where, when I rejoined them four days after, they still wore the same full dress in which they had presided at the dinner party, from whence they withdrew, by stealth and in silence, from France, from their home, from their friends, from splendour, and from power. At the sight of this garb of fashion, covered with dust; at the sound of that foreign name, which had been assumed to prevent discovery and detention, I was overwhelmed with such deep emotions of awe and tenderness, that on entering (at the inn) the apartment in which I once more beheld my father, I threw myself at his feet, and thus, by an involuntary impulse, offered spontaneous homage:-this external act was but the symbol of that habitual veneration which he was formed to inspire in public and in private life, in the brilliant moment of his political career, and in the every-day details of the domestic circle, his truth and justice, his magnanimity and benevolence, were equally conspicuous and permanent.

It is a trite remark, that no hero exists for those with whom he is perfectly familiar. Experience proves, that almost all who have performed a public part, are without the qualities essential to the private man; but when you recognize in the same individual a character at once simple and sublime; when you behold the upright citizen in the eminent statesman, the philanthropist in the man of genius, the man of feeling in the man of exalted station, the nearer you approach to such a man, the more he becomes the object of admiration; the more you discover the image of that Providence who presides over the starry heavens, yet disdains not to clothe the lilies, and to watch over the life of a single sparrow.

My father, who has often received the tribute of praise from the pen of his wife and daughter, would have been happy to impose on us that convential modesty which prevails in other families. But we discovered in him virtues so consistent, so uniform, so perfectly in harmony with the language which he maintained to the public, that we were compelled to relieve the full fraught heart with the expression of that domestic worship which consecrated our whole existence.-Oppressed by gratitude and affection, we learnt to despise that common-place raillery, which blunts the edge of feeling, and imperceptibly impairs the integrity of principle.

On his abrupt departure from Versailles, M. Necker had not even taken a passport, lest he should commit himself to some individual who might betray his confidence. He was careful to evade every pretext for deferring his journey: but reaching Valenciennes, the commandant of the town refused him permission to proceed without a passport. My father produced the king's letter, which he had no sooner read than the commandant, who had recognized M. Necker by his resemblance to the print, which was placed on the mantle-piece in his apartment, permitted him to proceed, not without breathing a deep sigh for the irreparable evils which he foresaw his departure must produce to France.

It had been proposed to the king to put my father under arrest, since it appeared incredible that he should take precautions to counteract the effects of that enthusiasm which he had excited; but the king who never ceased to do justice to his probity, insisted that it would be sufficient to request him to withdraw quietly. The event demonstrated that his majesty did not err in this calculation.

It was in the morning of the 12th of July that I received a letter from my father, announcing his departure, and desiring me to retire to the country, lest some expression of public homage should be addressed to him through the medium of my person.

In the morning I received deputations from every quarter of the city, who addressed me in enthusiastic terms on the departure of M. Necker, and on the steps proper to be taken to obtain his recall.

At such a moment, I scarcely know to what conduct I might have been prompted by youth and inexperience; but, in obedience to my father's letter, I retired to some distance from Paris, where, being apprized by a second courier of the route which he had taken, (and of which he had made a mystery in his former letter,) I set out, on the 13th of July, to rejoin him. My father had chosen Brussels, as a less distant frontier than Switzerland, and, as a further precaution, where he had less chance of being known. During the twenty-four hours that we passed together, preparing for the long journey through Germany, by which he was to return to Switzerland, he recollected that, a few days before his exile

Messrs. Hope, the bankers of Amsterdam, had asked him to lend security, from his own fortune, of two millions, deposited in the royal treasury, for a supply of wheat, which, in this memorable year of scarcity, was become indispensable to the subsistence of Paris.

Much as the disturbances in France had shaken the credit of its government with foreign states, the personal guarantee of M. Necker was alone sufficient to inspire confidence, and he hesitated not to accede to the requisition. On his arrival at Brussels, fearing that the news of his exile might excite alarm in Messrs. Hope, and consequently impede the expected supplies, he wrote to confirm the guarantee. Banished and proscribed, he hazarded the greatest part of the property still remaining in his possession, to preserve Paris from the calamity with which it was menaced, by the inexperience or embarrassment of a new minister.-O Frenchmen! O France! it was thus that my father loved you!

When the new minister, the ephemeral successor of M. Necker, was initiated in the business of his department, it devolved on M. du Fresne de Saint Leon, the first clerk of finance, to present, amongst the correspondence, the answer from the Hopes, accepting the first security, which my father had offered them. I know not whether the successor relished this mode of serving his majesty without emolument, and even at the risk of losing his private property, but what could be more noble, more consonant to the spirit of antiquity, than the conduct of M. Necker, who, in ratifying, during his exile, the generous sacrifice, must have risen superior to the sentiment most common to mankind-that of wishing his absence should be regretted, by refusing himself the satisfaction of being compared with his successor.

My father had proceeded, with M. de Stael, to Basle, through Germany. My mother and myself, who followed leisurely, were overtaken at Frankfort by a messenger, who brought letters from the king and the national assembly, which, for the third time, recalled M. Necker to the ministry. It was at Frankfort that I received the intelligence of an event that apparently raised my father to the summit of human prosperity;-at that same Frankfort to which I was recalled fourteen years after by a very different destiny.

My mother, far from being elated with this victory, was not even willing that my father should accept the triumph. It was at Basle that we rejoined him, and that he made his decision to return to Paris;--a resolution which I am authorised to state he did not embrace without extreme reluctance. The issue of the 14th of July convinced him that he should in future have to contend for the preservation of royalty; he foresaw, that though his popularity must be sacrificed, he might still fail to obtain that ascendancy with the government over its pernicious counsellors, which could alone save it from destruction.

At this moment he had a glimpse of futurity, which impressed him with a presage of those innumerable evils, too fatally attested by subsequent experience. These apprehensions, however, were combated by hope, and vanquished by a sense of duty. He trusted to his personal popularity to protect the partisans of the ancient régime from some of those tremendous evils with which they were menaced. He flattered himself he might prevail on the constituent assembly to covenant with the king for a limited monarchy; but this expectation was far from being sanguine. To himself and to us, he dissembled not the obstacles which opposed its accomplishment; but he dreaded the self-reproaches which might attend him in his retreat, if he refused to make any effort to avert those evils which he might vainly attempt to prevent.

It is easy to conceive, that to the man of genius, endowed with imagination and sensibility, the history of whose life is intermingled with the most fearful political revolutions, and whose ardent spirit is corroded even in solitude by painful retrospections; neither conscience, nor reason, nor the esteem of mankind, can always prove sufficient to insure tranquillity.

Let the envious ask for splendour, for fortune, for youth and beauty, all those smiling gifts, which serve to embellish the surface of life; but never let them cast an invidious glance on those eminent distinctions of mind and genius, which destroy the peace of their possessor. Let them rather deprecate than calumniate that perilous eminence, which finds its enemy in human destiny. Let them at least disclaim the injustice of hating those who are already the victims of persecution.

Yet, what a brilliant moment of happiness, of enjoyment, was that journey, or rather procession, from Basle to Paris, when my father decided to return to Versailles. I know not that history offers a parallel instance of triumph for any man, who has not been a sovereign. The French nation, so animated in the expression of its sentiments, surrendered, for the first tiine, to a hope which was wholly new, and of which it had not learnt, by fatal experience, to perceive the limits: at this period, when liberty was known to the enlightened class but by the noble sentiments which it inspires, and to the people but by ideas analagous to its necessities and its sufferings, M. Necker appeared as the precursor of that long expected deity: the most lively acclamations heralded his steps; the women prostrated themselves on the ground when his carriage approached: through whatever villages we passed, the most distinguished inhabitants displaced the postilions, to lead our horses along the road. In the towns, the people insisted on drawing the carriage through the streets. A general* in the French army, the bravest of the brave, was wounded in one of these triumphal entries:-in short, no man, who has not borne a sceptre, ever appeared to be so firmly enthroned in the hearts of the people. Alas! it was I who received this homage, and who enjoyed this triumph;it was I alone who surrendered to the intoxication of that blissful moment, and never ought I to become ungrateful for having tasted these few precious moments, however bitter should be the dregs of life.

At this period my father was occupied in allaying that effervescence of feeling so formidable to the vanquished party. On arriving at Basle, his first step was to visit Mad. de Polignac, who had always been hostile to his interests, but who now being proscribed and unfortunate, engaged his attention.

In his journey he seized every opportunity to render essential service to the aristocrats, who were escaping in great numbers from Paris, and many of whom solicited letters from his hand to enable them to reach the frontier in safety. This assistance he freely granted, though perfectly sensible how much he compromised his own credit by his generous conduct. It should be re

* General Junot.