While residing for a short time in Paris in 1849, we were one day
conducted by a friend to a large house, with an air of faded grandeur,
in the eastern faubourgs, which had belonged to an aged republican,
recently deceased. He wished me to examine a literary curiosity, which
was to be seen among other relics of the great Revolution. The
curiosity in question was the proclamation, in the handwriting of
Robespierre, to which he was in the act of inscribing his signature,
when assaulted and made prisoner in the Hôtel de Ville. It was a small
piece of paper, contained in a glass-frame; and, at this distance of
time, could not fail to excite an interest in visitors. The few lines
of writing, commencing with the stirring words: '_Courage, mes
compatriotes!_' ended with only a part of the subscription. The
letters, _Robes_, were all that were appended, and were followed by a
blur of the pen; while the lower part of the paper shewed certain
discolorations, as if made by drops of blood. And so this was the last
surviving token of the notorious Robespierre! It is somewhat curious,
that no historian seems to be aware of its existence.

* * * * *

Stretched on a table in one of the anterooms of the Convention; his
head leaning against a chair; his fractured jaw supported by a
handkerchief passed round the top of his head; a glass with vinegar
and a sponge at his side to moisten his feverish lips; speechless and
almost motionless, yet conscious!--there lay Robespierre--the clerks,
who, a few days ago, had cringed before him, now amusing themselves by
pricking him with their penknives, and coarsely jesting over his fall.
Great crowds, likewise, flocked to see him while in this undignified
posture, and he was overwhelmed with the vilest expressions of hatred