ever has been his former opinions, so often proclaimed in the House of Commons, his intimacy with the first Consul appeared a direliction of them. Through all the storms of the Revolution, under the influence of the conceited La Fayette, or the mad Marat, or the ferocious Roberspierre, stiil Fox's principles and opinions were the same; the fluctuation of their laws did not change him; the frequent alteration of their Constitution did not perplex him; their conquests and ambition did not alarm him, nor their cruelties shock him; still he defended the Revolution, and congratulated France on its emancipation. But what have these deiuded people attained? Who can define their present government? Where is the liberty they fought for? Nothing escapes Mr. Fox's penetration; surely he sees what a transformation the subtle policy of Bonaparte has effected; and yet he is as cordial in his courtly gratulations, as if the glorious fa

bric he praised, were erected, and indis

soluble.

General Santerre has been blamed for commanding the drums to beat when the King was harranging the people 'on the scaffold. The King had, in the tumult of Versailles, in the carnage of the Tuilleries, and in his long confinement and sufferings in the Temple, shewn a calmness that savored of apathy; now for the first moment of his life, he felt emotion, and was ruffled. He has been censured, too, for mentioning his death with exultation. I wished to question him on these two points: I touched on them and paused; he saw my drift, and, with out hesitation, entered on the subject. He said it was expected there would be a cry of mercy; and he had received peremptory orders to fire on those who called for mercy: he saw several well-known aristocrats sur rounding the scaffold, and preparing to cry

out: an immense body of Marseillois watched them, and intended to answer it with a contrary exclamation. If this contest had ensued, thousands would have perished in it: he perceived what was passing, and, from the most humane motives, (and not to drown the king's voice, and distress him in his last few moments,) he ordered the drums to beat. And though, the duty of seeing the King's sentence executed devolved on him, it was impossible he could rejoice at an event, that, however necessary, was distressing and lamentable; he deplored it as much as any man in France, and tried all he could to prevent it, by repeated visits to the Temple to instruct the King by what measures he might still save himself; he said several expedients were proposed to the King; but his rejection of them evinced that he had no confidence in the nation, and would retort upon it if ever he possessed power. Once he thought the King would

accede to his overtures; but he required some hours to ponder on them: he saw the Queen in the interim, and declined further treaty. In the last extremity he made another effort: he went once more to the King, and told him his life was in danger if he temporized any more; but, if he would listen to his overtures he would be saved and liberated; he would forfeit his existence if he failed. Again the Queen interposed, and Santerre was set at defiance. Soon after his doom was fixed, and negociation was unavailable. He complained that the King had no character; that he spoke like a parrot, and his actions seldom accorded with his words; his diction was pure; he was sententious: he delivered virtuous sentiments, and spoke with dignity; yet in action he was inconsistent and frivolous; his language was from books or instruction; no originality in it; he repeated what was suggested to him; but his deeds could not be controled; they were

sudden and untutored; they betrayed his speeches, and shewed that he was no better than an automaton. Wild visionary hopes. had deluded the imperious Queen to her destruction; she still trusted to the 'ide professions of gallantry that the Quixotic courtiers had formerly made her: she forgot that the pusillanimous nobility had abandoned their monarch and their country; she was vain and presumptuous; she fancied her relations would risk their own lives to save hers; and that all Europe would wage war till she had remounted the throne.

A little before the King's trial, the Queen, who did not want discernment, said, 66 Santerre, I believe you are an honest man; I wish I had taken your advice; I am a victim to my obstinacy: but do not presume on it: I know this fickle ungrateful people better than you do: they are constant to no point; and you, in your turn, will be a victim to