adame Vernet, whom she is to call her
second mother, and who is to see her so educated as to have means of
independent support either from painting or engraving. 'Should it be
necessary for my child to quit France, she may count on protection in
England from my Lord Stanhope and my Lord Daer. In America, reliance
may be placed on Jefferson and Bache, the grandson of Franklin. She is,
therefore, to make the English language her first study.'"

Such was the last epistle ever written by Condorcet. Notwithstanding
the precautions taken by his friends, he escaped into the streets--from
thence having appealed in vain to friends for assistance, he visited
some quarries. Here he remained from the 5th to the evening of the 7th
of April, 1794. Hunger drove him to the village of Clamait, when he
applied at an hostelry for refreshment. He described himself as a
carpenter out of employment, and ordered an omelet. This was an age
of suspicion, and the landlord of the house soon discovered that the
wanderer's hands were white and undisfigured with labor, while his
conversation bore no resemblance to that of a common artificer. The
good dame of the house inquired how many eggs he would have in his dish.
Twelve, was the answer. Twelve eggs for a joiner's supper! This was
heresy against the equality of man. They demanded his passport--he had
not got one--the only appearance of anything of the sort was a scrap of
paper, scrawled over with Latin epigrams. This was conclusive evidence
to the village Dogberries that he was a traitor and an aristocrat. The
authorities signed the warrant for his removal to Paris. Ironed to two
officers they started on the march. The first evening they arrived at
Bourg-la-Reine, where they deposited their prisoner in the gaol of
that town. In the morning the gaoler found him a corpse. He had taken a
poison of great force, which he habitually carried in a ring. Thus
ended the life of the great Encyclopaedist--a man great by his many
virtues--who reflected honor on France by his science, his literary
triumphs, and his moral heroism. He had not the towering energy
of Marat, nor the gushing eloquence of Danton, neither had he the
superstitious devotion to abstract ideas which characterized the whole
course of Robespierre's life. The oratory of Danton, like that of Marat,
only excited the people to dissatisfaction; they struck down effete
institutions, but they were not the men to inaugurate a new society. It
is sel