This terrible woman had, at last, gained control over her disturbed passions, so far as was necessary to the hypocrisy and treason by which her vengeance might be carried out. She was not the only woman in that dark epoch, who hurled her own personal wrongs and evil passions into the general anarchy, and called them patriotism. Patriotism! The amazons and butchers of France made this grand word so hideous, that liberty turns from it with distrust, even to this day; like the holy religion of Christ, it is used to cover a thousand sins—and treason is never so dangerous as when it cloaks itself under a name that true men hold sacred. If ever a time has been on earth, when women could possess all the power of men, it was during the French Revolution. How did it end? Who among those females has left a trace in her national history which is not written in blood, and in acts more atrocious than men would have dared perpetrate, had not the cheers of blood-thirsty women urged them on. While there was no law, men and women stood on a level—anarchy made no distinctions of sex. When women become immodest, men sink to their lowest level. What a fearful level was that to which the proud old nation of France was brought when assassination took the mockery of law, and indiscriminate murder became a national amusement. A few great and true-hearted women certainly were drawn into this awful maelstrom; but it was to sicken in the sea of blood that overwhelmed them, and perish under the heels of an enraged multitude, whose fiendish acts their own enthusiasm had aided to inspire. Who among all the army of women that marched to Versailles, on that gloomy day, has an honored place in the history of France now? Of the hundreds who mingled their voices with those of Danton, Robespierre, and Marat, at the clubs, is there one who has not been consigned to the blackest infamy by all historians? Madame Roland, who gloried in writing her husband’s letters, and was in character and position lifted far above the infamous rabble of women who made demons of the men they influenced, died on the scaffold, bravely as she had lived; but the last words on her lips were a bewailing cry over the atrocities perpetrated in the name of her ideal god.—Liberty.