ly torn from his home,
his wife, his children, and hurried with ignominious violence, as a
traitor unfit to live, through the streets, to the prison. It was a
night of woe in Paris.

The friends of the monarchy soon found all efforts at concealment
unavailing. They had at first crept into chimneys, from which they
were soon smoked out. They had concealed themselves behind tapestry.
But pikes and bayonets were with derision thrust through their bodies.
They had burrowed in holes in the cellars, and endeavored to blind the
eye of pursuit by coverings of barrels, or lumber, or wood, or coal.
But the stratagems of affection were equally matched by the sagacity
of revolutionary phrensy, and the doomed were dragged to light. Many
of the Royalists had fled to the hospitals, where, in the wards of
infection, they shared the beds of the dead and the dying. But even
there they were followed and arrested. The domiciliary visits were
continued for three days. "The whole city was like a prisoner, whose
limbs are held while he is searched and fettered." Ten thousand
suspected persons were seized and committed to the prisons. Many were
massacred in their dwellings or in the streets. Some were subsequently
liberated, as having been unjustly arrested.

Thirty priests were dragged into a room at the Hotel de Ville. Five
coaches, each containing six of the obnoxious prisoners, started to
convey them to the prison of the Abbaye. A countless mob gathered
around them as an alarm-gun gave the signal for the coaches to proceed
on their way. The windows were open that the populace might see those
whom they deemed traitors to their country, and whom they believed to
be ready to join the army of invasion, now so triumphantly
approaching. Every moment the mob increased in density, and with
difficulty the coaches wormed their way through the tumultuous
gatherings. Oaths and execrations rose on every side. Gestures and
threats of violence were fearfully increasing, when a vast multitude
of men, and women, and boys came roaring down a cross-street, and so
completely blocked up the way that a peaceful passage was impossible.
The carriages stopped. A man with his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the
elbows, and a glittering saber in his hand, forced his way through the
escort, and, deliberately standing upon the steps of one of the
coaches, clinging with one hand to the door, plunged again, and again,
and again his saber into the bodies of the priests, whe