A negro—a huge giant—was especially famous during these three days. He, it is said, killed over two hundred. He gave himself no rest; stopped only to drink wine, and, naked to the waist, was a fearful sight, seen, as he habitually was, with the fair head of a slain woman swinging in his left hand. At last, he himself was slain, but not for two years, during which, where blood flowed, he was ever to be seen. At the end, he said he had revenged himself, not upon the enemies of France, but upon the enemies of his race—_the whites_. It is said ten thousand fell in those three days and nights. The murderers began at last to turn upon one another. Especially was this the case with the bands who adopted death by burning. A weaver—one Laurent—drew up a list of those it was intended to kill, and placed upon it the name of a tradesman, who refused to give him credit. The tradesman, having a friend in a member of the National Assembly, threw himself upon his protection. The name was erased, and Laurent’s written above it; and when Laurent pointed to the tradesman at the place of execution, he was himself seized, and cast into the flames. Meanwhile, the Prussians on the frontier were preparing to advance. This threat of invasion gave the public sentiment an impetus towards panic, which there was no resisting. The National Assembly, which was composed, for the greater part, of men of ripe age, was practically abolished by the constitution of a “Convocation,” in which the majority of the men of power were under thirty, while amongst them, several were scarcely more than of age. The King, once in prison, it has been seen how the fact was followed by the fearful massacres of September 2nd, 3rd, and 4th. Scarcely were they complete, than the men in power began to protest against their enormity, and it was endeavored to be shown, with some success, that these wholesale murders were perpetrated by a fierce organization of but comparatively few men, who cast this great shame upon France. Certainly, the same men were at the doors of the various prisons, while the rough order established amongst them, far more clearly pointed to the operation of a secret society, than to the sudden unorganized rage of a maddened people. The Convention was really divided into Girondists and Jacobins—the former led by Roland and Vergniaud, their party being distinguished by moderation; the latter, led by Robespierre (now rapidly becoming the leading man in the Revolution), Danton, and the miserable savage, Marat, who even condescended to attract the approbation of the lowest rabble, by wearing rags, as clothes, offensive from very want of cleanliness—a shape of vanity fortunately rarely to be found.