It was well for the deaf and dumb that he entered upon his work thus untrammelled by any preconceived theory; for he was thus prepared to adopt, without prejudice, whatever might facilitate the great object for which he labored.  “I have not,” he said, in a letter to Pereira, in which he challenged an open comparison of their respective systems of instruction, promising to adopt his, should it prove to be better than his own,—­“I have not the silly pride of desiring to be an inventor; I only wish to do something for the benefit of the deaf-mutes of all coming ages.”

We have already adverted to the great principle which lay at the foundation of his system of instruction.  The corollary deduced from this, that the idea was substantive, and had an existence separate from and independent of all words, written or spoken, was a startling proposition in those days, however harmless we may now regard it.  But, convinced of its truth, De l’Epee set to himself the problem of discovering how this idea could be presented to the mind of the mute without words; and in their gestures and signs he found his problem solved.  Henceforth, the way, though long and tedious, was plain before him.  To extend, amplify, and systematize this language of signs was his task.  How well he accomplished his work, the records of Deaf and Dumb Institutions, in Europe and America, testify.  Others have entered into his labors and greatly enlarged the range of sign-expression,—­modified and improved, perhaps, many of its forms; but, because Lord Rosse’s telescope exceeds in power and range the little three-foot tube of Galileo Galilei, shall we therefore despise the Italian astronomer?  To say that his work, or that of the Abbe De l’Epee, was not perfect, is only to say that they were mortals like ourselves.

But it is not only, or mainly, as a philosopher, that we would present the Abbe De l’Epee to our readers, he was far more than this; he was, in the highest sense of the word, a philanthropist.  While Pereira, in the liberal compensation he received from French nobles for the instruction of their mute children, laid the foundation of that fortune by means of which his grandsons are now enabled to rank with the most eminent of French financiers, De l’Epee devoted his time and his entire patrimony to the education of indigent deaf-mutes.  His school, which was soon quite large, was conducted solely at his own expense, and, as his fortune was but moderate, he was compelled to practise the most careful economy; yet he would never receive gifts from the wealthy, nor admit to his instructions their deaf and dumb children.  “It is not to the rich,” he would say, “that I have devoted myself; it is to the poor only.  Had it not been for these, I should never have attempted the education of the deaf and dumb.”

In 1780, he was waited upon by the ambassador of the Empress of Russia, who congratulated him on his success, and tendered him, in her name, valuable gifts.  “Mr. Ambassador,” was the reply of the noble old man, “I never receive money; but have the goodness to say to her Majesty, that, if my labors have seemed to her worthy of any consideration, I ask, as an especial favor, that she will send to me from her dominions some ignorant deaf and dumb child, that I may instruct him.”