"No!-the priests must be petitioned before the miracle is made public.'

"What!' cried Chaulieu,' would you insinuate that his Majesty's piety is really nothing less than a miracle?'

"Impossible!' said Boulainvilliers, gravely,-piety is as natural to kings as flattery to their courtiers: are we not told that they are made in God's own image!'

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"If that were true,' said Count Hamilton, somewhat profanely'if that were true, I should no longer deny the impossibility of Atheism!' Fie, Count Hamilton,' said an old gentleman, in whom I recognized the great Huet, fie-wit should beware how it uses wings--its province is earth, not heaven.'

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Nobody can better tell what wit is not, than the learned Abbé Huet!' answered Hamilton, with a mock air of respect.

"Psha!' cried Chaulieu, I thought when we once gave the rein to satire it would carry us pêle méle against one another. But in order

to sweeten that drop of lemon juice for you, my dear Huet, let me turn to Milord Bolingbroke, and ask him whether England can produce a scholar equal to Peter Huet, who in twenty years wrote notes to sixtytwo volumes of Classics, for the sake of a prince who never read a line in one of them?'

"We have some scholars,' answered Bolingbroke; but we certainly have no Huet. It is strange enough, but learning seems to me like a circle: it grows weaker the more it spreads. We now see many people capable of reading commentaries, but very few, indeed, capable of writing them.'

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True,' answered Huet; and in his reply he introduced the celebrated illustration which is at this day mentioned among his most felicitous bons mots. Scholarship, formerly the most difficult and unaided enterprise of Genius, has now been made, by the very toils of the first mariners, but an easy and common-place voyage of leisure. But who would compare the great men, whose very difficulties not only proved their ardour, but brought them the patience and the courage which alone are the parents of a genuine triumph, to the indolent loiterers of the present day, who have little of difficulty to conquer, have nothing of glory to attain? For my part, there seems to me the same difference between a scholar of our days and one of the past, as there is between Christopher Columbus and the master of a packet-boat from Calais to Dover!'

"But,' cried Anthony Hamilton, taking a pinch of snuff, with the air of a man about to utter a witty thing-- but what have we-we spirits. of the world, not imps of the closet,'--and he glanced at Huet-' to do with scholarship? All the waters of Castaly which we want to pour into our brain, are such as will flow the readiest to our tongue.'

In short, then,' said I, 'you would assert that all a friend cares for in one's head is the quantity of talk in it?'

"Precisely, my dear Count,' said Hamilton, seriously; and to that maxim I will add another applicable to the opposite sex.' All that a mistress cares for in one's heart is the quantity of love in it.'

"What! are generosity, courage, honour, to go for nothing, with our mistress, then?' cried Chaulieu.

"No! for she will believe, if you are a passionate lover, that you have all those virtues: and if not, she won't believe that you have one.' "Ah! it was a pretty court of love in which the friend and biographer of Count Grammont learned the art!' said Bolingbroke.

"We believed so at the time, my lord; but there are as many changes in the fashion of making love as there are in that of making dresses. Honour me, Count Devereux, by using my snuff box, and then looking at the lid.'

But I

"It is the picture of Charles the Second which adorns it—is it not?' "No, Count Devereux, it is the diamonds which adorn it. His majesty's face I thought very beautiful while he was living; but now, on my conscience, I consider it the ugliest phiz I ever beheld. pointed your notice to the picture because we were talking of love; and Old Rowley believed that he could make it better than any one else. All his courtiers had the same opinion of themselves; and I dare say the beaux garçons of Queen Anne's reign would say, that not one of king Charley's gang knew what love was. Oh! 'tis a strange circle of revolutions, that love! Like the earth, it always changes, and yet always has the same materials.'

"L'amour-l'amour-toujours l'amour, with Count Anthony Hamilton' said Boulainvilliers. He is always on that subject; and, sacre bleu! when he was younger, I am told he was like Cacus, the son of Vulcan, and breathed nothing but flames.'

"You flatter me,' said Hamilton. Solve me now a knotty riddle, my Lord Bolingbroke. Why does a young man think it the greatest compliment to be thought wise, while an old man thinks it the greatest compliment to be told he has been foolish?'

"Is love foolish, then?' said Lord Bolingbroke.

666 Can you doubt it?' answered Hamilton; ' it makes a man think more of another than himself! I know not a greater proof of folly!' "Ah-mon aimable ami'-cried Chaulieu; you are the wickedest witty person I know. I cannot help loving your language, while I hate

your sentiments.'

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My language is my own-my sentiments are those of all men,' answered Hamilton; but are we not, by the by, to have young Arouet here to-night? What a charming person he is!' "Yes,' said Boulainvilliers. He said he should be late; and I expect Fontenelle too, but he will not come before supper. I found Fontenelle this morning, conversing with my cook on the best manner of dressing asparagus. I asked him the other day, what writer, ancient or modern, had ever given him the most sensible pleasure? After a little pause, the excellent old man said—' Daphnus'-' Daphnus!' repeated I-' who the devil is he?" Why,' answered Fontenelle, with tears of gratitude in his benevolent eyes, I had some hypochondriacal ideas that suppers were unwholesome; and Daphnus is an ancient physician, who asserts the contrary; and declares,-think, my friend, what a charming theory!-that the moon is a great assistant of the digestion!'

“Ha! ha! ha!' laughed the Abbé de Chaulieu. 'How like Fontenelle! what an anomalous creature 'tis! He has the most kindness and the least feeling of any man I ever knew. Let Hamilton find a pithier description for him if he can!'

Whatever reply the friend of the preux Grammont might have made, was prevented by the entrance of a young man of about twenty-one. In person he was small, slight, and very thin. There was a certain affectation of polite address in his manner and mien, which did not quite become him; and though he was received by the old wits with great cordiality, and on a footing of perfect equality; yet, the inexpressible air which denotes birth, was both pretended to, and wanting. This, perhaps, was however owing to the ordinary inexperience of youth; which, if not awkwardly bashful, is generally awkward in its assurance. Whatever its cause, the impression vanished directly he entered into conversation. I do not think I ever encountered a man so brilliantly, yet so easily witty. He had but little of the studied allusion-the antithetical point-the classic metaphor, which chiefly characterized the wits of my day. On the contrary, it was an exceeding and naive simplicity, which gave such unrivalled charm and piquancy to his converAnd while I have not scrupled to stamp on my pages some faint imitation of the peculiar dialogue of other eminent characters, I must confess myself utterly unable to convey the smallest idea of his method of making words irresistible. Contenting my efforts, therefore, with describing his personal appearance-interesting, because that of the most striking literary character it has been my lot to meet― I shall omit his share in the remainder of the conversation I am rehearsing, and beg the reader to recall that passage in Tacitus, in which the great historian says, that in the funeral of Junia," the images of Brutus and Cassius outshone all the rest, from the very circumstance of their being the sole ones excluded from the rite."

sation.

"The countenance, then, of Marie Francis Arouet, (since so celebrated under the name of Voltaire) was plain in feature, but singularly striking in effect; its vivacity was the very perfection of what Steele once happily called 'physiognomical eloquence.' His eyes were dark, fiery rather than bright, and so restless that they never dwelt in the same place for a moment; his mouth was at once the worst and the most peculiar feature of his face: it betokened humour, it is true; but it also betrayed malignancy--nor did it ever smile without sarcasm. Though flattering to those present, his words against the absent, uttered by that bitter and curling lip, mingled with your pleasure at their wit a little fear at their causticity. I believe no one, be he as bold, as callous, or as faultless as human nature can be, could be one hour with that man and not feel apprehension. Ridicule, so lavish, yet so true to the mark— so wanton, yet so seemingly just-so bright, that while it wandered round its target, in apparent, though terrible playfulness, it burned into the spot, and engraved there a brand, and a token indelible and perpetual;-this no man could witness, when darted towards another, and feel safe for himself. The very caprice and levity of the jester seemed more perilous, because less to be calculated upon, than a systematic principle of bitterness or satire. Bolingbroke compared him, not un

aptly, to a child who has possessed himself of Jupiter's bolts; and who makes use of those bolts in sport, which a god would only have used in wrath.

"Arouet's forehead was not remarkable for height, but it was nobly and grandly formed, and, contradicting that of the mouth, wore a benevolent expression. Though so young, there was already a wrinkle on the surface of the front, and a prominence on the eyebrow which showed that the wit and the fancy of his conversation were, if not regulated, at least contrasted, by more thoughtful and lofty characteristics of mind. At the time I write, this man has obtained a high throne among the powers of the lettered world What he may yet be, it is in vain to guess he may be all that is great and good, or-the reverse; but I cannot but believe that his career is only begun. Such men are born monarchs of the mind; they may be benefactors or tyrants: in either case they are greater than the kings of the physical empire, because they defy armies and laugh at the intrigues of state From themselves only come the balance of their power, the laws of their government, and the boundaries of their realm.

:

"We sat down to supper. 'Count Hamilton,' said Boulainvilliers, ' are we not a merry set for such old fellows? Why, excepting Arouet, Milord Bolingbroke, and Count Devereux, there is scarcely one of us under seventy. Where, but at Paris, would you see bons vivans of our age? Vivent la joie !-la bagatelle !-l'amour!'

"Et le vin de Champagne,' cried Chaulieu, filling his glass: 'but what is there strange in our merriment? Philemon, the comic poet, laughed at ninety-seven. May we all do the same!'

"You forget, cried Bolingbroke, 'that Philemon died of the laughing.'

"Yes,' said Hamilton; but if I remember right, it was at seeing an ass eat figs. Let us vow, therefore, never to keep company with asses!'

"Bravo, Count,' said Boulainvilliers, 'you have put the true moral on the story. Let us swear by the ghost of Philemon, that we will never laugh at an ass's jokes-practical or verbal.'

"Then we must always be serious, except when we are with each other,' cried Chaulieu. Oh, I would sooner take my chance of dying prematurely at ninety-seven, than consent to such a vow!'

"Fontenelle,' cried our host, you are melancholy. What is the

matter?'

"I mourn for the weakness of human nature,' answered Fontenelle, with an air of patriarchal philanthropy. I told your cook three times about the asparagus; and now- taste it. I told him not to put too much sugar, and he has put none. Thus it is with mankind--ever in extremes, and consequently ever in error! Thus it was that Luther said, so felicitously and so truly, that the human mind was like a drunken peasant on horseback --prop it on one side, and it falls on the other.'

"Ha! ha! ha!' cried Chaulieu, le pauvre Secrétaire de l'Académie des Sciences! Who would have thought one could have found so much morality in a plate of asparagus!'" Vol. ii. pp. 7-14.

The sketch likewise of the "civilized barbarian," (Peter the Great) is scarcely less historically just, and displays a discriminating knowledge of the character of this remarkable man, who, if he was not born to conquer every other country, was, at least, destined to subdue the rugged features of his own :

"I

now looked pretty attentively at my gentleman. I have said that he was tall and stout; he was also remarkably well-built, and had a kind of seaman's ease and freedom of gait and manner. His countenance was very peculiar; short, firm, and strongly marked; a small, but thick mustachio, covered his upper lip-the rest of his face was shaved. His mouth was wide but closed, when silent, with that expression of iron resolution which no feature but the mouth can convey. His eyes were large, well opened, and rather stern; and when, which was often, in the course of conversation, he pushed back his hat from his forehead, the motion developed two strong deep wrinkles between the eyebrows, which might be indicative either of thought or of irascibility-perhaps of both. He spoke quick, and with a little occasional embarrassment of voice, which, however, never communicated itself to his manner. He seemed, indeed, to have a perfect acquaintance with the mazes of the growing city; and, every now and then, stopped to say when such a house was built-whither such a street was to lead, &c. As each of these details betrayed some great triumph over natural obstacles, and sometimes over national prejudice, I could not help dropping a few enthusiastic expressions in praise of the genius of the Czar. The man's eyes sparkled as he heard them.

"It is easy to see,' said I, 'that you sympathize with me, and that the admiration of this great man is not confined to Englishmen. How little in comparison seem all other monarchs: they ruin kingdoms-the Czar creates one. The whole history of the world does not afford an instance of triumph so vast-so important—so glorious as his has been. How his subjects should adore him!'

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'No,' said the stranger, with an altered and a thoughtful manner, 'it is not his subjects, but their posterity, that will appreciate his motives, and forgive him for wishing Russia to be an empire of men. The present generation may sometimes be laughed, sometimes forced, out of their more barbarous habits and brute-like customs but they cannot be reasoned out of them; and they don't love the man who attempts to do it. Why, sir, I question whether Ivan IV. who used to butcher the dogs between prayers for an occupation, and between meals for an appetite, I question whether his memory is not to the full as much loved as the living Czar. I know, at least, that whenever the latter attempts a reform, the good Muscovites shrug up their shoulders, and mutter, 'We did not do these things in the good old days of Ivan IV.'

"Ah! the people of all nations are wonderfully attached to their ancient customs. I will tell you who seem to me, to have been the greatest enemies we living men ever had-our ancestors!'

“‘Ha! ha!—true-good!-cried the stranger; and then after a short pause, he said, in a tone of deep feeling, which had not hitherto seemed at all a part of his character, We should do that which is good