rs, and butchered by the guillotine,
or the daggers of assassins. I had a letter of introduction to Mrs.
S----, one of the sisterhood, a lady of distinguished family in England.
I found her in the refectory. A dignified dejection overspread her
countenance, and her figure seemed much emaciated by the scenes of
horrour through which she had passed. She informed me, that when the
nuns were in a state of arrestation by the order of Robespierre, the
convent was so crowded with prisoners, that they were obliged to eat
their wretched meals in three different divisions. The places of the
unhappy beings who were led off to execution, were immediately filled by
fresh victims.

Amongst those who suffered, was the beautiful young duchesse de Biron,
said to be one of the loveliest women of the french court. Her fate was
singular, and horrible. One morning, two of the assistant executioners
came into one of the rooms, and called upon the female citizen Biron to
come forward, meaning the old duchesse de Biron, the mother, who was
here immured with her daughter; some one said, which of them do you
require? The hell-hounds replied, "Our order was for one only, but as
there are two, we will have both, that there may be no errour." The
mother and daughter were taken away, locked senseless in each others
arms. When the cart which carried them arrived at the foot of the
scaffold, the chief executioner looked at his paper, which contained a
list of his victims, and saw the name of only one Biron; the assistants
informed him that they found two of that name in the convent, and to
prevent mistake, they had brought both. The principal, with perfect sang
froid, said it was all well, wrote with a pencil the article "les"
before the name Biron, to which he added an s, and immediately beheaded
both!!!

Mrs. S---- led me to the chapel, to show me the havoc which the
unspairing impious hands of the revolution had there produced. She put
into my hand an immense massy key to open the door of the choir. "That
key," said she, "was made for the master-key of the convent, by the
order of Robespierre. In the time of terrour, our gaoler wore it at his
belt. A thousand times has my soul sunk within me, when it loudly pushed
the bolt of the lock aside. When the door opened, it was either a signal
to prepare for instant death to some of those who were within, or for
the gloomy purpose of admitting new victims." When we entered the
chapel, my surprise and abh