rhaps, more quickly effected by this instrument than by any other
means; but when we recollect that the preparation for, and apprehension
of, death, constitute its greatest terrors; that a human hand must give
motion to the Guillotine as well as to the axe; and that either accustoms
a people, already sanguinary, to the sight of blood, I think little is
gained by the invention. It was imagined by a Mons. Guillotin, a
physician of Paris, and member of the Constituent Assembly. The original
design seems not so much to spare pain to the criminal, as obloquy to the
executioner. I, however, perceive little difference between a man's
directing a Guillotine, or tying a rope; and I believe the people are of
the same opinion. They will never see any thing but a _bourreau_
[executioner] in the man whose province it is to execute the sentence of
the laws, whatever name he may be called by, or whatever instrument he
may make use of.--I have concluded this letter with a very unpleasant
subject, but my pen is guided by circumstances, and I do not invent, but
communicate.--Adieu. Yours, &c.

Arras, September 1, 1792.

Had I been accompanied by an antiquary this morning, his sensibility
would have been severely exercised; for even I, whose respect for
antiquity is not scientific, could not help lamenting the modern rage for
devastation which has seized the French. They are removing all "the
time-honoured figures" of the cathedral, and painting its massive
supporters in the style of a ball-room. The elaborate uncouthness of
ancient sculpture is not, indeed, very beautiful; yet I have often
fancied there was something more simply pathetic in the aukward effigy of
an hero kneeling amidst his trophies, or a regal pair with their
supplicating hands and surrounding offspring, than in the graceful
figures and poetic allegories of the modern artist. The humble intreaty
to the reader to "praye for the soule of the departed," is not very
elegant--yet it is better calculated to recall the wanderings of
morality, than the flattering epitaph, a Fame hovering in the air, or the
suspended wreath of the remunerating angel.--But I moralize in vain--the
rage of these new Goths is inexorable: they seem solicitous to destroy
every vestige of civilization, lest the people should remember they have
not always been barbarians.

After obtaining an order from the municipality, we went to see the
gardens and palace of the Bishop, who has emigrate