were celebrated as the authors of them.  Yet, where are they now?  Wandering, proscribed, and trembling at the fate of their followers and accomplices.—­The Brissotins, sacrificed by a party even worse than themselves, have died without exciting either pity or admiration.  Their fall was considered as the natural consequence of their exaltation, and the courage with which they met death obtained no tribute but a cold and simple comment, undistinguished from the news of the day, and ending with it.

December.

Last night, after we had been asleep about an hour, (for habit, that “lulls the wet sea-boy on the high and giddy mast,” has reconciled us to sleep even here,) we were alarmed by the trampling of feet, and sudden unlocking of our door.  Our apprehensions gave us no time for conjecture —­in a moment an ill-looking fellow entered the room with a lantern, two soldiers holding drawn swords, and a large dog!  The whole company walked as it were processionally to the end of the apartment, and, after observing in silence the beds on each side, left us.  It would not be easy to describe what we suffered at this moment:  for my own part, I thought only of the massacres of September, and the frequent proposals at the Jacobins and the Convention for dispatching the "gens suspect," and really concluded I was going to terminate my existence "revolutionnairement." I do not now know the purport of these visits, but I find they are not unusual, and most probably intended to alarm the prisoners.

After many enquiries and messages, I have had the mortification of
hearing that Mr. and Mrs. D____ were taken to Arras, and were there even
before I left it.   The letters sent to and from the different prisons are
read by so many people, and pass through so many hands, that it is not
surprizing we have not heard from each other.   As far as I can learn,
they had obtained leave, after their first arrest, to remove to a house
in the vicinity of Dourlens for a few days, on account of Mrs. D____’s
health, which had suffered by passing the summer in the town, and that at
the taking of Toulon they were again arrested while on a visit, and
conveyed to a Maison d’Arret at Arras.   I am the more anxious for them,
as it seems they were unprepared for such an event; and as the seals were
put upon their effects, I fear they must be in want of every thing.   I
might, perhaps, have succeeded in getting them removed here, but Fleury’s
Arras friend, it seems, did not think, when the Convention had abolished
every other part of Christianity, that they intended still to exact a
partial observance of the eighth article of the decalogue; and having, in
the sense of Antient Pistol, “conveyed” a little too notoriously, Le Bon
has, by way of securing him from notice or pursuit, sent him to the
frontiers in the capacity of Commissary.

The prison, considering how many French inhabitants it contains, is tolerably quiet—­to say