their important labours for the regeneration of the state. One day an old man, aged one hundred and twenty, born a serf, was brought to thank the assembly for his restoration to liberty, by the decree for the abolition of feudal privileges. At his presence the whole assembly rose up and uncovered. He was the father of that generation of men. "He gazed," says an able writer, "feebly with his old eyes, on that new wonder-scene-dreamlike to him and uncertain-wavering amidst fragments of old memories and dreams. His eyes and mind are weary, and about to close and open on a far other wonder-scene, which shall be real. Patriot subscription and royal pension were got for him, and he returned home glad; but, in two months more, he went on his unknown way." Shortly after this, a still more singular visit was paid to the bar of the National Assembly. Anacharsis Clootz, a political visionary, enthusiastically attached to the cause of the revolution, collected several of the rabble of Paris, and dressing them up in the costume of the various nations of the earth, marched at the head of the motley group, and introduced them to the assembly, as representatives of the human race, awakened to the desire of liberty

by the choral voices of twenty-five millions of Frenchmen. The scene was quite in harmony with the sentimental and theatrical spirit of the day. The deputation was received with shouts of applause. An honourable place was assigned to it at the ensuing national festival-and Anacharsis Clootz was dignified with the title of "orator of the human race." Few things could be more significant of the temper of the times, or more expressive of the ineptness of the French people for liberty at this period, than the fact that such a scene as this should have been so much admired by the assembly and the nation. A similar intoxication of feeling, however, prevailed out of doors, and vented itself in the extraordinary preparations which were made to celebrate the festival of the constitution. It became the fashion for almost the whole population of Paris to repair to the Champ de Mars, where the festival was to take place, and to engage personally in the preparation of the works. As many as two hundred thousand citizens, it is said, might at one time have been seen digging on the ground. They marched to the field in military order, with their spades shouldered like muskets. The mayor and corporation, with their spades,

were there. Even the king honoured the ground with his presence, upon which a guard of honour, with shouldered spades, were formed for him. "A dishevelled courtezan, and a virtuous matron, might be seen working together as fellow-labourers; a Capuchin and a chevalier of St. Louis drawing the same tray; a porter and a petit maitre digging at the same piece of ground; a robust fishwoman and an elegant lady of rank filling the same barrow." A whole family of three generations might also be seen-the father picking, the mother shovelling, the young ones wheeling, and the grandfather, ninety-three years old, holding the infant in his arms. One gentleman, it is mentioned, intoxicated with the enthusiasm of the moment, flung down his coat, waistcoat, and nis watch, to assist in digging. "Take care of your watch," cried those around him. "My watch!" he replied; "does one suspect his brothers?"-a sentimental speech, loudly applauded, and well suited to the temper of the

moment.*

The day so long looked forward to, for the celebration of the festival of the constitution, at last arrived. About four hundred thousand

people assembled on the Champ de Mars. The king and queen, with the assembly, were seated on an elevated platform. Talleyrand, afterwards the celebrated diplomatist-a man who, perhaps, more systematically than any other of his time, trampled upon principle-filled upon the occasion the office of bishop. Accompanied by two hundred priests, bearing censers of incense, he went through the solemn mockery of invoking the blessing of the Almighty upon the proceedings of the day. At a given signal, the king, followed by the whole of the vast assemblage, invoked the Most High to witness their fidelity to the new constitution. Batteries of cannon, distributed at regular distances over the country, communicated the intelligence to the whole of France, with almost electric rapidity.

It seemed as if the elements frowned on the fantastic pageant, for, while Talleyrand was in the very act of going through his mummeries, a violent storm broke forth. The rain descended in torrents, and the glittering splendour of the scene was suddenly spoiled. In the evening, however, festivities were resumed, and continued through the week. The next Sunday found the inhabitants of the metropolis engaged

in pursuits deeply at variance with the purposes of that day of sacred rest. All Paris was engaged in a ball. A tree of liberty, allegorically decorated, was erected in the ruins of the Bastile; and over the remains of its ancient dungeons, amidst the glitter of illuminated lamps, might be seen the inscription, "Dancing here." The desecration of the Sabbath will ever be mourned over by the Christian patriot, as one of the greatest evils which can befall his country. To say nothing of the injury to public morals, which is the inevitable concomitant of this sin, it must also be viewed as one which, if unrepented of, will, sooner or later, draw down judgments on the land by which it is tolerated. May the recollection of the disasters which followed the desecration of the sabbath in France, quicken the resolution of every Christian to oppose the encroachments upon this day of sacred rest, which have been made, of late years, in this highly favoured land, under the specious plea of providing relaxation for the lower orders of the community!

As if to mock the theatrical scene which had pressed on the Champ de Mars, and to show the hollowness of the sentimental union which had been declared there, a bloody revolt broke out