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THE very name of ROBESPIERRE excites a variety of disagreeable sensations,—wonder, rage, horror, and revenge, occupy the bosom by turns. Of his countrymen, some claim a murdered parent, others their mangled sons and daughters; the husband his bleeding wife; the wife her decollated husband. France, converted into a charnel-house under his administration, beheld more than an hundred thousand of her children proscribed, starved, expatriated, assassinated, and cut off, either with or without the forms of law! The patriot and the perfidious citizen, the republican and the royalist, the anarchist and the lover of order,—all equally experienced his hatred, and perished by his deadly enmity. Never did Liberty suffer more than by his hypocritical attachment; never did despotism receive so much consolation as arose from his cruelties. Tyranny brandished her whips, and shook her chains, from Moscow to Algiers; and boasted, with a perfidious triumph, her milder empire!

Maximilian Robespierre was born, in 1759, within the walls of the city of Arras, the capital of the ci-decant province of Artois. The royalists, as if fiction had been necessary to render his memory more detestable, pretend