—The remains of the Briſſotins, with their newly-acquired authority, have vanity, intereſt, and revenge, to ſatiate; and there is no reaſon to ſuppoſe that a crime, which ſhould favour theſe views, would, in their eſtimation, be conſidered otherwiſe than venial. To theſe are added Sieyes, Louvet, &c. men not only eager to retain their power, but known to have been of the Orleans faction, and who, if they are royaliſts, are not loyaliſts, and the laſt perſons to whoſe care a ſon of Louis the Sixteenth ought to have been intruſted.

At this criſis, then, when the Convention could no longer temporize with the expectations it raiſed—when the government was divided between one party who had depoſed the King to gratify their own ambition, and another who had lent their aſſiſtance in order to facilitate the pretenſions of an uſurper—and when the hopes of the country were anxiouſly fixed on him, died Louis the Seventeenth. At an age which, in common life, iſ perhaps the only portion of our exiſtence unalloyed by miſery, thiſ innocent child had ſuffered more than is often the lot of extended yearſ and mature guilt. He lived to ſee his father ſent to the ſcaffold—to be torn from his mother and family—to drudge in the ſervice of brutality and inſolence—and to want thoſe cares and neceſſaries which are not refuſed even to the infant mendicant, whoſe wretchedneſs contributes to the ſupport of his parents.*

* It is unneceſſary to remind the reader, that the Dauphin had been under the care of one Simon, a ſhoemaker, who employed him to clean his (Simon's) ſhoes, and in any other drudgery of which his cloſe confinement admitted.

—When his death was announced to the Convention, Seveſtre, the reporter, acknowledged that Deſſault, the ſurgeon, had ſome time ſince declared the caſe to be dangerous; yet, notwithſtanding policy as well as humanity required that every appearance of myſtery and harſhneſs ſhould, on ſuch an occaſion, be avoided, the poor child continued to be ſecluded with the ſame barbarous jealouſy—nor was the Princeſs, his ſiſter, whoſe evidence on the ſubject would have been ſo concluſive, ever ſuffered to approach him.

No report of Deſſault's opinion had till now been made public; and Deſſault himſelf, who was an honeſt man, died of an inflammatory diſorder four days before the Dauphin.—It is poſſible, he might have expreſſed himſelf too freely, reſpecting his patient, to thoſe who employed him— his future diſcretion might be doubted—or, perhaps, he was only called in at firſt, that his character might give a ſanction to the future operations of thoſe who were more confided in. But whether this event iſ to be aſcribed to natural cauſes, or to that of opiates, the times and circumſtances render it peculiarly liable to ſuſpicions, and the reputation of thoſe who are involved, is not calculated to repel them. Indeed, ſo conſcious are the advocates of government, that the imputation cannot be obviated by pleading the integrity of the parties, that they ſeem to reſt their ſole defence on the inutility of a murder, which only tranſfers whatever rights the Houſe of Bourbon may be ſuppoſed to poſſeſs, from one branch of it to another. Yet thoſe who make uſe of this argument are well aware of its fallaciouſneſs: the ſhades of political opinion in France are extremely diverſified, and a conſiderable part of the Royaliſts are alſo Conſtitutionaliſts, whom it will require time and neceſſity to reconcile to the emigrant Princes. But the young King had neither enemies nor errorſ—and his claims would have united the efforts and affections of all parties, from the friends of the monarchy, as it exiſted under Louis the Fourteenth, down to the converted Republican, who compromiſes with his principles, and ſtipulates for the title of Perpetual Preſident.

That the removal of this child has been fortunate for thoſe who govern, is proved by the effect: inſurrections are no longer talked of, the royaliſts are confounded, the point of intereſt is no more, and a ſort of deſpondency and confuſion prevails, which is highly favourable to a continuance of the preſent ſyſtem.—There is no doubt, but that when men's minds become more ſettled, the advantage of having a Prince who iſ capable of acting, and whoſe ſucceſs will not be accompanied by a long minority, will conciliate all the reflecting part of the conſtitutional royaliſts, in ſpite of their political objections. But the people who are more under the influence of their feelings, and yield leſs to expediency, may not, till urged by diſtreſs and anarchy, be brought to take the ſame intereſt in the abſent claimant of the throne, that they did in their infant Prince.

It is to be regretted, that an habitual and unconquerable deference for the law which excludes females from the Crown of France, ſhould have ſurvived monarchy itſelf; otherwiſe the tender compaſſion excited by the youth, beauty and ſufferings of the Princeſs, might yet have been the means of procuring peace to this diſtracted country. But the French admire, lament, and leave her to her fate—

"O, ſhame of Gallia, in one ſullen tower
"She wets with royal tears her daily cell;
"She finds keen anguiſh every roſe devour,
"They ſpring, they bloom, then bid the world farewell.
"Illuſtrious mourner! will no gallant mind
"The cauſe of love, the cauſe of juſtice own?
"Such claimſ! ſuch charmſ! And is no life reſign'd
"To ſee them ſparkle from their parent throne?"

How inconſiſtent do we often become through prejudiceſ! The French are at this moment governed by adventurers and courtezanſ—by whatever iſ baſe, degraded, or mean, in both ſexes; yet, perhaps, would they bluſh to ſee enrolled among their Sovereigns an innocent and beautiful Princeſs, the deſcendant of Henry the Fourth.

Nothing ſince our arrival at Paris has ſeemed more ſtrange than the eagerneſs with which every one recounts ſome atrocity, either committed or ſuffered by his fellow-citizens; and all ſeem to conclude, that the guilt or ſhame of theſe ſcenes is ſo divided by being general, that no ſhare of either attaches to any individual. They are never tired of the details of popular or judicial maſſacres; and ſo zealous are they to do the honours of the place, that I might, but for diſinclination on my part, paſs half my time in viſiting the ſpots where they were perpetrated. It was but to-day I was requeſted to go and examine a kind of ſewer, lately deſcribed by Louvet, in the Convention, where the blood of thoſe who ſuffered at the Guillotine was daily carried in buckets, by men employed for the purpoſe.*