital that had been burned down. What was this, but to un⯑chain the fury of raſh ſpeculation amongſt a people, of itſelf but too apt to be guided by a heated imagination, and a wild ſpirit of adven⯑ture?

The fault of Mr. Mounier and Mr. Lally was very great; but it was very general. If thoſe gentlemen ſtopped when they came to the brink of the gulph of guilt and public miſery, that yawned before them in the abyſs of theſe dark and bottomleſs ſpeculations, I forgive their firſt error; in that they were involved with many. Their repentance was their own.

They who conſider Mounier and Lally as de⯑ſerters, muſt regard themſelves as murderers and as traitors: for from what elſe than murder and treaſon did they deſert? For my part, I honour them for not having carried miſtake into crime. If, indeed, I thought that they were not cured [55] by experience; that they were not made ſenſible that thoſe who would reform a ſtate, ought to aſſume ſome actual conſtitution of government which is to be reformed; if they are not at length ſatisfied that it is become a neceſſary preli⯑minary to liberty in France, to commence by the re-eſtabliſhment of order and property of every kind, through the re-eſtabliſhment of their mo⯑narchy, of every one of the old habitual diſtinc⯑tions and claſſes of the ſtate; if they do not ſee that theſe claſſes are not to be confounded in order to be afterwards revived and ſeparated; if they are not convinced that the ſcheme of parochial and club governments takes up the ſtate at the wrong end, and is a low and ſenſeleſs contri⯑vance (as making the ſole conſtitution of a ſu⯑preme power) I ſhould then allow, that their early raſhneſs ought to be remembered to the laſt moment of their lives.

You gently reprehend me, becauſe in holding out the picture of your diſaſtrous ſituation, I ſuggeſt no plan for a remedy. Alas! Sir, the propoſition of plans, without an attention to cir⯑cumſtances, is the very cauſe of all your miſ⯑fortunes; and never ſhall you find me aggrava⯑ting, by the infuſion of any ſpeculations of mine, the evils which have ariſen from the ſpeculations [56] of others. Your malady, in this reſpect, is a diſorder of repletion. You ſeem to think, that my keeping back my poor ideas, may ariſe from an indifference to the welfare of a foreign, and ſometimes an hoſtile nation. No, Sir, I faith⯑fully aſſure you, my reſerve is owing to no ſuch cauſes. Is this letter, ſwelled to a ſecond book, a mark of national antipathy, or even of na⯑tional indifference? I ſhould act altogether in the ſpirit of the ſame caution, in a ſimilar ſtate of our own domeſtic affairs. If I were to venture any advice, in any caſe, it would be my beſt. The ſacred duty of an adviſer (one of the moſt inviolable that exiſts) would lead me, towards a real enemy, to act as if my beſt friend were the party concerned. But I dare not riſque a ſpeculation with no better view of your affairs than at preſent I can command; my caution is not from diſregard, but from ſollicitude for your welfare. It is ſuggeſted ſolely from my dread of becoming the author of inconſiderate counſel.

It is not, that as this ſtrange ſeries of actions has paſſed before my eyes, I have not indulged my mind in a great variety of political ſpecula⯑tions concerning them. But compelled by no ſuch poſitive duty as does not permit me to evade an opinion; called upon by no ruling [57] power, without authority as I am, and without confidence, I ſhould ill anſwer my own ideas of what would become myſelf, or what would be ſerviceable to others, if I were, as a volunteer, to obtrude any project of mine upon a nation, to whoſe circumſtances I could not be ſure it might be applicable.

Permit me to ſay, that if I were as confident, as I ought to be diffident in my own looſe, ge⯑neral ideas, I never ſhould venture to broach them, if but at twenty leagues diſtance from the centre of your affairs. I muſt ſee with my own eyes, I muſt, in a manner, touch with my own hands, not only the fixed, but the momentary circumſtances, before I could venture to ſuggeſt any political project whatſoever. I muſt know the power and diſpoſition to accept, to execute, to perſevere. I muſt ſee all the aids, and all the obſtacles. I muſt ſee the means of correcting the plan, where correctives would be wanted. I muſt ſee the things; I muſt ſee the men. Without a concurrence and adaptation of theſe to the deſign, the very beſt ſpeculative projects might become not only uſeleſs, but miſchievous. Plans muſt be made for men. We cannot think of making men, and binding nature to our deſigns. People at a diſtance muſt judge ill of men. [58] They do not always anſwer to their reputation when you approach them. Nay, the perſpec⯑tive varies, and ſhews them quite otherwiſe than you thought them. At a diſtance, if we judge uncertainly of men, we muſt judge worſe of opportunities, which continually vary their ſhapes and colours, and paſs away like clouds. The Eaſtern politicians never do any thing without the opinion of the aſtrologers on the fortunate moment. They are in the right, if they can do no better; for the opinion of fortune is ſome⯑thing towards commanding it. Stateſmen of a more judicious preſcience, look for the fortunate moment too; but they ſeek it, not in the con⯑junctions and oppoſitions of planets, but in the conjunctions and oppoſitions of men and things. Theſe form their almanack.

To illuſtrate the miſchief of a wiſe plan, with⯑out any attention to means and circumſtances, it is not neceſſary to go farther than to your recent hiſtory. In the condition in which France was found three years ago, what better ſyſtem could be propoſed, what leſs, even ſavouring of wild theory, what fitter to provide for all the exigen⯑cies, whilſt it reformed all the abuſes of go⯑vernment, than the convention of the States General? I think nothing better could be ima⯑gined. [59] But I have cenſured, and do ſtill pre⯑ſume to cenſure your Parliament of Paris, for not having ſuggeſted to the King, that this pro⯑per meaſure was of all meaſures the moſt cri⯑tical and arduous; one in which the utmoſt cir⯑cumſpection, and the greateſt number of pre⯑cautions, were the moſt abſolutely neceſſary. The very confeſſion that a government wants either amendment in its conformation, or relief to great diſtreſs, cauſes it to loſe half its reputa⯑tion, and as great a proportion of its ſtrength as depends upon that reputation. It was there⯑fore neceſſary, firſt to put government out of danger, whilſt at its own deſire it ſuffered ſuch an operation, as a general reform at the hands of thoſe who were much more filled with a ſenſe of the diſeaſe, than provided with rational means of a cure.

It may be ſaid, that this care, and theſe pre⯑cautions, were more naturally the duty of the King's miniſters, than that of the Parliament. They were ſo; but every man muſt anſwer in his eſtimation for the advice he gives, when he puts the conduct of his meaſure into hands who he does not know will execute his plans according to his ideas. Three or four miniſters were not to be truſted with the being of the French mo⯑narchy, [60] of all the orders, and of all the diſ⯑tinctions, and all the property of the kingdom. What muſt be the prudence of thoſe who could think, in the then known temper of the people of Paris, of aſſembling the ſtates at a place ſituated as Verſailles?

The Parliament of Paris did worſe than to inſpire this blind confidence into the King. For, as if names were things, they took no notice of (indeed they rather countenanced) the deviations which were manifeſt in the execution, from the true antient principles of the plan which they recommended. Theſe deviations (as guardians of the antient laws, uſages, and conſtitution of the kingdom) the Parliament of Paris ought not to have ſuffered, without the ſtrongeſt re⯑monſtrances to the throne. It ought to have ſounded the alarm to the whole nation, as it had often done on things of infinitely leſs importance. Under pretence of reſuſcitating the antient con⯑ſtitution, the Parliament ſaw one of the ſtrongeſt acts of innovation, and the moſt leading in its conſequences, carried into effect before their eyes; and an innovation through the medium of deſpotiſm; that is, they ſuffered the King's mi⯑niſters to new model the whole repreſentation of the Tiers Etat, and, in a great meaſure, that of the [61] clergy too, and to deſtroy the antient propor⯑tions of the orders. Theſe changes, unqueſ⯑tionably the King had no right to make; and here the Parliaments failed in their duty, and along with their country, have periſhed by this failure.

What a number of faults have led to this multitude of misfortunes, and almoſt all from this one ſource, that of conſidering certain ge⯑neral maxims, without attending to circum⯑ſtances, to times, to places, to conjunctures, and to actors! If we do not attend ſcrupulouſly to all theſe, the medicine of to-day becomes the poiſon of to-morrow. If any meaſure was in the abſtract better than another, it was to call the ſtates—ea viſa ſalus morientibus una.—Cer⯑tainly it had the appearance.—But ſee the conſe⯑quences of not attending to critical moments, of not regarding the ſymptoms which diſcrimi⯑nate diſeaſes, and which diſtinguiſh conſtitutions, complexions, and humours.

Thus the potion which was given to ſtrengthen the conſtitution, to heal diviſions, and to com⯑poſe [62] the minds of men, became the ſource of debility, phrenzy, diſcord, and utter diſſolu⯑tion.

In this, perhaps, I have anſwered, I think, an⯑other of your queſtions—Whether the Britiſh conſtitution is adapted to your circumſtances? When I praiſed the Britiſh conſtitution, and wiſhed it to be well ſtudied, I did not mean that its exterior form and poſitive arrangement ſhould become a model for you, or for any people ſer⯑vilely to copy. I meant to recommend the principles from which it has grown, and the po⯑licy on which it has been progreſſively improved out of elements common to you and to us. I am ſure it is no viſionary theory of mine. It is not an advice that ſubjects you to the hazard of any experiment. I believed the antient princi⯑ples to be wiſe in all caſes of a large empire that would be free. I thought you poſſeſſed our principles in your old forms, in as great a perfection as we did originally. If your ſtates agreed (as I think they did) with your circumſtances, they were beſt for you. As you had a conſtitution formed upon principles ſimilar to ours, my idea was, that you might have im⯑proved them as we have done, conforming them to the ſtate and exigencies of the times, [63] and the condition of property in your country, having the conſervation of that property, and the ſubſtantial baſis of your monarchy, as prin⯑cipal objects in all your reforms.

I do not adviſe an Houſe of Lords to you. Your antient courſe by repreſentatives of the Nobleſſe (in your circumſtances) appears to me rather a better inſtitution. I know, that with you, a ſet of men of rank have betrayed their conſtituents, their honour, their truſt, their King, and their country, and levelled them⯑ſelves with their footmen, that through this de⯑gradation they might afterwards put themſelves above their natural equals. Some of theſe perſons have entertained a project, that in re⯑ward of this their black perfidy and corruption, they may be choſen to give riſe to a new order, and to eſtabliſh themſelves into an Houſe of Lords. Do you think that, under the name of a Britiſh conſtitution, I mean to recommend to you ſuch Lords, made of ſuch kind of ſtuff? I do not however include in this deſcription all of thoſe who are fond of this ſcheme.

If you were now to form ſuch an Houſe of Peers, it would bear, in my opinion, but little reſemblance to our's in its origin, character, or the purpoſes which it might anſwer, at the ſame [64] time that it would deſtroy your true natural no⯑bility. But if you are not in a condition to frame an Houſe of Lords, ſtill leſs are you ca⯑pable, in my opinion, of framing any thing which virtually and ſubſtantially could be an⯑ſwerable (for the purpoſes of a ſtable, regular government) to our Houſe of Commons. That Houſe is, within itſelf, a much more ſubtle and artificial combination of parts and powers, than people are generally aware of. What knits it to the other members of the conſtitution; what fits it to be at once the great ſupport, and the great con⯑troul of government; what makes it of ſuch admirable ſervice to that monarchy which, if it limits, it ſecures and ſtrengthens, would require a long diſcourſe, belonging to the leiſure of a contemplative man, not to one whoſe duty it is to join in communicating practically to the people the bleſſings of ſuch a conſtitution.

Your Tiers Etat was not in effect and ſub⯑ſtance an Houſe of Commons. You ſtood in abſo⯑lute need of ſomething elſe to ſupply the manifeſt defects in ſuch a body as your Tiers Etat. On a ſober and diſpaſſionate view of your old conſtitution, as connected with all the preſent circumſtances, I was fully perſuaded, that the crown, ſtanding as things have ſtood (and are likely to ſtand, if you [65] are to have any monarchy at all) was and is inca⯑pable, alone and by itſelf, of holding a juſt balance between the two orders, and at the ſame time of effecting the interior and exterior purpoſes of a protecting government. I, whoſe leading prin⯑ciple it is, in a reformation of the ſtate, to make uſe of exiſting materials, am of opinion, that the re⯑preſentation of the clergy, as a ſeparate order, was an inſtitution which touched all the orders more nearly than any of them touched the other; that it was well fitted to connect them; and to hold a place in any wiſe monarchical common⯑wealth. If I refer you to your original conſti⯑tution, and think it, as I do, ſubſtantially a good one, I do not amuſe you in this, more than in other things, with any inventions of mine. A certain intemperance of intellect is the diſeaſe of the time, and the ſource of all its other diſ⯑eaſes. I will keep myſelf as untainted by it as I can. Your architects build without a foun⯑dation. I would readily lend an helping hand to any ſuperſtructure, when once this is effectually ſecured—but firſt I would ſay [...].

You think, Sir, and you may think rightly, upon the firſt view of the theory, that to provide for the exigencies of an empire, ſo ſituated and ſo related as that of France, its King ought to be inveſted [66] with powers very much ſuperior to thoſe which the King of England poſſeſſes under the letter of our conſtitution. Every degree of power ne⯑ceſſary to the ſtate, and not deſtructive to the rational and moral freedom of individuals, to that perſonal liberty, and perſonal ſecurity, which contribute ſo much to the vigour, the proſperity, the happineſs, and the dignity of a nation—every degree of power which does not ſuppoſe the total abſence of all control, and all reſponſibility on the part of miniſters,—a King of France, in common ſenſe, ought to poſſeſs. But whether the exact meaſure of authority, aſſigned by the letter of the law to the King of Great Britain, can anſwer to the exterior or interior purpoſes of the French monarchy, is a point which I cannot venture to judge upon. Here, both in the power given, and its limitations, we have always cautiouſly felt our way. The parts of our conſtitution have gradually, and almoſt inſenſibly, in a long courſe of time, accommodated themſelves to each other, and to their common, as well as to their ſeparate purpoſes. But this adaptation of contending parts, as it has not been in our's, ſo it can never be in your's, or in any country, the effect of a ſingle inſtantaneous re⯑gulation, [...] could ever think of doing it [...]

[67]I believe, Sir, that many on the continent al⯑together miſtake the condition of a King of Great Britain. He is a real King, and not an execu⯑tive officer. If he will not trouble himſelf with contemptible details, nor wiſh to degrade him⯑ſelf by becoming a party in little ſquabbles, I am far from ſure, that a King of Great Britain, in whatever concerns him as a King, or indeed as a rational man, who combines his public in⯑tereſt with his perſonal ſatisfaction, does not poſſeſs a more real, ſolid, extenſive power, than the King of France was poſſeſſed of before this miſerable Revolution. The direct power of the King of England is conſiderable. His indirect, and far more certain power, is great indeed. He ſtands in need of nothing towards dignity; of nothing towards ſplendour; of nothing to⯑wards authority; of nothing at all towards con⯑ſideration abroad. When was it that a King of England wanted wherewithal to make him reſpected, courted, or perhaps even feared in every ſtate in Europe?

I am conſtantly of opinion, that your ſtates, in three orders, on the footing on which they ſtood in 1614, were capable of being brought into a proper and harmonious combination with royal authority. This conſtitution by eſtates, [68] was the natural, and only juſt repreſentation of France. It grew out of the habitual condi⯑tions, relations, and reciprocal claims of men. It grew out of the circumſtances of the country, and out of the ſtate of property. The wretched ſcheme of your preſent maſters, is not to fit the conſtitution to the people, but wholly to deſtroy conditions, to diſſolve relations, to change the ſtate of the nation, and to ſubvert property, in order to fit their country to their theory of a conſtitution.

Until you could make out practically that great work, a combination of oppoſing forces, ‘"a work of labour long, and endleſs praiſe,"’ the utmoſt caution ought to have been uſed in the reduction of the royal power, which alone was capable of holding together the comparatively heterogeneous maſs of your ſtates. But at this day, all theſe conſiderations are unſeaſonable. To what end ſhould we diſcuſs the limitations of royal power? Your king is in priſon. Why ſpeculate on the meaſure and ſtandard of liber⯑ty? I doubt much, very much indeed, whether France is at all ripe for liberty on any ſtandard. Men are qualified for civil liberty, in exact pro⯑portion to their diſpoſition to put moral chains upon their own appetites; in proportion as their [69] love to juſtice is above their rapacity; in pro⯑portion as their ſoundneſs and ſobriety of under⯑ſtanding is above their vanity and preſumption; in proportion as they are more diſpoſed to liſten to the counſels of the wiſe and good, in pre⯑ference to the flattery of knaves. Society can⯑not exiſt unleſs a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed ſomewhere, and the leſs of it there is within, the more there muſt be without. It is ordained in the eternal con⯑ſtitution of things, that men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their paſſions forge their fetters.

This ſentence the prevalent part of your countrymen execute on themſelves. They poſ⯑ſeſſed, not long ſince, what was next to free⯑dom, a mild paternal monarchy. They deſpiſed it for its weakneſs. They were offered a well-poiſed free conſtitution. It did not ſuit their taſte or their temper. They carved for them⯑ſelves; they flew out, murdered, robbed, and rebelled. They have ſucceeded, and put over their country an inſolent tyranny, made up of cruel and inexorable maſters, and that too of a deſcription hitherto not known in the world. The powers and policies by which they have ſucceeded, are not thoſe of great ſtateſmen, or [70] great military commanders, but the practices of incendiaries, aſſaſſins, houſebreakers, robbers, ſpreaders of falſe news, forgers of falſe orders from authority, and other delinquencies, of which ordinary juſtice takes cognizance. Accordingly the ſpirit of their rule is exactly correſpondent to the means by which they obtained it. They act more in the manner of thieves who have got poſſeſſion of an houſe, than of conquerors who have ſubdued a nation.

Oppoſed to theſe, in appearance, but in ap⯑pearance only, is another band, who call them⯑ſelves the moderate. Theſe, if I conceive rightly of their conduct, are a ſet of men who approve heartily of the whole new conſtitution, but wiſh to lay heavy on the moſt atrocious of thoſe crimes, by which this fine conſtitution of their's has been obtained. They are a ſort of people who affect to proceed as if they thought that men may deceive without fraud, rob without in⯑juſtice, and overturn every thing without vio⯑lence. They are men who would uſurp the government of their country with decency and moderation. In fact they are nothing more or better, than men engaged in deſperate deſigns, with feeble minds. They are not honeſt; they are only ineffectual and unſyſtematic in their [71] iniquity. They are perſons who want not the diſpoſitions, but the energy and vigour, that is neceſſary for great evil machinations. They find that in ſuch deſigns they fall at beſt into a ſecondary rank, and others take the place and lead in uſurpation, which they are not qualified to obtain or to hold. They envy to their com⯑panions, the natural fruit of their crimes; they join to run them down with the hue and cry of mankind, which purſues their common offences; and then hope to mount into their places on the credit of the ſobriety with which they ſhew themſelves diſpoſed to carry on what may ſeem moſt plauſible in the miſchievous projects they purſue in common. But theſe men naturally are deſpiſed by thoſe who have heads to know, and hearts that are able to go through the neceſſary demands of bold, wicked enterprizes. They are naturally claſſed below the latter deſcription, and will only be uſed by them as inferior inſtruments. They will be only the Fairfaxes of your Crom⯑wells. If they mean honeſtly, why do they not ſtrengthen the arms of honeſt men, to ſupport their antient, legal, wiſe, and free government, given to them in the ſpring of 1788, againſt the inventions of craft, and the theories of igno⯑rance and folly? If they do not, they muſt con⯑tinue [72] the ſcorn of both parties; ſometimes the tool, ſometimes the incumbrance of that, whoſe views they approve, whoſe conduct they de⯑cry. Theſe people are only made to be the ſport of tyrants. They never can obtain, or communicate freedom.

You aſk me too, whether we have a com⯑mittee of reſearch. No, Sir,—God forbid! It is the neceſſary inſtrument of tyranny and uſurpa⯑tion; and therefore I do not wonder that it has had an early eſtabliſhment under your preſent Lords. We do not want it.

Excuſe my length. I have been ſomewhat occupied, ſince I was honoured with your letter; and I ſhould not have been able to anſwer it at all, but for the holidays, which have given me means of enjoying the leiſure of the country. I am called to duties which I am neither able nor willing to evade. I muſt ſoon return to my old conflict with the corruptions and op⯑preſſions which have prevailed in our eaſtern dominions. I muſt turn myſelf wholly from thoſe of France.

In England, we cannot work ſo hard as French⯑men. Frequent relaxation is neceſſary to us. You are naturally more intenſe in your applica⯑tion. I did not know this part of your national [73] character, until I went into France in 1773. At preſent, this your diſpoſition to labour is rather encreaſed than leſſened. In your Aſſem⯑bly you do not allow yourſelves a receſs even on Sundays. We have two days in the week, be⯑ſides the feſtivals; and beſides five or ſix months of the ſummer and autumn. This continued unremitted effort of the members of your Aſ⯑ſembly, I take to be one among the cauſes of the miſchief they have done. They who always labour, can have no true judgment. You never give yourſelves time to cool. You can never ſurvey, from its proper point of ſight, the work you have finiſhed, before you decree its final execution. You can never plan the future by the paſt. You never go into the country, ſoberly and diſpaſſionately to obſerve the effect of your meaſures on their objects. You can⯑not feel diſtinctly how far the people are rendered better and improved, or more miſerable and de⯑praved, by what you have done. You can⯑not ſee with your own eyes the ſufferings and afflictions you cauſe. You know them but at a diſtance, on the ſtatements of thoſe who always flatter the reigning power, and who, amidſt their repreſentations of the grievances, inflame your [74] minds againſt thoſe who are oppreſſed. Theſe are amongſt the effects of unremitted labour, when men exhauſt their attention, burn out their can⯑dles, and are left in the dark.—Malo meorum negligentiam, quam iſtorum obſcuram diligentiam.