ON TO DEATH. 
These sands eed to my memory at the time when 
I was gathering from various sources the proof that on re- 
entering the Conciergerie after his condemnation, Bailly 
showed himself at once both gay and stoical. 
_ He desired his nephew, M. Batbéda, to play a game at 
piquet with him as usual. He thought of all the cireum- 
stances connected with the frightful morrow with such 
coolness, that he even said with a smile to M. Batbéda 
during the game: “Let us rest awhile, my friend, and 
take a pinch of snuff; to-morrow I shall be deprived of 
this pleasure, for I shall have my hands tied behind my 
back.” 
_ I will quote some words which, while testifying to a 
similar degree Bailly’s serenity of mind, are more in 
harmony with his grave character, and more worthy of 
being preserved in history. 
One of the companions of the illustrious academician’s 
captivity, on the evening of the 11th of November, with 
tears in his eyes and moved by a tender veneration, ex- 
claimed: “ Why did you let us fancy there was a possi- 
bility of acquittal? You deceived us then? ”—Bailly 
answered: “No, I was teaching you never to despair of 
the laws of your country.” 
In the paroxysms of wild despair, some of the prison- 
ers reviewing the past, went so far as to regret that they 
had never infringed the laws of the strictest honesty. 
Bailly brought back these minds, erring for the mo- 
ment from the path of duty, by repeating to them max- 
ims which both in form and substance would not disparage 
the collections of the most celebrated moralists : 
“Tt is false, very false, that a crime can ever be useful. 
The trade of an honest man is the safest, even in times 
of revolution. Enlightened egotism suffices to put any 
