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..--MR. C U It It A N'S LETTER.

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MR. C U It It A N'S LETTER. Paris, August 3d, 1814. T write again, because I judge from myself, ,and how kindly I felt your last, that you would Sike to lieac from me. Perhaps the not being abie to abstain from writing to lite absent, is the -only certain proof f hat distance and memory are -compatible however, the compliment is not great when you know that I have flung myself upon y ;u as a correspondent only at those inter- vals when could not hear my own company. The therUlOmeter has been higher here lately 'than at any former time. Close dirty streets, stewing; playhouses, and a burning sun, have, perhaps, riatirrally enough completed the-extreme 'depress on of my spirits, and made me (it for tRothing. I endeavour to dissipate by wasting Siyseif upou spectacles, but it won't do. This day i thought to look for-something gay an the catacombs. tt'seems all Paris stands upon a vaalfed quarry, out of which the stone to build it has been taken, and it is net very rare to see an entire house sink down to its original home and disappear. Part of this excavation has been filled up as a residence in remainder to the grave. We went down, I think, 70 steps, and travers- -eel more than haM a mileLy torch light, or rather taper light, and we beheld more than two mil- lions three hundred thousand fragments of-what once was life They amount to four times the present population of Paris. The bones were very carefully built up, and at intervals were studded with projecting rows of skulls, withmot- 'tos occasionally written in !Latiu or French. It was a sort of caravan, mostly women. One of them asked me to translate one of those; it was, thirvk, et in nibihuu reverlilur quod ex nihilo fuit. 3 asked whether it gave her a sentiment of grief, or fear, or hope? She asked me what room I ■could see for hope in a party of empty sctills ?- For that reason, Madame, and because you know.tfiey cannot be filled with grief or fear, for subject of either is past," She replfed, Oui e'f, cependant,; c'est jolieI could not guess to what the applied the epithet, so I raised the taper to her IVice, which 1 had not looked at be- fore and had if been any thing but the mirror of ■death, I should have thought she had looked into it, and applied the one reflection to the other; so perfectly unimpressed was her counte- nance. J I did not raise her in my mind. though "he was not ill-looking, and when I met her above ground, after our resurrection, she appear- ed tit enough for the drawing rooms of the world, though not fo: the under cellar, I don't remember ever to have had my mind compressed into so-narrow a space, so many hu- mall being, so many actor-s, so many sufferers, 'so various in rank, so equalised in the gi-ave.- II'licil t .stare(i at the congregation, I could not distinguish what head had raved, or reasoned., or hoped, or burned. I looked for thought, I look- ed for dimples, [ asked-, whither is" all gone ?- Did wisdom never flow from your lips, nor affec- tion hang upon them? And, if both, or other, which was the most exalting—which the most fascinatrnar ? All silent-they left me to answer for them, so shall the fairest face appear." I was full of the subject. In the evening 1 went to distractat the-comedy of the Misanthrope, the best, of Moliere. The severe affection of Alceste, and the heartless co- quetry of Celimene, were exceliently done. It is not only tragedy that weeps—Golgotha was still all illcubus upon me. I saw the moral of (fie piece went far beyond the stage—it only began there Ei'ery good plav ought to be just, in its particular fanie. f t ottght also to be useful to have a general analogy far more extensive, and equally exact. Alccste is man in the abstract — Celmene is the object of his wish; whatever that nay be, she smiles, and caresses, and pro- mises— he flunks lye feels the blood i« hei heart, for he mistakes the I)ulse of his own for ibat of her's—be embraces the phantom, or thinks he does ,0, hut is betrayed, and opens his eyes upon the desert, at the moment lie does not recollect f,'tat tli(, loss to him k, liti le, Itis on],, the lo,s of llimself-to her If is nothing-for it is made up in the next Conscription, and at all events, whether sick or wounded, the march of men's warfare i.: never suspended, the moving infir- mary never halts, and every day brings him a day nearer a lit barriere tl' Enftr, the entrance to the Catacombs. This sad subject naturally turns me to another that makes me suspect that my contempt of this world is not (juite sincere- I mean the poor cx- travasafed Irish that i meet here; I meet their gtwsts as I pass, and review them, as Eneas did, quos ab-itulot aira dies et future mersit acerbo how can I alFect to despise a scene where my heart bleeds for every stifferer ? I wish to dis- perse my feelings as a citizen of the world, and break my own monopoly of them, but they all come back to orunhaPPj; country; one of the most happy touches of the Prince of sensitive -Poets, i-s liei-c he tinges the wanderings of Dido with patriotism- Sa;pe lon-gum incomitate ridetur Ire viam, et. Tyrios deserta quasrere terra By the bye, it does some credit to the charac- ter of humanity, that we sometimes exchange the suffering of egotism for a nobler sympathy, and lament over others, instead of keeping all our tears for ourselves. What exquisite nectar must they be to Those over whom they are sliect ?- Nor perhaps should the assurance that they do not suffer alone he always withheld, because it may not be always true, because, for the purpose of consolation, -it. is enough, if it be believe(l, whether true or not, if the payment is complete, it is worth while to inquire whether be coin be counterfeit or not?—But, with res- pect to our poor exiles, the sympathy is most sincere as well as ardent. I had hopes that Eng- land might let them back. thcsca-ionandthc power of mischief is long past; the number is almost, tao stnjiil to do credit to the mercy that casts a look upon them but they are destined to give their last recollection of the green fields they arc never to behold on a foreig-n death-bed, and to lose the sad delight of fancied visits to them in a distant grave. Yet, is not that exile better than the destiny of an outlaw at liome Yet, to that are we now reduced. You cannot "believe the transition from sympathy to detesta- tion, which we have excited in England—an hatred of our barbarism—a contempt of our strength, which has acted only upon and against ourselves. I see only one way of getting out.— If Ireland had the modesty and firmness to dis- claim all that had been done and said in hername, pjrhaps if might have some effect, in bringing back our friends and disarming our enemies, I think the people of sense and property, who were really scared away, ought to present a petition, signed only by their own class. It ought to dis- j avow all that could truly he denied; it ought to impeach no one I don't myself impute guilt of intention to those who even have stabbed the hopes and character of Ireland to the liea t- innocence ought to plead for mistake. Besides, ■ficre s-hotil:l he no tone of ci-iniiiittion-tio air of Kind's evidence. When I look back at what the Board ha done, my shame and surprise are still increased. They met for petition—they were t, o busy for tllilt-hut they had time for every thing else; they became a Court of the most formidable attainder—arraignment without no- tice, and conviction without proof- sentence gainst cllaracter and persou-the victim pro- claimed an outlaw—the Executive Magistrate tried and stigmatised. Good God! men calling themselves Gentlemen, and proud of the manly delicacy of the national character, to force them- selves into a bed chamber, and sit in judgment between the husband and wife, and that on a question on which those nearest to the parties knew little, and of which those self-appointed Judges knew nothing, and whose sentence was nothing but a proclamation of malice and foll,y- and that really would have served the object, if our wretched island had not been too much of a bedlam to give even an exculpatory credit to their charges. They deified Dr. Milner for the very reason why they should have-left him where he was-namely, because he was deserted by the English Catholics. In their persecution of La lor and Caulfield, they opeuly attacked whatever right of election remained. They attacked their most tried friends in Parliament—Canning not an honest man—Grattan a fool-Castlereagh a knave -Pluijket a deserter. They abused the English Catholics, under whose long and tried character of property and aHegrance our cause might have found shelter. They employ Lord Donoughmore and Mr. Grattan, and insult them hoth-and that in a way marking their utter ig- norance of Parliamentary proceedings, as weN as personal decorum. They petition the Legisla- ture and while they are on their knees in civil supplications, they mix with their prayer the menaces of commercial war. A fine time, no doubt, for non-consumption coiiit,)itiatiort, When the same was tried before we were found unequal to resist the adverse weight of British Capital defensively and vindictively employed against us*: the Consumer here was sacrificed to the avarice, and the poor 'labouring Artists-to the arrogance of an unfeeling Master Manufac- turer. I remember myself, when a coat cost three times its value, and that of the worst fabric and materials. No man can see, without pain, the depression under which our manufactures are held; but nothing that does,not go to the root of the evil,our want-ofcapital, will ever relieve us; and nothing, but the slow operation of a foster- ing Legislature removing cruel and impolitic re- straints, can have the least tendency to our bene- fit. But, provided we could set lip the throats of the Liberty, we were perfectly regardless of their interest. Our lower orders, God help t'hem. How easily can every Quack deceive them i, (To be continued')

COURT OF CHANCERY.

....VNinfitamtiS-.

BANKRUPTS.

CRIM CON.—TO THE EDITOR.

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