We arrived here early on Saturday, and as no ſtranger coming to Paris, whether a native of France, or a foreigner, is ſuffered to remain longer than three days without a particular permiſſion, our firſt care was to preſent ourſelves to the Committee of the ſection where we lodge, and, on giving proper ſecurity for our good conduct, we have had this permiſſion extended to a Decade.

I approached Paris with a mixture of curioſity and apprehenſion, aſ though I expected the ſcenes which had paſſed in it, and the moral changes it had undergone, would be every where viſible; but the gloomy ideas produced by a viſit to this metropolis, are rather the effect of mental aſſociation than external objects. Palaces and public buildingſ ſtill remain; but we recollect that they are become the priſons of miſfortune, or the rewards of baſeneſs. We ſee the ſame hotels, but their owners are wandering over the world, or have expired on the ſcaffold. Public places are not leſs numerous, nor leſs frequented; but, far from inſpiring gaiety, we behold them with regret and diſguſt, aſ proofs of the national levity and want of feeling.

I could almoſt wiſh, for the credit of the French character, to have found ſome indications that the paſt was not ſo ſoon conſigned to oblivion. It is true, the reign of Robeſpierre and his ſanguinary tribunal are execrated in ſtudied phraſes; yet is it enough to adopt humanity as a mode, to ſing the Revel du Peuple in preference to the Marſeillois, or to go to a theatre with a well-powdered head, inſtead of cropped locks a la Jacobin? But the people forget, that while they permitted, and even applauded, the paſt horrors, they were alſo acceſſary to them, and if they rejoice at their termination, their ſenſibility doeſ not extend to compunction; they caſt their ſorrows away, and think it ſufficient to exhibit their reformation in dreſſing and dancing—

"Yet hearts refin'd their ſadden'd tint retain,
"The ſigh is pleaſure, and the jeſt is pain."
Sheridan.

French refinements are not, however, of this poetical kind.*

* This too great facility of the Pariſians has been commented upon by an anonymous writer in the following terms: "At Paris, where more than fifty victims were dragged daily to the ſcaffold, the theatres never failed to overflow, and that on the Place de la Revolution was not the leaſt frequented. The public, in their way every evening to the Champs Elliſees, continued uninterruptedly to croſs the ſtream of blood that deluged this fatal ſpot with the moſt dreadful indifference; and now, though theſe dayſ of horror are ſcarcely paſſed over our heads, one would ſuppoſe them ages removed—ſo little are we ſenſible that we are dancing, as it were, on a platform of dead bodies. Well may we ſay, reſpecting thoſe events which have not reached ourſelveſ—

'Le malheur Qui n'eſt plus, n'a jamais exiſte.'

But if we deſire earneſtly that the ſame miſfortunes ſhould not return, we muſt keep them always preſent in our recollection."

The practice of the government appears to depart every day more widely from its profeſſions; and the moderate harangues of the tribune are often ſucceeded by meaſures as arbitrary as thoſe which are ſaid to be exploded.—Perhaps the Convention begin to perceive their miſtake in ſuppoſing that they can maintain a government againſt the inclination of the people, without the aid of tyranny. They expected at the ſame time that they decried Robeſpierre, to retain all the power he poſſeſſed. Hence, their aſſumed principles and their conduct are generally at variance; and, divided between deſpotiſm and weakneſs, they arreſt the printers of pamphlets and newſpapers one day, and are obliged to liberate them the next.—They exclaim publicly againſt the ſyſtem of terror, yet ſecretly court the aſſiſtance of its agents.—They affect to reſpect the liberty of the preſs, yet every new publication has to defend itſelf againſt the whole force of the government, if it happen to cenſure a ſingle member of the reigning party.—Thus, the Memoirs of Dumouriez had circulated nearly through all Europe, yet it was not without much riſk, and after a long warfare, that they were printed in France.*

*On this ſubject the government appears ſometimes to have adopted the maxim—that prevention is better than puniſhment; for, in ſeveral inſtances, they ſeized on manuſcripts, and laid embargoes on the printerſ' preſſes, where they only ſuſpected that a work which they might diſapprove was intended to be publiſhed.