But the Bishop, yet in the vigour of life, is better capable of enduring these hardships than most of the poor priests with whom he is associated:  the greater number of them are very old men, with venerable grey locks—­ and their tattered clerical habits, scanty meals, and wretched beds, give me many an heart-ache.  God send the constant sight of so much misery may not render me callous!—­It is certain, there are people here, who, whatever their feelings might have been on this occasion at first, seem now little affected by it.  Those who are too much familiarized with scenes of wretchedness, as well as those to whom they are unknown, are not often very susceptible; and I am sometimes disposed to cavil with our natures, that the sufferings which ought to excite our benevolence, and the prosperity that enables us to relieve them, should ever have a contrary effect.  Yet this is so true, that I have scarcely ever observed even the poor considerate towards each other—­and the rich, if they are frequently charitable, are not always compassionate.*

* Our situation at the Bicetre, though terrible for people unused to hardships or confinement, and in fact, wretched as personal inconvenience could make it, was yet Elysium, compared to the prisons of other departments.  At St. Omer, the prisoners were frequently disturbed at midnight by the entrance of men into their apartments, who, with the detestable ensign of their order, (red caps,) and pipes in their mouths, came by way of frolic to search their pockets, trunks, &c.—­At Montreuil, the Maisons d’Arret were under the direction of a Commissary, whose behaviour to the female prisoners was too atrocious for recital—­two young women, in particular, who refused to purchase milder treatment, were locked up in a room for seventeen days.—­Soon after I left Arras, every prison became a den of horror.  The miserable inhabitants were subject to the agents of Le Bon, whose avarice, cruelty, and licentiousness, were beyond any thing a humane mind can imagine.  Sometimes the houses were suddenly surrounded by an armed force, the prisoners turned out in the depth of winter for several hours into an open court, during the operation of robbing them of their pocket-books, buckles, ear-rings, or whatever article of value they had about them.  At other times they were visited by the same military array, and deprived of their linen and clothes.  Their wine and provisions were likewise taken from them in the same manner—­wives were separated from their husbands, parents from their children, old men treated with the most savage barbarity, and young women with an indecency still more abominable.  All communication, either by writing or otherwise, was often prohibited for many days together, and an order was once given to prevent even the entry of provisions, which was not revoked till the prisoners became absolutely distressed.  At the Hotel Dieu they were forbidden to draw more than a single jug of water