It is, nevertheless, certain in the mean time, that a hatred of us, as a nation, is universally diffused among the favourers of the revolution. When declaiming on this head, their extravagance is sometimes not unentertaining. They have collected, and believed, without examination of their absurdity, a number of wild and ridiculous tales about us: such as that there existed a scheme to set the Duke of York upon the throne of France; that Marat and Robespierre were in the pay of Mr. Pitt, and acted by his directions, &c. &c. They stun one, indeed, with repetitions of the name of Mr. Pitt, and execrations of his politics, which, I often tell them, is the highest compliment they can pay him. “His father,” said an orator in the convention, “infused into him, in his infancy, his hatred of France, and, like Hamilcar of old, swore him to eternal enmity against the French name.” But, perhaps, another great man, whose share in provoking the war, and sounding the knell of peace, has not been inconsiderable, may feel disappointed on being told, that his name in this part of France is never mentioned, and is even unknown. The splendid pebble, with which Mr. Burke, after the first revolution, endeavoured to perturb the lake of French tranquillity, has not yet spread its undulations to this distant shore.----To descend from Mr. Burke to his vaunted antagonist Tom Paine, I was, on coming into France, curious to learn what had become of this wandering demagogue, whom the delirium of the moment had rendered conspicuous. For a long time I could get no intelligence of him: to some his name was new; and others, with difficulty recollecting it, said he was guillotined. My enquiries remained unsatisfied, until I chanced to read in a news-paper a decree of the convention for his release from arrest, with other deputies of the party of Brissot. From this time, until a few days since, I had ceased to think about a being, whose name was never mentioned when a news-paper again presented it to me, in a report of Courtois to the convention, dignified by the title of “founder of liberty in the two worlds.” Notwithstanding this consolatory panegyric, I am of opinion that Mr. Paine is not destined to shine on the theatre of French politics. But whither shall he retire to better his fortune, and re-lume his fame? America would _now_ prove a sterile and unproductive soil for the transplantation of such a genius; while ungrateful Europe (the French dominions excepted) shutting every avenue against him, bids him wander, like a second Cain, without an asylum, or a resting-place.