mies of the Academy eventually found they had a majority in the Convention, and they hastened to make use of it. The painter David pronounced the doom of all the learned societies of France, and the Convention decreed their suppression on August 8, 1793. Fourcroy had triumphed; too timorous to work in the open, he had been the unseen power behind the Convention which had steadily undermined the influence of the Academy, and had at length effected its destruction. Still Lavoisier did not despair. He appealed to the Committee on Public Instruction to allow the members of the Academy to continue their labors, and he entreated that the work of the Commission of Weights and Measures might not be interrupted. True to his trust, he pleaded for those of his colleagues who had been reduced to poverty by the decree of the Convention: It is unnecessary to add, citizens, that the continuance of their salaries to those who have earned them is demanded by justice; there is not an Academician who, if he had applied his intelligence and means to other objects, would not have been able to secure a livelihood and a position in society. It is on the public faith that they have followed a career, honorable without doubt, but hardly lucrative. Many of them are octogenarians and infirm; several of them have spent their powers and their health in travel and investigations undertaken gratuitously for the Government; the sense of rectitude of Frenchmen will not allow the nation to disappoint their hopes; they have at least an absolute right to the pensions decreed in favor of all public functionaries. ... Citizens, the time presses; if you allow the men of science who composed the defunct Academy to retire to the country, to take other positions in society, and to devote themselves to lucrative occupations, the organization of the sciences will be destroyed, and half a century will not suffice to regenerate the order. For the sake of the national honor, in the interests of society, as you regard the good opinion of foreign nations, I beseech you to make some provision against the destruction of the arts which would be the necessary consequence of the annihilation of the sciences. The Convention was inexorable and Fourcroy was relentless. He now acted as if his object was to crush Lavoisier, and by an adroit move he caused him to be stigmatized as a counter-revolutionist. A few days afterwards the Convention ordered the arrest of Lavoisier, together with the rest of the fermiers-généraux who had signed the leases of David, Salzard, and Mager, and he was conducted to the prison of Port-Libre. Every effort on the part of his friends was put forth to save him. The Commission of Weights and Measures, be led by Borda and Haüy, appealed to Committee of Public Safety. It refuse discuss the petition, and two days awards, on the advice of the Committee of Public Instruction, of which Fourcroy and Guyton Morveau were members, the names of Borda, Lavoisier, Laplace, Coulomb, Brisson, and Delambre were removed from the Commission. The Committee of Assignats requested in vain that Lavoisier might be allowed to work in his laboratory. The Bureau de Consultation des Arts et Métiers, of which Lavoisier was president at the time of his arrest, addressed a memorial extolling the value of his public services, and drawing especial attention to the fact that the scheme of national instruction then before the Convention was entirely of his creation. All was in vain. The Terrorists were in complete ascendancy in the Convention. Robespierre had swept Hebert and Danton from his path, and the work of "purification was going on merrily. On May 8, 1794, the fermiers-généraux were brought to trial, but their condemnation had already been pronounced. Liendon, in the turgid rhetoric of the period, demanded the heads of the prisoners. "The measure of the crimes of these vampires is filled to the brim . . . the immorality of these creatures is stamped on public opinion; they are the authors of all the evils that have afflicted France for some time past." Hallé attempted to intervene on behalf of Lavoisier, and presented the memorial of the Bureau de Consultation; Coffinhal, who presided, pushed it aside, with the memorable words: "La République n'a pas besoin de savants; il faut que la justice suive son cours.' The twenty-eight fermiers-généraux were found guilty of death. They were sentenced to be executed within twenty-four hours, and it was ordered that their property should be confiscated to the Republic. Such was the haste of the judges that the decision of the jury was omitted from the minute of judgment. an act of informality which Dobsen used with terrible effect a few months later, when Fouquier-Tinville and Coffinhal found themselves in the place of the unfortunate fermiers-généraux. the following morning the condemned men were taken from the Conciergerie to the Place de la Révolution. They bade each other farewell; Papillon d'Auteroche, seeing the crowd en carmagnole as the carts passed through the streets, raised a smile On as he said disdainfully, in allusion to the confiscation of his effects: "What vexes me is to have such disagreeable heirs." They were guillotined in the order of their names on the indictment. Lavoisier saw fall the head of his father-in-law, and was himself the fourth to suffer. In common with all his companions, he bore himself with dignity, and met his end calmly and with courage. The spectacle of such fortitude awed the crowd into silence, and no reproach or insult reached the ears of the dying man. Thus perished, at the age of fifty-one, one of the most remarkable men of whom history has any record. All that was mortal of him was thrown into the cemetery of Madeleine, and the place of his interment was forgotten. The news of this great crime profoundly affected the intellectual world. Eighteen months before, our own Royal Society had sent Lavoisier the Copley medal, the highest gift it has to bestow. It came to him as a ray of encouragement, if not of hope, during the dark hours of his struggle to save the Academy. There was not a scientific body in Europe which failed to give utterance to its sense of shame and sorrow. With the fall of Robespierre this feeling penetrated France. On October 22, 1795, Lalande pronounced an éloge on Lavoisier before the Lyceum of Arts, and in the midst of the extraordinary revulsion of popular feeling which preceded the days of the Directory the same body decreed a solemn funeral ceremony in his honor. It was, in truth, a lugubrious farce, marked by all the extravagances of taste and sentiment which were then in fashion, and it was crowned by an éloge-from Fourcroy. Time-serving and timorous as ever. Fourcroy had no other extenuation than an appeal to the memories of the Great Terror. Carry yourselves back to that frightful time. when terror separated even friends from each other, when it isolated even the members of a family at their very fireside, when the least word, the slightest mark of solicitude for the unfortunate beings who were preceding you along the road to death, were crimes and conspiracies." For Fourcroy to plead that he was pusillanimous hardly serves to exculpate him. He would have us believe that he was powerless to avert the catastrophe he now affects to deplore; but he stands charged, on his own showing, with participation in acts which largely contributed to it, and the charge lies heav ily on his memory. 66 T. E. THORPE. 66 WORSE THAN AN ASS." THERE is, no doubt, a certain bitter sweetness in giving up all that we value for the sake of those whom we love; but it must be confessed that the bitterness predominates largely over the sweetness from the moment that we begin to suspect them of being unworthy of such a sacrifice. In reality they must always be so, because the worthy people will not accept sacrifices; still self deception upon the point is not impossible. Unluckily for poor Willie, it had become so in his case, and without saying to himself in so many words that his mother's love for him was of a purely selfish order, he nev ertheless knew the truth. Looking forward into the future, he could discern no prospect of compensation, nor any object that seemed much worth living for, except indeed his profession; and the profession of a soldier in time of peace cannot be counted as a very exciting one. It only remained for him to submit to his destiny with courage and resignation; to submit to it cheerfully was, he felt, beyond him. It has been said that he had at last begun to feel a little hopeful with regard to Lady Evelyn. Nothing verbal, it is true, had passed between them of a nature to justify hope; but he had made tentative advances which had not been repelled, and once or twice, when their eyes had chanced to meet, he had fancied that he saw a look in hers which had not been there before-although, of course, be might have been quite mistaken. Well, at any rate, there must be an end of all that now. Whatever his chances might have been, he had deliberately parted with them, and there was no other course open to him than to part also with her. He must make some excuse for leaving Torquay as soon as possible, since it was no longer in his power to associate with her upon a footing of mere acquaintanceship, nor permissible for him to asso. ciate with her upon any other footing. Meanwhile, he resolved that he would avoid seeing her at all until he should have received his uncle's reply to the communication which he now sat down to write. He could not, even if he had wished to do so, have concealed from the head of the banking firm so important a circum £4,000 somehow or other, and you know - I'm sure stance as that he desired to sell out £4,000 I hope you don't- that applying to the The ensuing day was a very long and very sad one for our poor hero. He had, as was only to be expected, slept little and was feeling wretchedly ill; he would not go to Malton Lodge, he did not know how to occupy himself, and he was bound in honor to keep up appearances as far as he could before his mother, who evidently thought that he was repenting a little of his generosity. However, he was under no such obligation to his stepfather who had the bad taste to be profusely grateful to him. "Really, it's uncommonly good of you to help us out of this mess, my dear fellow," said Archdale, "and you may be sure that you will get the interest of your money regularly until I can scrape together enough to clear off the debt. I don't think you will be put to any serious inconvenience about it; still you have done me an immense service, which, I assure you, I shall never forget." "I lent the money to my mother," answered Willie shortly. "Yes, yes, I quite understand that. Only it was my fault that your mother had to ask you for it, you see.' "And I quite understand that," said Willie. "You have nothing to thank me for; so we needn't say any more about it." But Archdale, thinking it a pity that this timely advance should be a cause of ill-feeling between him and his benefactor, persisted in saying more. Situated as I am just now," he explained, "it is a matter of sheer necessity for me to raise "My uncle will undoubtedly cut me out of his will," answered Willie. "I shall have enough of my own to live upon, but I shall not be able to afford any more loans. Perhaps it is as well to tell you that at once." And, having imparted this agreeable piece of information, he left the room. "That young man," mused Archdale, after he had gone, "has no sort of urbanity. What is the use of saying nasty things to a man who is trying hard to be civil to you? Well, I've done my best to conciliate him, and if he won't make friends, why, he must do the other thing; as he justly remarks, it isn't I who owe him any any thanks. As for old Brett's cutting him off with a shilling, I expect he knows as well as I do that there's no fear of that." But Willie, knowing Sir George a good deal better than Mr. Archdale did, was not in the least surprised when, by return of post, a letter reached him from Blaydon Hall in which he was given plainly to understand that he must expect no further favors from one whose wishes he had chosen to set at nought. "Your instructions have been acted upon," Sir George wrote, " and in a few days' time the sum which you propose to hand over to your mother will be placed to your credit. Since your determination has been made with a full knowledge of its necessary consequences, I shall not waste time by reproaching you. I will merely mention that I shall this day sign a fresh will, in which your name will not appear. It would be idle to pretend that the news of your folly and, I must add, your ingratitude has not come upon me as a severe blow; but I must bear it as best I may. I trust that Lady Evelyn Foljambe, whom you appear willing to resign without a struggle, will think, as I do, that she is well rid of so weak-kneed a lover. "There was some talk, I believe, of your coming here again before Christmas, but under all the circumstances I will ask you to consider that engagement cancelled. Your aunt, I am sorry to say, is once more seriously unwell, and I wish to spare her the distress of hearing that you have ceased to be what we have always hoped that you would be, namely, our successor here, and, to all intents and purposes, our son. This I could not do if you were in the house. I have nothing more to say. Your mind is made up, and mine, as you are aware, was made up long ago. We need not quarrel over it; but it will be obvious to you that our relations must henceforth be of a far more formal kind than they have hitherto been." "What have you been doing with yourself all this time? Lady Wetherby inquired. "I'm afraid it is hardly necessary to ask though, for I can see by your face that you have been ill again. Have you any business to be here now, I wonder?" "Oh, yes," answered Willie, with a somewhat forlorn smile, for he was thinking that if Lady Wetherby knew all she would be decidedly of opinion that he had no business in her house. "There is nothing particular the matter with me; only I am feeling a little seedy to-day." "Who wouldn't be in such weather?" exclaimed Lady Evelyn. "If one must needs be soaked to the skin and chilled to the marrow of one's bones, surely one might as well be following the hounds in one's native county." "I suppose you will be in your native county before the hunting is over,” said Willie interrogatively. That much was certainly obvious, and Willie could not take exception to the terms in which his uncle's more or less valedictory epistle was couched. It was as unequivocal as he had expected it to be and a good deal more temperate than he had ventured to anticipate, And now, since everything was settled beyond re- She shrugged her shoulders. "Not call, he thought there would be no harm in until after Christmas, anyhow, and even his walking as far as Malton Lodge. He then I don't know. It depends upon could not tell Lady Wetherby in plain lan-mamma, who is hankering after the fleshguage that he had withdrawn the preten- pots of Egypt or the wind and dust of the sions of which she had been informed; Riviera. But I live in hopes." but he owed it to her to make the fact apparent, and this might easily be done by a casual mention of his intention to exchange into the linked battalion of his regiment, which was quartered in India. Towards dusk, therefore, he set forth to acquit himself of his duty, fighting his way against a south-easterly gale and a cold, driving rain. Torquay, notwithstanding the high character that it bears as a health resort, is not exempt from occasional south-easterly winds, and no Englishman requires to be told what a combination of south-easterly wind and wet weather means. One does not often meet with people who want to go to India; but under such horrible atmospheric conditions even a man who proposes to leave his heart behind him may feel that Asia possesses certain advantages over northern Europe. Willie was not quite philosophical enough to take that view, yet he was rather glad that the world looked so utterly dreary and woe-begone that evening. Sunshine and a blue sky would have been intolerable. The ladies were, of course, at home. He found them, as he had expected to find them, drinking tea before the fire, and they welcomed him all the more warmly, because, as they declared, they had given up all hope that anybody would be charitable enough to enliven their solitude on such a day. This was perhaps as good an opportunity as another for announcing that soon after Christmas he himself would in all probability be on his way towards a sunnier clime; but Willie did not profit by it. He was afraid of being catechized, and thought it would be wiser to defer his statement until the last moment. So he swallowed the tea which was poured out for him, and talked and was talked to for a time, though what the subjects conversed about were he would have been puzzled to say afterwards. The entrance of an old woman, enveloped in furs, who, by her own account, had braved the elements in order to make sure of finding dear Lady Wetherby at home, necessarily threw the responsibility of entertaining him upon Lady Evelyn, and she proceeded to do so by retiring to the other end of the double drawing-room and making him a sign to follow her. A few days before he would have been overjoyed by such a mark of favor, but now it only made his heart ache the more. What could he say to her? All he knew was that he was in duty bound to avoid saying too much. As it happened, things were made comparatively easy for him; for Lady Evelyn, after some further disparaging criticisms upon the climate of the west of England, asked him whether he expected to be quartered much longer at Plymouth, and as that was a question to which he would | Willie rose to do likewise. He did not have to give a definite reply before quitting the house, he did not see his way to evade answering it at once. "The regiment will be there for another year most likely," he said, in as unconcerned a voice as he could command, but I don't think I shall remain with it. 1 want to exchange to India if I can." There was no lamp in the room where they were seated, and Lady Evelyn was shielding her face from the fire with a hand-screen, so that it was impossible to see how she was affected by his words, though he stole an eager side-glance at her as soon as they were uttered. It must be owned that he was a little disappointed by the perfect indifference with which she returned, "Really! Will you like that better than England, do you think?" "In some ways, I dare say," he answered. "Of course, one is sorry to leave one's friends." "Oh, you will make new ones. Your mother will be sorry to lose you though. And what about your uncle does he approve?" "I don't suppose he will object; but I haven't consulted him. I'm not bound to consult him, you know." "I thought he was rather under the impression that you were; but old gentlemen are very liable to be under mistaken impressions of that kind. When do you propose to start?" To an experienced student of women, like Cecil Archdale, this assumption of nonchalance would have appeared decidedly overdone; but it was quite artistic enough to deceive Willie, who accepted it as a convincing proof that his half-formed hopes had been built upon sand and who was scarcely as glad of that as he ought to have been. He explained that exchanges could not be effected at a moment's notice, and that there was little likelihood of his getting away from England before the spring, but that, as he had various arrangements to make, he would probably rejoin his regiment very shortly. inform Lady Wetherby of his plans, knowing that she would hear about them presently from her daughter, so that his leave-taking was only such as is customary between people who expect to meet again on the morrow. Nevertheless he had almost made up his mind that it should be final. When he was once more out in the wind and the rain, he said to himself that it would be wiser not to risk a second visit to Malton Lodge. Lady Wetherby might, and very likely would, ask for explanations which it would be painful as well as useless to give, and Evelyn, it was very plain, would not trouble her head about him after he should be out of sight. He must get the doctor's permission to return to duty, or, if that could not be obtained, he must invent some pretext for running up to London. It was now quite dark, and he would have passed without recognizing a solitary pedestrian whom he met breasting the hill which he was descending, had not that individual hailed in Mortimer's voice, "Hullo, Brett! It is Brett, isn't it? Willie took his friend's outstretched hand. "What in the world has brought you here, Mortimer?" he asked. thought you were never coming to Torquay any more. "I "Well, so did I," answered the other, with a laugh; "but I went off in such a hurry that I left some things behind me at the hotel, and then there were some bills that I forgot to pay, and-and so I thought I would just run down for a couple of nights." But perhaps he felt that this was really too lame an explanation to pass muster; for he added, with another apologetic laugh, "Well, the fact is, I wanted to have a last glimpse of-of you all. Between you and me, old man, I find that shooting won't do I must get out of the old groove altogether. So I've made up my mind to go round the world, and I expect I shall be away for at least a year. Now, tell me, is everything settled between you and Lady Evelyn?" They were standing in the middle of the road, exposed to the full fury of the weather; but hard by was one of those "So that we shan't see much more of you, I presume," observed Lady Evelyn cheerfully. "Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself out there and have plenty of pig-flights of steps, known in Torquay as sticking. If I were you I should make a point of going to some place where there are pigs to stick." She went on chatting about Indian field sports and other kindred topics for ten minutes or so, after which the old lady in the next room took her departure, and "slips," which enable foot passengers to scale the many hills in a somewhat shorter space of time than is required by vehicles, and which are usually flanked on either side by the high walls of adjacent gardens. Into the comparative shelter thus afforded Willie now drew his friend, and there |