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As the sombre wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to

plough up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the

streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side and to that, and

the ploughs go steadily onward. So used are the regular

inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that in many windows

there are no people, and in some the occupation of the hands is

not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in the

tumbrils. Here and there, the inmate has visitors to see the

sight; then he points his finger, with something of the

complacency of a curator or authorised exponent, to this cart and

to this, and seems to tell who sat here yesterday, and who there

the day before.