But to return to this country, which is not absolutely a Paradise, and I hope will not become a Pandemonium—­the ceremony I have been alluding to, though really interesting, is by no means to be considered as a proof that the ardour for liberty increases:  on the contrary, in proportion as these fetes become more frequent, the enthusiasm which they excite seems to diminish.  “For ever mark, Lucilius, when Love begins to sicken and decline, it useth an enforced ceremony.”  When there were no foederations, the people were more united.  The planting trees of liberty seems to have damped the spirit of freedom; and since there has been a decree for wearing the national colours, they are more the marks of obedience than proofs of affection.—­I cannot pretend to decide whether the leaders of the people find their followers less warm than they were, and think it necessary to stimulate them by these shows, or whether the shows themselves, by too frequent repetition, have rendered the people indifferent about the objects of them.—­Perhaps both these suppositions are true.  The French are volatile and material; they are not very capable of attachment to principles.  External objects are requisite for them, even in a slight degree; and the momentary enthusiasm that is obtained by affecting their senses subsides with the conclusion of a favourite air, or the end of a gaudy procession.

The Jacobin party are daily gaining ground; and since they have forced a ministry of their own on the King, their triumph has become still more insolent and decisive.—­A storm is said to be hovering over us, which I think of with dread, and cannot communicate with safety—­“Heaven square the trial of those who are implicated, to their proportioned strength!”—­ Adieu.

August 4, 1792.

I must repeat to you, that I have no talent for description; and, having seldom been able to profit by the descriptions of others, I am modest enough not willingly to attempt one myself.  But, as you observe, the ceremony of a foederation, though familiar to me, is not so to my English friends; I therefore obey your commands, though certain of not succeeding so as to gratify your curiosity in the manner you too partially expect.

The temple where the ceremony was performed, was erected in an open space, well chosen both for convenience and effect.  In a large circle on this spot, twelve posts, between fifty and sixty feet high, were placed at equal distances, except one larger, opening in front by way of entrance.  On each alternate post were fastened ivy, laurel, &c. so as to form a thick body which entirely hid the support.  These greens were then shorn (in the manner you see in old fashioned gardens) into the form of Doric columns, of dimensions proportioned to their height.  The intervening posts were covered with white cloth, which was so artificially folded, as exactly to resemble fluted pillars—­from the bases of which ascended spiral wreaths of flowers.  The whole was connected at top by a bold festoon of foliage, and the capital of each column was surmounted by a vase of white lilies.  In the middle of this temple was placed an altar, hung round with lilies, and on it was deposed the book of the constitution.  The approach to the altar was by a large flight of steps, covered with beautiful tapestry.