P CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH NATION. Written by Counsellor Sampfon. of human happiness and the empire of reafon, knowledge and philofophy, fhould, after deluges of human blood, serve to no other end, than to plunge mankind ftill deeper in the gulph of corruption and tyranny! But I held it as my duty to refpect the power that protected me; and though my opinions were not much disguised, I never was molefted for them. That they are vain, is true. I wish the conduct of many of their enemies had given them better caufe to be lefs vain. They have however the good fenfe to temper their vanity with the forms of courtefey; which is better kill than to be proud and brutal, as fome other people are, who mistake stiffness for dignity, fullennels for fuperiority, and abruptnefs for fincerity. On this head, I fhould greatly fear to add to the number of tourists, and travellers, who have faid much, and laid little; whofe only merit has been That the French are infincere, is to put together ftale conceits, and gar- perhaps true; because they are naturally bled anecdotes. But you fay that every given to the exaggeration: but with all nation has a character, and I readily that infincerity, I know of no people admit it. In general, the lines of Ba- who will from mere kindness and politetional character are as diftinct as the 'nefs, confer fo many favors, and that features of the face. But truly to with fo good a grace: it is therefore defignate them, belongs only to a few more agreeable to live among them, unfavored geniufes and would require the doubtedly infincere as they may be, than pencil of Hogarth, or the pen of Sterne. with a people difagreeably fincere and Every one knows that the French are not more benovolent. As far as man, gay, gallant, and courteous. I need ners are in question, theirs are the most not repeat, that they dance well, and hofpitable on the earth. that they fight well. They are faid to be infincere, vain, and inconftant-all which perhaps is true, and may leen the dignity and importance of their character. I am neither partial to them, nor bigotted againft them. 1 may be partial to my own country, perhaps the more because it is unfortunate. may be partial to the country of my adoption, because I find in it that liberty which in my own is loft; but I am partial to no other: yet it would be unjust to deny, that in that one, into which the wickedness of my enemies drove me to take refuge, and where I was com pelled to remain near seven years, with little elfe to do than to obferve, I have found friends as generous and fincere, as any I have known elsewhere. Sin-. cere indeed, because my fortunes were too low to buy me friends. Nor had I ever any reafon to feel or to fuppofe I had an enemy. I did not like all I faw in France-I detefted much of it. I grieved to find that a great event which had bid fair, as I once thought, and as good men hoped, to extend the sphere Their inconftancy proceeds from that which is the true bafis of all their actions; and the effential difference between their character and that of other nations, the extreme love of enjoyment; or as they themselves call it, le besoin de jouir. They are the true epicureans. They love pleafure above all things, and will buy it at any price. They will fight, coax, flatter, cheat-any thing to gain it. But this juftice muit be allowed them, that feeling the neceffity of being pleased, they think it a duty to be agreeable; and they feen to have formed a focial contract to amufe reci procally. On the fame epicurian principle that they love pleasure beyond all other others ingenious in giving it a defeat. And against that kind of pain for which they have a term fo appropriate, that other nations are obliged to borrow it from them-that torment of the idler which they call ennui, they are ever actively in arms. Set a Frenchman down in any part of the earth, in peace or in war; let him be deftitute of every thing, he will make the best of his pofition. And no fooner will he have provided himself with food and raiment, than he will have fought out fome means for his amufement. Il faut l'amuser is a fundamental maxim of their philosophy, and they will tell you-Autant vaut crever de faim que de crever d'ennui — And, in deed, the most favorable afpect under which the French character can be viewed, is that which ío many of the unfortunate emigrants have affumed, when under the preffure of misfortune and difgrace, they have turned with fo much cheerfulness the little accomplish ments of their education to profit, or ftruck out with admirable ingenuity, new inventions of their own industry. once Another remarkable fingularity is, that the French, although gay, verfatile, and airy, are governed more than any other people by fettled rules of conduct, and of behaviour. Thefe rules conftitute their focial code, and are entitled fage. The highest praise you can be ftow, on a ftranger particularly, is, that he has beaucoup d'usage. A proud Englithman of my acquaintance thought himself infulted by a compliment of that kind from a gentleman, and feemed inclined to return it ungraciously, until a lady interfered and fet the thing to rights, by faying-Que l'ufage n'empeche pas d'avoir de l'esprit il sert seulement a le regler. To be original on the fame principle, is to be ridiculous, and this fentiment has paff ed into a byeword: fo that cell un original, is the fame as to fay, That is a quiz. It may be a quellion, however, whether this fcrupulous attention to routinary and practical obfervances does not fometimes damp the fire of the imagination, and the freedom of true wit. When you ask me, then, how I like the French, I fay, how fhould I like them but well? Englishmen and Frenchmen may be natural enemies; but the Irish, to whom they have never done fuch injuries as the English have, and who have found an at lum in their country in every period of their oppres fion, have no need to be their enemies. At all events, they are still in a state of permanent and natural alliance with the charms of their women and their wine. And this brings me to speak of the French ladies, who are very deferving of a feparate notice. Of the French Women. What a fubject, Oh Jupiter! What mafe to invoke! What colours to emplay! Who is he that can defcribe this whimfical, incomprehenfible, and interefting being? Well did Sterne fay, that "nothing here was salique but the government." For the ladies of France, to indemnify themselves for this exclufion from the throne, have feized upon the most defpotic power, and rule over their subjects with abfolute fway. A pretty woman in France is a fovereign prince, who knows neither refift ance nor controul. She is an ambitious potentate, that makes conqueits, and cedes them, and will exchange a fubject as a province. In the midst of her circle the is a law-giver, and her decrees like the proclamations of King Henry the Eighth, have the full force of acts of parliament. At her toilet she holds her levy-in her boudoir the giver private audience, and in her bed the receives her minifters. She has favorites and officers of ftate, and confirms their honors by a kifs of her hand. Her train is is filled with rival courtiers and jealous expectants, whom she keeps in peace and civility by her fovereign authority. Her forces, like her ways and means, are inexhaustible. She pays her fervants with a file, and fubdues her enemies with a frown. She makes war with the artillery of her eves, and peace the feals with the impreffion of her lips. Rebels and male-contents the punishes with exile or death, as the cafe may be. She protects learning, fcience, and the arts. Authors fubmit their works to her, and artifts implore her patronage She receives the homage of the gay of the grave, of the old, and of the young. The fage, the hero, the wit and the phi lofopher, all range themselves under her banners, and obey her laws. In all the concerns of life, the rules, directs, prefides. She tranfacts all affairs- projects decides, and excutes with the refolutio of a man the grace of an angel. She is in all temporal matters, liege la. dy and proprietor As to her capacities, fhe is but an elegant little variety of man. Her titles are undifputed. Ask whose houfe that is it belongs to Madame une telle! Has fhe a husband? I can't fay-I never faw any. Will you have a more familiar inftance? I was fitting at the fire fide with my wife-a tradefman brought in a pair of boots-I asked if they were my boots? I do not know fir, I believe they are for the husband of madame! En quire, who is that cavalier? He is of the fociety of Madame She is the fun of a sphere, and all her planets and fatellites walze round her and her voice is the mufic of the fphere. Taught from her infancy to pleafe, and confcious of her power by its effects, the wears the air of acknowledged supe. riority, and receives man's fubmiffion as her due. Yet, ever zealous to extend her empire; ever active in maintaining it the neglects no art,no charm,no feduction When the moves, it is all gracewhen the fings, it it is all fentimentwhen the looks, it is all expreffionwhen the languishes, it is all softness→ when the frolicks, it is all riot-when fhe fighs, it is all tendern:fs-when the fmiles, it is all happiness-and when she laughs, all is mirth. She is good-humoured from philosophy, and kind from calculation. Her beauty is her treasure, and the knows that ill-humours impair it. De ne pas se faire mauvais sang, is her cardinal maxim. Thus, with all the vivacity of her nature, the thuns ftrong emotions, and becomes, upon principle, difpassionate and cold; for her ambition is to be adored, and not to love Hold, hold, I hear you ex. claim-then the is a coquette?Alacka-day, my friend, and it is ever so ! But let juftice ever guide my pen.However coquettish these fafcinating brings may be; however generally they may be charged with gallantry, and 1 am no knight-errant, nor bound to prove the contrary; yet, I believe, many there are who fpeak of them unfairly, and "fancy raptures that they never knew.” And I think I can affure you, that there are in France as affectionate and faithful wives, as tender and attentive mothers, as in any other country of the earth. Such, however, are not naturally the firft to prefent themselves to the ac quaintance of the ranges or the travel ler. A Bermon preached on the 8th of August, 1810, at the SOLEMN OFFICE AND HIGH Mass celebrated in the South Chapel, for the repose of the SOUL of the late RT. REV. FLORENCE MAC CARTHY, Bishop of Antinoe, and Coadjutor in the See of Cork: by the REV. JOHN RYAN. PUBLISHED BY COYNE, PRICE IS. 8d. A just tribute of affection, due to to the memory of so great, so good a man. Dr. MAC CARTHY was a character, which is not common among men. His intellect was of the first class. His erudition was deep and extensive. His piety would not have disgraced the religion of his Maker, even in the Apostolic age. The Sermon before us is an elegant, an un laboured composition, finely adapted to the melancholy occasion on which it was delivered. We have been told, that its effect on the congregation at Cork, when it was delivered, was frequently marked by the whole audience bursting into involuntary tears! we will not attempt to decide, whe ther this ought more to be ascribed to the revered memory of his Lordship, or the eloquence of Mr. Ryan-It was doubtless the joint operation of both. The text was taken from Jeremiah. "The Lord hath taken away all my mighty men out of the midst of me: He hath called against me the time to destroy my chosen men. Therefore do I weep and my eyes run down with water; because the comforter, the relief of my soul, is far from me.-How hath the Lord cast down from heaven to earth the glorious one of Israel. The Lord hath cast down headlong, and hath not spared all that was beautiful in Jacob. Lamentations of the Prophet JEERMIAS, chap. 12. "For purposes thus wise and beneficent does the spirit of God, call such men to the ministry of his Church :to disarm prejudice of its inveteracy and give confidence to humble faith. "If ever such a blessing was necesNOVEMBER, 1810. sary in one portion of the Church of God, more than in any other; the Catholic Curch in this country had a peculiar claim on Heaven for the gift. Bending under the weight of culumny and persecution; abhorred by thousands merely because they understood not its tenets, the Catholic religion in Ireland stood in need of such a man as Doctor Mac Carthy, whose character might have been alone sufficient to arrest prejudice in the madness of its career, and compel it to exclaim, there is a man whose religion cannot be a system of idolatry: nor can its moral principles be less pure or less benevolent than his life.' "The existence of such a man was of more consequence than a thousand volumes of controversy. It was a book which the most unlettered could read. It was the most noble vindication of our insulted faith." The following interesting remark presents itself to our notice, in the cha racter which Mr. Ryan has drawn of Dr. Mac Carthy: "Born with a mind of uncommon strength and activity; it is likely that he would have devoted himself to some profession suited to his talents and becoming his respectable rank in society. And as those penal statutes so disgraceful to the fame of our country, were at that time flourishing in all the vigour and rankness of their maturity; he might have been constrained to seek some foreign clime. Spurned by his infatuated country, he might have reluctantly gone forth to some more wise and generous people. He might have cought and won the soldier's laurel and his fame. He might have been reserved to waste his blood in the falling cause of the Austrian or the Spaniard ; to die the hero and the boast of a strange land, the ornament and the reproach of his own. But Providence destined him for a station of higher dignity, and more consonant to the native piety and tenderness of his heart; while it distinguished your Lordship as its instrument in consecrating his 3 $ great great talents to the sublime purpose of upholding the religion of our fathers, and increasing the real happiness of our country." When our orator speaks of the Doctor's first entry on the clerical duties, there is much of the dignified in his composition. "It was the opening of a great mind conscious of difficulties, in proportion to its elevated station and the extent of its horizon; restrained by a diffidence the natural result of innate modesty and refined taste. He chose the most obscure and laborious duties of his sacred calling and that eloquence which was destined to command ere long the admiration of the most enlightened; to warm at once and illumine the most cultivated minds, was devoted at this time of his life, to the simple catechistical instruction of children; or concealed beneath the impenetrable veil of the confessional, where heaven was its almost only witness; and where it dropped like the dews of heaven in obscurity; and became known only in the blessings and fruitfulness which sprung up wherever it had fallen." Mr. Ryan however rises with his subject, until at last he arrives at the event of his Lordship's life, which raised him to the dignity of Bishop. "The days of this admirable man, were thus filled up: when in the year 1803 he was named bishop of Antince, and coadjutor to Doctor Moylan. He was consecrated in the month of June of that year. It now seemed as if his labours as a parish priest were about to terminate. But far from availing himself of the privileges to which his new dignity entitled him, this truly apostolic man appeared rather to gather new zeal from his promotion: and he who held so high a place in public esteem: whose exaltation to the episcopal dignity, had been hailed by the prelates of our church, as a subject of pride and an honour to their body, was still to be found engaged in the most labo rious duties of a missionary, in common with the curates of his parish. He was to be found in some humble retreat of wretchedness; at the bed of disease and contagion: tenderly administering the consolation of that religion whose brightest ornament he was. No circumstance was ever found to relax his zeal; or divert him from that plan of lite, which he had chosen, and which he had determined to pursue to the last. If business or the necessity of some relaxation drew him occasionally from his parish, he burned with desire to return: he flew back with parental anxiety to the objects of his affectious and his cares. He appeared to us my Brethren, as destined for a long course of labours; as nature had bestowed on him a constitution of uncommon strength, which had remained unaffect ed by all his exertions. Inured to hardships, he seemed like the mountain oak to strengthen amidst the storm and defy its fury. But that God before whom the utmost strength of man is weakness: whose designs are raised to an infinite distance above our compre hension, has been pleased to cast down this cherished stay of our happiness and our hopes." We conclude our remarks on this Sermon, (a Sermon equalled by few, but excelling many,) with quoting the summary of his Lordship's cha racter, towards the conclusion of the discourse, where Mr. Ryan mentions his dissolution. "He retained his faculties until within a few hours before his death; and even then when reason had fallen from its throne where it had reigned so gloriously and so long: even then the mind of this great man, turned amidst its wanderings to his flock the object of its best affections; revisited the confessional, the altar, the bed of sickness and sorrow; rendering the last tribute of its expiring eloquence to the cause of its Creator, and the happiness and eternal welfare of men. He died on the morning of the nineteenth of June; before |