en
mistaken by some bigoted minds for deceit or vacillation on the part
of Madame Roland; as if such a being were capable of either.

We owe all our knowledge of her early private life to the voluminous
correspondence between her and Sophie Cannet; to this friend she
wrote those long, journal-like letters, in which one young girl
often pours out the inmost secrets of her heart and soul to another;
but, unlike the letters of the ordinary girl, Manon's contained
criticisms of the books she had read, and discussions of
philosophical subjects, which bear evidence to her wonderful
precocity of thought and feeling in her "teens."

Originality, unselfishness, genius of the rarest order, are all
displayed in these letters; already had her mind grasped some great
truths which it requires the average philosopher half a century to
discover, when at seventeen, she says, "Man is the epitome of the
universe. The revolutions of the world without are an image of those
which take place in his own soul."

Upon the news of the mortal illness of Louis XV., she writes to
Sophie this strongly humanitarian passage: "Although the obscurity
of my birth, name, and position seem to preclude me from taking any
interest in the government, yet the common weal touches me in spite
of it. My country is something to me, and the love I bear it is
unquestionable. How could it be otherwise when nothing in the world
is indifferent to me? A love of humanity unites me to everything
that breathes. A Caribbean interests me; the fate of a Kaffir goes
to my heart. Alexander wished for more worlds to conquer. I could
wish for more to love."

In spite of her philosophy, her seriousness, and her learning,
however, Manon Philipon was a girl, and a charming one; and we learn
in her letters to Sophie how she was pestered with lovers of low and
high degree, during her long maidenhood. I might better say with
proposals for her hand, since, as we know, French custom does not
permit the "love-making" which American girls consider their natural
prerogative.

Manon was so beautiful, brilliant, and magnetic, that when she went
out to promenade with her father, she was greeted with admiring
glances and remarks; and from the fruit vender of whom she made
occasional purchases, and the butcher who served the family with
joints, to dancing and drawing masters, up along the line to
merchants, professional, and literary men, she seemed to fascinate
and attract with no effort