never knew him, except in moments of irritation, entertain a single thought which was not strictly conformable to reason and to the purest maxims of the gospel."

It must not be supposed, however, that in thus attending to religious duties, he was suffered to neglect his literary studies. It was Fenelon's object to make his pupil a pious and an enlightened prince; he wished him to ascend the throne with all the virtues of christianity, and with all the knowledge necessary to govern an extensive empire. It was with this view that he endeavoured to instil into the mind of the prince an ample acquaintance with ancient and modern history. He had himself made this branch of knowledge a particular study.It appears, from a letter to the Duke de Beauvilliers, that before being intrusted with the education of the Duke of Burgundy, Fenelon had written an abridgement of the life of Charlemagne, and from what he has disclosed of the principles and plan upon which he proceeded in drawing up this bistorical work, it cannot but be regretted that it is irrecoverably lost. It is evident, from this letter to the Duke de Beauvilliers, that Fenelon wrote this work from some motives that have hitherto remained a secret, though they were known to the duke. "I am persuaded," says he, that the life of Charlemagne will be of much use to us, in giving to the Duke of Burgundy those sentiments and those maxims with which he ought to be familiar. You know, however, that when I made this abridgment of the life of Charle

magne, I had not the most distant idea of being concerned with his education; and no one can better declare than yourself how I came to write that work. My intentions were candid and upright. No one can read it without seeing that I go plainly forwards, and perhaps too much so."

It was the opinion of Fenelon, that there never existed, perhaps, a prince "whose history is more worthy of being studied, nor who possesses a greater weight, with regard to those maxims which they, who are destined to govern, may derive from it, than that of Charlemagne. The beauties of this history," he continues, “consist in the greatness of its events, and in the wonderful character of the prince. It would be impossible to find one more amiable, or more proper to serve as a model in all ages. There is a pleasure even in beholding some imperfections mixed with so many virtues and talents. It teaches us that he is not a hero of the imagination, like those of romances, who, by being perfect, become fabulous."

Fenelon adds afterwards a very judicious reflection, and one which is too little attended to, when we read the history of those rude ages, the great men of which are less to be censured for those errors which we are apt to consider as their own, than to be pitied, as living at a period when the manners of the times rendered it almost impossible that they should be exempt from them. "Perhaps," says he, "many things may be discovered in Charlemagne which will not please; but it may be, that he is not to blame, and our disgust arises from the extreme difference

difference between our own times and those in which he lived. The advantage which he possessed of being a christian, places him above all the heroes of pagan antiquity; and the circumstance of being always successful in his enterprizes, renders him a more interesting model than St. Louis."

When Fenelon thought that the Duke of Burgundy had made sufcient progress in the study of ancient and modern history, he conceived the design of recalling to him, successively, all the principal personages who have distinguished themselves on the theatre of the world. In doing this, he would not only invigorate his memory, with regard to the events in which these individuals were concerned, but he intended also to fix the attention of the young prince on their real and undisguised merits. He was anxious that his pupil should not be dazzled by that kind of illusive renown which accompanies the memory of celebrated men.

To accomplish this, Fenelon wrote his Dialogues of the Dead. They were produced in proportion as the Duke of Burgundy made such progress with historical authors and facts as enabled him to derive from them a due advantage. These dialogues are well known, and any particular observations upon them would be superfluous. Yet, it may be permitted to advert to the singular variety of subjects which Fenelon has chosen. From a casual inspection of the work, it might be supposed that he bad resigned himself wholly to his imagination, or, in choosing his subjects, he had employed those which were most obviously

contrasted. Such, however, was not the case. if we accufately examine the book, we shall easily perceive, that its author was actuated by one prevailing motive, which was, the education of his pupil. This object was constantly present to him, and his attention to it may be traced even in those dialogues, which appear to have the least connection with the duties of a prince destined to ascend the throne.

Such are the two dialogues between Parrhasius and Poussin, and between Leonardi de Vinci and Poussin. But Fenelon knew, that a king, and above all, a king of France, should neither be ignorant of, nor indifferent to, the progress of the fine arts.

Last Hours, and Character of Fe nelon. [From the same Work, Vol. II.]

We have now to behold Fenelon in the closing scene of exist ence. Of this awful and solemn moment we have an account written by an eye witness of the event, which faithfully records all the details; a fidelity which is due to the memory of great men.

The grief which Fenelon felt for the death of the Duke de Beauvilliers did not induce him to suspend, for an instant, the performance of those duties which his ministry exacted.

"A few weeks before he died," says the Duke de St. Simon, in his Memoirs, "he performed a short journey of episcopal visits: his carriage was overturned in a dangerous place; no one was hurt; but he perceived all the danger, and his feeble frame received the

whole

whole shock of the accident. He arrived ill at Cambrai; a fever supervened, and Fenelon saw that his hour was come. Whether from a disgust of the world, which had so continually deceived him, or whether from his piety, which long exercise had strengthened, and which had been increased still more by the melancholy reflection of all the friends whom he had lost, he appeared to be insensible to every thing which he was about to quit, and wholly occupied with that which he was forthwith to find, and that so peacefully and so tranquilly, that all regret disappeared: penitence, however, remained, and an exclusive care for the spiritual affairs of his diocese."

Such was the general impression which the death of Fenelon made at Paris, and at the court. The Duke de St. Simon. however, in giving an account of it, has merely retailed the popular opinion which prevailed; but the eye witness, whom we mentioned above, has preserved minute details, which must ever be invaluable to every friend of religion, and every lover of Fenelon. These details were written by his almoner, and are now first published from the original manuscript. They are follow:

"It was on the evening of the 1st of January, 1715, that Fenelon was first seized with the illness which terminated his life. This illness, which lasted only six days and a half, att nded with extreme pain, was a continued fever, arising from unknown causes. Du ring the whole of those six days he was occupied wholly in having the scripture read to him; but

during the first days, his desire was only partially gratified, for it was feared that the eager application which he bestowed would increase his disease, and prevent the free operation of the remedies which he employed. At first we read to him only the book of Tobit, and but small portions at a time: to this were added, according to circumstances, some texts on the transitory nature of all worldly good, and on the hope of that which exists for ever. These we often repeated to him; and he 'appeared to feel peculiar delight in hearing the last verses of chapter iv, and the first nine of chapter v. of the Second Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians. Repeat that passage again,' said he to me, on two different occasions. At intervals he was spoken to about some urgent business relating to his diocese, which he immediately transacted. He was asked it there were any thing which he wished to alter in his will, (which had been made in 1715), and he added a codicil, to substitute the Abbé de Fenelon in the place of the Abbé de Langeron, whom he had before nominated his executor. I then asked for his final instruc tions with regard to two works which he was printing.

Re

"During the last two days and nights of his illness, he eagerly requested us to read to him those parts of scripture which were most suitable to his condition. peat, repeat to me,' he frequently said, those divine words.' He joined with us as often as his strength would permit. It was easy to perceive, from his countenance and his eyes, that he fervently felt those lively expressions

of

of faith, of hope, of love, of resignation, of union with God, and of conformity to Jesus Christ, which were inculcated in those texts. He made us frequently repeat the words which the church has applied to St. Martin, and has attributed to that eminent bishop of the Gallician church :- Lord, if I am yet needful to thy people, I will not shrink from the labour; thy will be done. Oh, man, whom we cannot praise too much! He was unwearied in labour; he was unconquered even by death; he feared not to live, and he refused not to die.' The Archbishop of Cambrai seemed to be full of the same boly and devout submission to the will of God. On that occasion, and in imitation of the disciples of St. Martin, I ventured to ask him," But why do you leave us? In this state of desolation, to whom will you confide us? Perhaps the ravening wolves may come, and lay your flock waste.' He replied only with sighs.

Though he had confessed himself on Christmas eve, before chanting the midnight mass, he confessed himself again on the second day of his illness. On the third day, in the morning, he desired me to administer the sacrament to him; in an hour afterwards he asked me if every thing was ready for that ceremony. When I told him, that I thought his danger was not so great as to require it, he replied, In my present condition, there is nothing more important to me.'

"He immediately caused him; self to be carried from the small chamber which he usually occupied, into his large room. He de

sired that all the members of his chapter might be present at that act of religion. Before receiving the sacrament, he addressed some pious conversation to each of the assistants, which I could not hear but confusedly, as I was too far from the bed.

"In the afternoon of the fourth day, the Abbé de Beaumont and the Marquis of Fenelon, his two nephews, arrived post from Paris. He felt evident joy at seeing them; he inquired who had acquainted them with his danger; their grief prevented them from replying a single word: they merely pointed to the Abbé de Fenelon, who was at Cambrai when the illness first manifested itself.

"Though he had shewn the most tender grief at the death of the Abbé de Langeron, his intimate friend, and at that of the Duke of Burgundy, his pupil, yet he beheld, unmoved, in bis last moments, the sorrow and the tears of all those whom he most affectionately loved.

"The Abbé de Beaumont and the Marquis of Fenelon had prudently brought with them, from Paris, the celebrated Chirac, the principal physician of Louis XIV., who immediately held a consultation with the chief medical men of the place who had attended Fenelon and prescribed for his disease. They agreed that he should be bled a second time, and to give him an emetic: the effect was immediate, and he seemed to be relieved; some hopes, indeed, of his recovery began to be entertained: but it soon appeared that the disease was more powerful than the remedies. It was the will of God to take to himself one

of

of those bishops who could have served the church most effectually, in these times of schism and insubordination.

"On the morning of the Epiphany, having expressed to me his regret at being unable to perform mass himself, I went, by his order, to perform it for his spiritual good. During that short interval, he seemed to grow evidently weaker, and he received extreme unction.

"Immediately afterwards he called me to his bedside, and having required every other person to leave the room, he dictated to me his last letter, which he signed, ordering me to shew it to four persons here, and to send it off the moment his eyes were closed. It was in dictating this letter, that, collecting all his strength, and feeling that he was about to appear before his God, he sought to fit himself by a declaration of his real sentiments. Short as the letter is, it would be impossible to express greater disinterestedness for his family, more respect and attachment for his king, more affection for his diocese, more zeal for the faith against the errors of the Jansenists, or a more absolute submission to the church, mother and mistress.

"He suffered a great deal the rest of the day, and during his last night; but he rejoiced in being like Jesus Christ by suffering. I am on the cross,' said he with Jesus Christ. Christo confixus sum cruci. We then read those texts of scripture which relate to the necessity of suffering, to its brevity, and to its minuteness, compared to the immense magnitude of eternal glory with which

God rewards it. His pains increasing, we told him what St. Luke relates of Jesus Christ: that on those occasions he redoubled his prayers- Factus in agonia, prolixius orabat.' Jesus Christ,' added he himself, repeated three times the same prayer, Oravit tertio eundem sermonem dicens ;' but the violence of the pain not permitting him to finish alone, we continued with him,- Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me; nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done.'-Yes, Lord,' he repeated, raising his trembling voice as much as he could, thy will, and not mine.' His fever increased at intervals, and occasioned delirium, which he himself perceived, and respecting which he was alarmed; but nothing escaped his lips that was in any manner unbefitting. When the paroxysm was passed, he was seen immediately to clasp his hands, raise his eyes to heaven, full of entire submission, and peacefully resigned to God. That religious submission had been; from his youth, the prevailing sentiment of his heart, and he always reverted to it in his most familiar discourses. It was, as it were, his food and nourishment, and he loved that they should taste of it who lived in intimacy with him.

"I still recollect, with anguish, the affecting scene of that last night. All the individuals of his pious family, who were assembled at Cambrai: the Abbé de Beaumont, the Marquis of Fenelon, the Abbé de Fenelon, the Chevaliers de Fenelon, M. de l'Eschelle, formerly one of those who conducted the education of the Duke of Burgundy, the Abbé de l'Eschelle, his

brother,