poison were working in her veins, until at last the poor body was one
mass of swollen disfigurements, of putrid sores, that only a miracle
from Heaven could heal. As miracles could not be looked for, everyone
who had any skill in such desperate cases was called, and a thousand
different opinions were given, a thousand different cures tried. And
when all was seen to have been in vain, her tortured children, in their
despair, left her and turned upon the false physicians, putting them to
death and with ferocious joy avenging her agonies. And in the quiet
which thus fell upon her, when all had left her to die, the fever and
pain vanished; from her opened veins the poisoned blood dropped away; to
the blinded eyes sight returned; in the distracted brain reason once
more held sway. Slowly and faintly she arose and went about her
business.

It was of that fast-sickening France, of that blighted land of France,
that Mr. Jefferson spoke so earnestly in the gathering darkness of that
winter's day in the year 1789. The storm which had just swept over the
American colonies had passed, leaving wrecks strewn from shore to shore,
'tis true, but a land fairer and greater than ever, a people tried by
adversity and made strong. The tempest, which had been so gallantly
withstood by our ably manned ship of state, had blown across the
Atlantic and was beating upon the unprotected shores of France. The
storm was gathering fast in that most famous year of 1789--the _alpha_
and _omega_ of French history, the ending of all things old, the
beginning of all things new, for France. Two years before the bewildered
Assemblée des Notables had met and had been dismissed to spread their
agitation and disaffection throughout all France by the still more
bewildered Loménie de Brienne, who was trying his hand at the impossible
finances of France after the fall of that magnificent spendthrift,
Monsieur Colonne. He, in turn, had been swept from his office and