im by the hair, and threatened to dash out his brains
against the wall. A surgeon, M. Naulin, who chanced to be near by,
interfered in behalf of the unhappy victim, and rescued him from the
rage of the tyrant. Two pears that evening were given to the
half-famished child for his supper. He hid them under his pillow, and
went supperless to sleep. The next day he presented the two pears to his
benefactor, very politely expressing his regret that he had no other
means of manifesting his gratitude.

Torrents of blood were daily flowing from the guillotine. Illustrious
wealth, or rank, or virtue, condemned the possessor to the scaffold.
Terror held its reign in every bosom. No one was safe. The public became
weary of these scenes of horror. A reaction commenced. Many of the
firmest Republicans, overawed by the tyranny of the mob, began secretly
to long for the repose which kingly power had given the nation. Sympathy
was excited for the woes of the imprisoned prince. It is difficult to
record, without pleasure, that one of the first acts of this returning
sense of humanity consisted in leading the barbarous Simon to the
guillotine. History does not inform us whether he shuddered in view of
his crimes under the ax. But his crimes were almost too great for
humanity to forgive. Louis was placed under the care of more merciful
keepers. His wasted frame and delirious mind, generous and affectionate
even in its delirium, moved their sympathy and their tears. They washed
and dressed their little prisoner; spoke to him in tones of kindness;
soothed and comforted him. Louis gazed upon them with a vacant air,
hardly knowing, after more than two years of hatred, execration, and
abuse, what to make of expressions of gentleness and mercy. But it was
too late. Simon had faithfully executed his task. The constitution of
the young prince was hopelessly undermined. He was seized with a fever.
The Convention, ashamed of the past, sent the celebrated physician
Dessault to visit him. The patient, inured to suffering, with blighted
hopes and a crushed heart, lingered in silence and patience for a few
days upon his bed, and died on the 9th of June, 1795, in the tenth year
of his age.

The change which had commenced in the public mind, preparing the way for
Napoleon to quell these revolutionary horrors, was so great, that a very
general feeling of sympathy was awakened by the death of the young
prince, and a feeling of remorse pervaded the conscien