and that Camus was essentially a Parisian. We have said that he wrote at
least fifty novels; we may add that each was cleverer than that which had
preceded it. Forgotten now, they were at the time of their appearance
eagerly devoured, and it is morally impossible but that some good should
have resulted from their production.

And now old age came upon the busy writer--old age, but not the feebleness
of old age, nor its privileged inaction. As he advanced in years he seemed
to increase in zeal and diligence, and it was not till suddenly stricken
down by a mortal malady that his labours ceased.

Then on his death-bed in a quiet corner of the Hospital for Incurables in
humility, patience, and a marvellous silence, only opening his lips to
speak at the desire of his confessor, calm and peaceful, his eyes fixed
upon the crucifix which he held in his hands, Jean Pierre Camus gave up his
soul to God. This was on the 25th of April, 1652. He was 67 years old.

He had in his will forbidden any pomp or display at his funeral, and his
wishes were strictly obeyed.

Some time after his death a stone was placed by the Administrators of
the Hospital over the tomb of the good Bishop, who had been so great a
benefactor to that Institution, and who rests beneath the nave of its
Church in the Rue de Sevres.

When he felt the first approach of illness, about six weeks before his
death, he made his will, in which he left the greater part of his money to
the Hospital, founding in it four beds for the Incurables of Belley.

And now our work is done.... The object has been to make John Peter Camus