the place of execution. He cast his eyes alternately upon
them and upon the guillotine, which was before him.

"Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, Peytel embraced the cure, and
bade him adieu. He then embraced him again; perhaps, for his mother and
sister. He then mounted the steps rapidly, and gave himself into the
hands of the executioner, who removed his coat and cap. He asked how he
was to place himself, and on a sign being made, he flung himself briskly
on the plank, and stretched his neck. In another moment he was no more.

"The crowd, which had been quite silent, retired, profoundly moved by
the sight it had witnessed. As at all executions, there was a very great
number of women present.

"Under the scaffold there had been, ever since the morning, a coffin.
The family had asked for his remains, and had them immediately buried,
privately: and thus the unfortunate man's head escaped the modellers in
wax, several of whom had arrived to take an impression of it."

Down goes the axe; the poor wretch's head rolls gasping into the basket;
the spectators go home, pondering; and Mr. Executioner and his aides
have, in half an hour, removed all traces of the august sacrifice, and
of the altar on which it had been performed. Say, Mr. Briefless, do
you think that any single person, meditating murder, would be deterred
therefrom by beholding this--nay, a thousand more executions? It is
not for moral improvement, as I take it, nor for opportunity to make
appropriate remarks upon the punishment of crime, that people make a
holiday of a killing-day, and leave their homes and occupations, to
flock and witness the cutting off of a head. Do we crowd to see Mr.
Macready in the new tragedy, or Mademoiselle Ellssler in her last new
ballet and flesh-colored stockinnet pantaloons, out of a pure love of
abstract poetry and beauty; or from a strong notion that we shall be
excited, in different ways, by the actor and the dancer? And so, as we
go to have a meal of fictitious terror at the tragedy, of something more
questionable in the ballet, we go for a glut of blood to the execution.
The lust is in every man's nature, more or less. Did you ever witness a
wrestling or boxing match? The first clatter of the kick on the shins,
or the first drawing of blood, makes the stranger shudder a little;
but soon the blood is his chief enjoyment, and he thirsts for it with a
fierce delight. It is a fine grim pleasure that we have in seeing a
man k