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among the infirm, the destitute, and the young, are the labours of a 
true apostle. His march was always forward ; his watchword 
always duty. As seen by the eye of the man of science, he was 
absorbed in study ; as seen by the eye of the man of God, he was 
absorbed in labours of love. In every scheme for the instruction, 
for the sustentation, for the elevation of his commune, he was ever 
active, ever devoted. No amount of labour, no sacrifice of time or 
of money, was too great for him. He was accustomed to wait on 
the mayor almost daily, and often several times in the day ; and he 
brought with him all his resources of heart, of head, and of purse. 
Now to recommend a poor infirm man to the charity which pri- 
marily came from himself ; now to suggest the adoption of an orphan 
whom he had hunted out ; now to restore a wounded soldier to his 
family ; now to organize a school ; now to forward the working of 
an hospital. “ He had (says the eloquent mayor of Sceaux) two 
distinct lives — the Christian and the scientific life — each so full, so 
complete, that it would have served to confer lustre on any name. 5 ” 
A characteristic feature in his good works was that truly Christian 
one, that he conducted them without ostentation, and without assum- 
ing even the shadow of merit. 
A little before his death, and when it was but too evident that 
his end was approaching, he was busily engaged with the cure of the 
parish in arrangements for the benefit of the people. Perceiving 
that he was overtaxing his strength, the cure besought him to take 
rest, adding, that in so doing, he would second the efforts of those 
who were praying for his restoration to health. His reply was in 
these words, and they are the last of his recorded words : — “ Hear 
Sir, men pass away ; but their works remain. Pray for the work.’* 
I have a pleasing remembrance of the retired chateau at Sceaux, 
with its vine-trellised gardens ; and of the beaming countenances of 
M. Cauchy and his agreeable family. In that retreat all was as 
bright as the summer sky. To the great and good man, whose loss 
we now lament, it was the dawning brightness of the morn “ that 
shineth more and more unto the perfect day.” 
