f leading men,
whom he unceremoniously designated as having made fortunes, not by
knowledge, but simply by its absence. "Their ignorance," said he, "gives
them effrontery, and effrontery is the grand secret of fame. You are an
Englishman and a philosopher,"--the latter expression uttered with a
curl of the lip and an elevation of the brow, which evidently translated
the word, a fool. "You take things circuitously, while success lies in
the straight line; thus you fail, we triumph."

I admitted the rapidity of his countrymen.

"In France," said he, or rather exclaimed, "two things conduct to
renown; and but two--to stop at nothing, and never to admit ignorance in
any thing; in medicine, to cure or kill without delay; in surgery, to
operate at all risks. If the patient dies, there are fifty reasons for
it; if the surgeon hesitates, the public will allow of but one. Politics
are not within my line, and the subject is just now a delicate one; but
you see that the secret of renown is, to run on the edge of the
scaffold. In soldiership the principle is the same--always to fight,
whenever you can find any body to fight with; you will deserve to be
famous, or deserve to be guillotined.'

"Perhaps both," I remarked.

"Nothing more probable. But still something is done; inaction does
nothing. Look at Dumourier; he has had no more necessity for fighting
this battle, than for jumping from the parapet of Notre-Dame. But he has
fought, he has conquered; and, instead of throwing himself from the
parapet of Notre-Dame, which he probably would have done in the next
fortnight's _ennui_ in Paris, all Paris is placarded with his
bulletins."

"But he _might_ have been beaten; he might have been ruined, or brought
to trial for rashness; or to an Austrian prison, like La Fayette."

"Of course he might. But the question is of the fact--let prophets deal
with the future. He _has_ beaten the Austrians; he _has_ conquered
Flanders; he _has_ made himself the first man of France by the act, for
which, if he had been an Austrian general, he would have been brought to
a court-martial, his victory pronounced contrary to rule, his bravery a
breach of etiquette, and the rest of his days, if he was not shot on the
ramparts of Vienna, spent in a dungeon in Prague. Take my advice; dash
at every thing; risk is the grand talent--adventure, the philosopher's
stone. So, listen to me; you shall be admitted to the Hotel Dieu as an
_eleve_; become my assis