122 MEMOIRS OF 



but on the 8th of May, 1832, he again resumed the chair 

 with one of his most impressive and elevated discourses. 

 Never had he spoken with more five, nor witli more ease 

 to himself: he '• could have continued for two or three 

 hours longer,'" he said, " had he not been afraid of tiring 

 his audience." But they had heard him for the last time, 

 and this lecture, the memorable words it contained, and the 

 effect it produced, seem to me to be so inseparable from his 

 death that, for a further description of it, I must refer the 

 reader to the last portion of this volume where the sad 

 details of the closing scene are related at length. And 

 now having endeavoured, though I fear but with inade- 

 quate success, to describe M. Cuvier's scientific labours, I 

 cannot do better than return to that part of his works, 

 which it is here the principal ol^ject to illustrate. The two 

 examples offered of his familiar style of writing, belong to 

 his private character; and, in the first, wu-itten to Madame 

 Cuvier immediately after starting for one of his journeys, 

 the man, the husband, and the father, are so simply and 

 unconsciously exposed, that I cannot be too thankful for 

 the permission to make it public. The second was ad- 

 dressed to M. Valenciennes, during the last illness of M. 

 Cuvier's daughter, and both speak too forcibly for the waiter 

 to require any further comment. 



Pont Sainte Maxence, 

 Dimanche, 19Mai, 1811. Soir. 



Ma tendre amie, 

 Le temps, les chemins, les cheveaux et les postilions se 

 sent trouves si excellens, que nous sommes arrives a Pont 

 Sainte Maxence avant six heures, et que j'ai amerement 

 regrette les deux ou trois bonnes heures que j'aurais pu 

 passer encore avec toi, sans retarder en rien le terme de mon 

 voyage ; crois du moins que je les y passe bien en imagi- 

 nation, et que le souvenir de tes caresses, et de ta douce 

 amitie fera le bonheur de toute ma route. Dis je te prie a 

 Sopliie combien j'ai ete touch e de ses adieux : dis-le aussi a 

 ma bonne Clementine ; pour Georges, il ne pensait encore 

 qu'au malheur de ne plus avoir des betes tons les soirs, mais 

 je te prie de lui en promettre, et meme de lui en donner 

 quelques fois de ma part, en bois, en plomb, ou en toute autre 



