Sanson, Charles Henry, the executioner of Louis XVI. had not a little _bonhomie_ in his composition--his infernal profession seems not to have completely ossified his heart. He reminds me, not a little, of Sir Thomas Erpingham, who, George Colman, the younger, says, carried on his wars, in France, in a benevolent spirit, and went about, I suppose, like dear, old General Taylor, in Mexico, "pitying and killing." On the day, when Robespierre fell, forty-nine victims were ascending the carts, to proceed to the guillotine, about three in the afternoon. Sanson, at the moment, met that incomparable bloodhound, the _Accusateur Public_, Fouquier de Tinville, going to dinner. Sanson suggested the propriety of delaying the execution, as a new order of things might cause the lives of the condemned to be spared. Fouquier briefly replied, "the law must take its course;" and went to dine--the forty-nine to die; and, shortly after, their fate was his. The guillotine, viewed as an instrument of justice, in cases of execution, for capital offences, is certainly a most merciful contrivance, liable, undoubtedly, during a period of intense excitement, to be converted into a terrible toy. During the reign of terror, matters of extreme insignificancy, brought men, women, and children to the guillotine. The record is, occasionally, awfully ridiculous. A few examples may suffice--Jean Julian, wagoner, sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment, took it into his head, on the way--_s'avisa_--to cry--_Vive le Roi_; executed September, 1792.--Jean Baptiste Henry sawed a tree of liberty; executed Sept. 6, 1793.--M. Baulny, ex-noble, assisted his son to emigrate; executed Jan. 31, 1794.--La veuve Marbeuf _hoped_ the Austrians would come; executed Feb. 5, 1794.--Francis Bertrand, publican, sold sour wine; executed May 15, 1793.--Marie Angelique Plaisant, sempstress, exclaimed--"a fig for the nation;" executed July 19, 1794. No. CLIII.