nd more than half dead
with weariness, shame, and the sense of ruin;--there could scarcely be
more in the blow which put an end to all their perturbations on this
side of the grave.

We had frequent halts, and I had full leisure to gaze around; for,
rapidly as the guillotine performed its terrible task, our procession
had been extended by some additional victims from every prison which we
passed; and we passed so many that I began to think the city one vast
dungeon. What strange curiosity is it that could collect such myriads to
look upon us? Every street was crowded with a living mass; every
casement was filled; every roof presented a line of eyes straining for a
glance below. Instead of the crowd of a populous city, I could have
believed that I saw the population of a kingdom poured in and compressed
into the narrow streets through which we wound our slow way. From time
to time a shout arose, as some conspicuous member of the Convention made
his appearance in the vehicle of death: then execrations, scoffs, and
insults, of every bitterness, were poured upon the unfortunate being;
who seldom attempted to retaliate, or make any other return but a
gesture of despair, or a supplication to be suffered to die in peace.
Yet all was not cruelty nor insensibility. I saw instances, where
friends, bold enough to brave the vengeance of the government, rushed
forward to take a last grasp of the hand that must so soon be cold; and
my heart was wrung by partings between still dearer objects and the
condemned;--wives rushing forward through the multitude; children held
up to their father's arms; beautiful and graceful young women, forcing
their wild way through the line of troops, to take a last look, and
exchange a last word, with those whom they would have rejoicingly
followed to the tomb.

Our progress lasted half the day, and the sun was already near its
setting, when the waggon in which I sat turned into the Place de Greve.
But I must, I dare, describe no more. I shall not say what I saw in that
general receptacle of the day of horror--the range of low biers which
lay surrounding the scaffold, now the last resting-place of men who had
but a few hours before flourished in the full possession of every
faculty of our being; and, still more, with all those faculties in the
full ardour of public life--with brilliant ambition to stimulate, with
prospects of boundless power to reward, and with that most exhilarating
and tempting spell