These are the usual subjects of discussion at the clubs, and the Convention itself is not much more decent.  I tremble when I recollect that I am in a country where a member of the legislature proposes rewards for assassination, and the leader of a society, that pretends to inform and instruct the people, argues in favour of burning all the books.  The French are on the eve of exhibiting the singular spectacle of a nation enlightened by science, accustomed to the benefit of laws and the enjoyment of arts, suddenly becoming barbarous by system, and sinking into ignorance from choice.—­When the Goths shared the most curious antiques by weight, were they not more civilized than the Parisian of 1793, who disturbs the ashes of Henry the Fourth, or destroys the monument of Turenne, by a decree?—­I have myself been forced to an act very much in the spirit of the times, but I could not, without risking my own safety, do otherwise; and I sat up late last night for the purpose of burning Burke, which I had brought with me, but had fortunately so well concealed, that it escaped the late inquisition.  I indeed made this sacrifice to prudence with great unwillingness—­every day, by confirming Mr. Burke’s assertions, or fulfilling his predictions, had so increased my reverence for the work, that I regarded it as a kind of political oracle.  I did not, however, destroy it without an apologetic apostrophe to the author’s benevolence, which I am sure would suffer, were he to be the occasion, though involuntarily, of conducting a female to a prison or the Guillotine.

“How chances mock, and changes fill the cup of alteration up with divers liquors.”—­On the same hearth, and in a mingled flame, was consumed the very constitution of 1789, on which Mr. Burke’s book was a censure, and which would now expose me to equal danger were it to be found in my possession.  In collecting the ashes of these two compositions, the tendency of which is so different, (for such is the complexion of the moment, that I would not have even the servant suspect I had been burning a quantity of papers,) I could not but moralize on the mutability of popular opinion.  Mr. Burke’s Gallic adversaries are now most of them proscribed and anathematized more than himself.  Perhaps another year may see his bust erected on the piedestal which now supports that of Brutus or Le Pelletier.

The letters I have written to you since the communication was interrupted, with some other papers that I am solicitous to preserve, I have hitherto always carried about me, and I know not if any danger, merely probable, will induce me to part with them.  You will not, I think, suspect me of attaching any consequence to my scribblings from vanity; and if I run some personal risk in keeping them, it is because the situation of this country is so singular, and the events which occur almost daily so important, that the remarks of any one who is unlucky enough to be a spectator, may interest, without the advantage of literary talents.—­Yours.