ication of his earlier works, and
the composition of some lesser pieces. He himself affectingly regrets an
interruption to these occupations. On being appointed Instructor to the
Normal School, he says, "I am obliged to hang my harp on the willows
of my river, and to accept an employment useful to my family and my
country. I am afflicted at having to suspend an occupation which has
given me so much happiness."

He enjoyed in his old age, a degree of opulence, which, as much as
glory, had perhaps been the object of his ambition. In any case, it is
gratifying to reflect, that after a life so full of chance and change,
he was, in his latter years, surrounded by much that should accompany
old age. His day of storms and tempests was closed by an evening of
repose and beauty.

Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of his mind was preserved to
the last. He died at Eragny sur l'Oise, on the 21st of January, 1814.
The stirring events which then occupied France, or rather the whole
world, caused his death to be little noticed at the time. The Academy
did not, however, neglect to give him the honour due to its members.
Mons. Parseval Grand Maison pronounced a deserved eulogium on his
talents, and Mons. Aignan, also, the customary tribute, taking his seat
as his successor.

Having himself contracted the habit of confiding his griefs and sorrows
to the public, the sanctuary of his private life was open alike to the
discussion of friends and enemies. The biographer, who wishes to be
exact, and yet set down nought in malice, is forced to the contemplation
of his errors. The secret of many of these, as well as of his miseries,
seems revealed by himself in this sentence: "I experience more pain from
a single thorn, than pleasure from a thousand roses." And elsewhere,
"The best society seems to me bad, if I find in it one troublesome,
wicked, slanderous, envious, or perfidious person." Now, taking into
consideration that St. Pierre sometimes imagined persons who were really
good, to be deserving of these strong and very contumacious epithets,
it would have been difficult indeed to find a society in which he could
have been happy. He was, therefore, wise, in seeking retirement, and
indulging in solitude. His mistakes,--for they were mistakes,--arose
from a too quick perception of evil, united to an exquisite and diffuse
sensibility. When he felt wounded by a thorn, he forgot the beauty and
perfume of the rose to which it belonged,