Freemasonry In France.

FREEMASONRY IN FRANCE .

LONDON , SATURDAY , SEPTEMBER 12 , 1863 .

The " Grand Masonic Temple " of Lyons was inaugurated on the 2 nd ult . A facetious account of this ceremony is given in a recent number of Le Refuse , and although we cannot render but imperfectly the prating , chit-chat style indulged in

by the writer , Mons . Denis Brack—who may be a Mason for ought we know , though he does not profess to be one—we do not hesitate to reproduce his report in extenso , showing , as it does , in what light the modern French liberal school looks upon

the relative merits of , and the antagonism between Ereemasonry and Ultramontanism . We need hardly premise that as regards the details of the ceremony the account is to be taken cum grano salis , as our readers are well aware that the Masons of France , though essentially at war with

Romish obscurantism , are not , in their majority opposed to the maintenanceof the spirit of revealed religion in the rites of the institution . It is barely three months , says the writer , since I had an opportunity of noticing the forthcoming

inauguration of a Masonic temple at Lyons , and , as an advanced guard of the Roman and Apostolic camp , giving vent to my feeling of distress by exclaiming : " Now then , Monseigneur , take up your sacred thunderbolt to smash this monster to

atoms . " At that time they might have been put down ; the danger might yet have been averted . How is it that my scream was not echoed b y his eminence before it grew too late ? For now it has become an accomplished , stubborn fact , formidable , indestructible .

The famous inauguration came off with the most damaging eclat on Sunday last during the very hours of High Mass . Being devoured by the holy zeal of the house of God , ancl anxious to ascertain the exact state of the foixes of the enemy ,

and by this means lend a hel ping hand to the last attempt at their extermination , I ventured to sneak into their haunt , as Ulysses did into the camp of the Trojans . I succeeded but too well ! Is it a divine

chastisement for my having committed such cul pable temerity that ever since I am labouring under an irrepressible nightmare ? Incessantl y I see before my eyes a grave wide open and about to close , but not to harbour Freemasons ! Incessantly I hear tingling in my ears a knell foreboding evil , but

it is not the knell of Ereemasonry ! Is my fainting faith destined ever to revive ? First of all , the strange aspect of the haunt confounded me . It was not a horrible den , such as had been described to me , that I went into .

Surely the look of this place gives rise to thoughts and feelings quite different from those produced by our cathedrals , with their sombre masses and their steeples ascending to the skies . Under its influence the soul is by no means seized with a

mysterious terror , nor does it feel any sensation like being detached from the earth , and , rising up higher and higher , into an endless space ; on the contrary , being captivated by some indescribable terrestrial pleasure , it falls back upon itself , as it

were , to admire that harmonious , elegant , and noble architecture that seems to plant itself firmly into the ground , and take deep roots therein . " This must be the temple of a divinity altogether human " you will say , and really it is the " temple of labour . "

Having dexterously evaded the guards placed at the doors I penetrated into it—and here I am now in an immense' workshop . Everywhere the symbols and tools of labour—fervct opus— and what labour ? Marvellous , fruitful labour ! . What

surprised me most was to find here upwards of two thousand workers that had gathered from all comers of France . Most of them saw each other for the first time , yet they accosted one another iu full confidence , a smile on their lips , shook

hands affectionately , and greeted each other with the beautilul name of brother . Your pastoral letters do not speak of all that , Monseigneur . All of a sudden everyone grew silent ancl a mighty voice filled this vast place . The sacred

orators of our churches had accustomed me to a kind of discourse , insipid , rigid , lifeless , like the hollow resoundings of the grave , and I had actually looked upon the monotonous , somnolent delivery of a certain kind of pious jargon as the

beau ideal of eloquence . Now you may imagine how great was my surprise when I felt drowned in a speech redolent with fiery and passionate words , full of images and warmth ; sparkling like a flash of lightning , roaring like a hurricane ,

kindlinglike a conflagration , and saw the whole multitude trembling , panting , heated to rapture . And what was it these powerful tribunes proclaimed ? Did they expatiate on the primitive degradation of man , his inability for good , his predestination to suffer endless tortures or attain endless glory ?