these atrocities. Every well-meaning
person is grieved for the present, and apprehensive for the future:
and I am not without hope, that this open avowal of the designs of the
Jacobins, will unite the Constitutionalists and Aristocrates, and that
they will join their efforts in defence of the Crown, as the only means
of saving both from being overwhelmed by a faction, who are now become
too daring to be despised. Many of the municipalities and departments
are preparing to address they King, on the fortitude he displayed in this
hour of insult and peril.--I know not why, but the people have been
taught to entertain a mean opinion of his personal courage; and the late
violence will at least have the good effect of undeceiving them. It is
certain, that he behaved on this occasion with the utmost coolness; and
the Garde Nationale, whose hand he placed on his heart, attested that it
had no unusual palpitation.

That the King should be unwilling to sanction the raising an army under
the immediate auspice of the avowed enemies of himself, and of the
constitution he has sworn to protect, cannot be much wondered at; and
those who know the Catholic religion, and consider that this Prince is
devout, and that he has reason to suspect the fidelity of all who
approach him, will wonder still less that he refuses to banish a class of
men, whose influence is extensive, and whose interest it is to preserve
their attachment to him.

These events have thrown a gloom over private societies; and public
amusements, as I observed in a former letter, are little frequented; so
that, on the whole, time passes heavily with a people who, generally
speaking, have few resources in themselves. Before the revolution,
France was at this season a scene of much gaiety. Every village had
alternately a sort of Fete, which nearly answers to our Wake--but with
this difference, that it was numerously attended by all ranks, and the
amusement was dancing, instead of wrestling and drinking. Several small
fields, or different parts of a large one, were provided with music,
distinguished by flags, and appropriated to the several classes of
dancers--one for the peasants, another for the bourgeois, and a third for
the higher orders. The young people danced beneath the ardour of a July
sun, while the old looked on and regaled themselves with beer, cyder, and
gingerbread. I was always much pleased with this village festivity: it
gratified my mind more than se