The public character of David is well-known and held in general detestation. In the course of my conversation with him I once took a favourable opportunity of asking whether he recollected having signed a warrant for my arrest. To these questions he simply replied that it was impossible for him to recall to memory all the warrants of arrest which had been issued at the time he was a member of the Committee of General Vigilance; that hundreds were sometimes signed in one day, and that in the _hurry of business_, he had often put his name to warrants on the reports of his colleagues. I remarked that through this _hurry_ of business a great deal of injustice had been committed. This he frankly confessed, but defended the measures by the old plea: “What could we do surrounded by traitors, who were paid by Pitt and his government to sap the foundations of the Republic?” I could not help observing that the conduct of the Committee reminded me of the hangman in an English play, who states to his friends, that having a great deal upon his hands one day in the hurry of business whipped the rope round a bystander’s neck, and did not discover his mistake until a full hour after the man had been hanging. Whenever the atrocities of the different rulers of France are made the subjects of inquiry, I have always found the same language employed to extenuate the guilt of their principal agents. Murders, rapes, burnings, proscriptions and pillage are all laid upon the Revolution, which is a generic term for every species of crime; but the agents, the authors of these horrors, remain unmolested and riot in the blood and tears they have caused to flow. If it be necessary to offer an apology for deeds of blood, the gold of Pitt is displayed in all its wonder-working efficacy; if the murder of an innocent person be lamented, we are instantly told he was an agent of Pitt. However penitent some of these miscreants may affect to be, their example does not appear to be followed by David. In general he is silent and reserved upon political subjects. Nothing seems to distress him more than the recollection of the conventional period. But his distress arises not from the awakening voice of nature, nor from the reproaches of an accusing conscience. It originates in idea that the days of blood and proscriptions are no more. I am convinced that David regrets the halcyon times when thousands were butchered to illustrate the reign of liberty and equality. Speaking of St. Just,[1] the hated Decemvir, he declared: “Notwithstanding the fate of that _unfortunate_ young man and the _prejudices_ entertained against him, he was véritablement à la hauteur de la Revolution.” In an unguarded moment he proceeded to pour forth the bloody sentiments of his ferocious soul. [Sidenote: CHARACTER OF DAVID]