ing things apart from their relation to each other, and distorting them, that they may be subjected to the laws of a system; which ought, in short, to lead the thoughts incessantly to that Supreme Intelligence, who governs, enlightens, and vivifies allwho reveals all things, and whom all things reveal.

At this part of his lecture he displayed a calmness and justness of perception, combined with a depth and seriousness of thought, which led his auditors to think of that Book which speaks of the creation to all mankind. This was the result of his ideas rather than his expressions, for every thing in the free exposition which he made, breathed the feeling of the omnipotence of a supreme cause, and of an infinite wisdom. He seemed, as it were, by the examination of the visible world, to be led to the precincts of that which is invisible, and the examination of the creature evoked the

Creator. At last these words fell from him, in which it is easy to see a presentiment; Such, gentlemen, will be the object of our investigation, if time, my own strength, and the state of my health, permit me to continue and finish them.' The closing scene of M. Cuvier's life as a public teacher appears to me to have been impressed with peculiar beauty. Who could fail to be deeply affected at the last accents of so pure an intelligence, disengaged from the vanities and the interests of systems? Who could remain cold and insensible before the last look thrown on creation by him who had revealed so many of its mys-teries? Who could resist the feeling excited by the view of science revealing eternal wisdom? How noble, how affecting, and how prophetic! So soon to appear before the supreme tribunal, what conviction could he express, what words could he pronounce which would have formed a

more suitable preparation? After this lecture, the first symptoms appeared of the disorder, which in less than eight days brought him to the grave. He presided, notwithstanding, on the following day, at the Committee of the Interior. Soon, however, paralysis of a peculiar kind, destroyed in succession the nerves that produce voluntary motion, leaving uninjured those which form the seat of sensation; the members affected thus became completely inert, and yet retained their sensibility. All the assistance of art, lavished upon him by men of the greatest skill, was ineffectual, and it soon became apparent that his end was drawing near.

"Every one knew with what courage and serenity he saw it approach. The unremitting care and attention which were bestowed on him affected him deeply, but did not diminish his courage. Even to the last he permitted those to approach who

had been on terms of intimacy with him, and it was thus that I was a witness of his dying moments. Four hours before his death, I was in that memorable cabinet, where the happiest hours of his life had been spent, and where I had seen him surrounded with so much homage, enjoying his well-merited success; he caused himself to be carried thither, and wished that his last breath should be drawn there. His countenance was in a state of perfect repose, and never did his noble head

appear to me more beautiful or worthy of admiration. No alteration of a too sensible or painful kind had yet taken place-only a little weakness and difficulty in supporting himself were observable.

"I held the hand which he had extended to me, while he said in a voice scarcely articulate, 'You see what a difference there is between the man of Tuesday, (we had met on that day,) and the man of Sunday;

yet so many things remain to be done! Three important works to be published, the materials of which are prepared, and nothing remains for me but to write them.' I made an effort to find some words to express to him the general interest which he excited. I love to believe it,' he replied; 'I have long endeavoured to render myself worthy of it.'

"It will be seen that his last thoughts were toward the future, and aspiring after glory-a noble desire of immortality! At nine o'clock of the evening of the 13th of May, he had ceased to live, having reached only the age of 62, although belonging to a family remarkable for longevity.

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At his own desire, Cuvier was buried in the Cemetery of Père la Chaise, beneath the tomb-stone which covered the remains

of his daughter. His funeral obsequies were attended by men of all ranks and opinions, who even in the midst of a raging