the author of so many licentious epigrams, in which the clergy were continually made the subject of ridicule and opprobrium, should seriously assign the thoughtless behaviour of Voltaire during mass and his "Epistle to Urania" as the cause of his hatred. But Rousseau had assumed the mask of devotion, which was then an honourable asylum for such as had suffered in the world's opinion: a safe and commodious asylum which philosophy, among the other evils of which it is accused, has unfortunately, for hypocrites, eternally closed.

In 1724, Voltaire presented the world with "Mariamne, which was but "Artémire" under new names, but with a less complicated and less romantic fable. It was written in the very style of Racine, and was forty times performed. In his preface, the author opposed the opinion of La Motte who, possessed of much understanding and reason, but little sensible of the charms of harmony, discovered no other merit in versification than that of difficulties overcome; nor any thing more than a formal custom, in poetry, invented to ease the memory, and to which habit alone had attributed charms. In his letters, printed at the end of "Edipus," he had before combated the opinions of the same poet, who regarded the observance of the three unities as another prejudice.

About the same time, the "Henriade" appeared under the name of the "League: " an imperfect copy, stolen from the author, was clandestinely printed, in which there were not only parts omitted, but some vacancies were supplied.

Thus France was at length possessed of an epic poem. It must be regretted, no doubt, that Voltaire, the fables of whose tragedies are so full of action, who has made the passions speak a language so natural and so true, and who could paint them so effectually as well by analyzing their sentiments as by their sudden ebullitions, should not have displayed in the “Henriade" those talents which never before were combined in the same man to so great a degree. Yet, a subject so well known and so recent gave but little room for the imagination of the poet. The gloomy and persecuting spirit of fanaticism, exercising itself on subaltern characters, could excite little more than horror. The chiefs of the league were animated by an ambition which hypocrisy debased. The hero of the poem, gallant, brave, and humane, but continually subject to misfortune which alighted on him alone, could interest only by his courage and his clemency. Nor was it possible that the unnatural conversion of Henry IV should form an heroic catastrophe.

But though the "Henriade" in pathos, variety, and action, be inferior to those epic poems which were then in possession of universal admiration, yet by how many new beauties was this inferiority compensated? Never was philosophy, so profound and so true, embellished by verses more sublime or more affecting. What other poem presents to us characters drawn with greater strength and dignity, and without offence to historical fact? What other contains morality more pure, humanity more enlightened, or is more free from the errors of prejudice and vulgar passion? Whether the poet causes his characters to act or speak, whether he paints the crimes of fanaticism, or the charms and the dangers of love, whether he transports his hearer to the field of battle, or into that heaven which he himself created, he is every where a philosopher, and is every where deeply intent on promoting the true interests of the human race. In the very palace of fiction, we behold truth sublimely rise, and always painted in the most splendid and purest colours.

The "Henriade," " Edipus," and "Mariamne" had placed Voltaire much above his contemporaries; and seemed to secure a life of fame, when his repose was troubled by a fatal accident. He had returned a satirical answer to some contemptuous words which had been spoken by a courtier, who revenged himself by causing Voltaire to be insulted by his servants without endangering his personal safety. The outrage was committed at the gate of the hotel de Sully, where he had dined; nor did the duke de Sully deign to show

any resentment; being, no doubt, persuaded that the descendants of the Franks had preserved the right of life and death over the Gauls. Justice remained mute; the parliament of Paris, which had caused far less misdemeanours to be punished when committed against one of its own subalterns, imagined nothing was due to an undignified citizen, although the greatest man of literature the nation possessed, and kept silence.

Voltaire was desirous of taking those means to revenge offended honour which the manners of modern nations have authorized, but which their laws have proscribed. The Bastile, and, at the end of six months, an order to quit Paris, were the punishment of his first step. The cardinal de Fleury had not so much policy as even to denote the slightest mark of dissatisfaction against the aggressor. Thus when men are unprotected by the laws, they are punished by arbitrary power for seeking that revenge, which the want of protection renders legal, and which is prescribed as necessary to the principles of honour. We venture to believe that the rights of man will be more respected in our times, that the laws will not remain impotent from any ridiculous prejudice of birth, and that when any quarrel shall happen between two citizens no minister will de prive him who received the first offence of his freedom.

Voltaire made a secret journey to Paris, but to no effect. He there met with more than one adversary, who disposed at pleasure of judicial power and ministerial authority, and who could safely effect his ruin. He buried himself in retirement, and disdained longer to seek revenge; or, rather, revenged himself by overwhelming his enemy with the weight of his increasing fame, and forcing him to hear the name which he wished to degrade, incessantly repeated with acclamation throughout all Europe.

England was his place of refuge. Newton was no more; but his spirit was infused into his countrymen, whom he had taught to trust to experiment and calculation only in the study of nature. Locke, whose death was likewise recent, had been the first to give the theory of the human understanding founded on experience, and to show the path which may safely be followed in metaphysical pursuits.

In France, meantime, the men of most understanding were labouring to substitute the hypothesis of Des Cartes, for the absurdities of scholastic philosophy. Any thesis, in which either the system of Copernicus or that of the Vortices was maintained, was a victory over prejudice. Innate ideas, in the eyes of the devout, were become almost an article of faith; though they had at first been supposed heretical. Malebranche, whom men imagined they understood, was the philosopher in fashion. He was supposed a freethinker, who allowed himself to regard the existence of the five propositions, in the unintelligible book of "Jansenius," as a thing in which the happiness of the human race was not concerned, or who had the temerity to read "Bayle," without the permission of a doctor in divinity.

This contrast could not but excite the enthusiasm of a man, who, like Voltaire, had from his infancy shaken off prejudice, and from this moment he felt himself called to be the destroyer of prejudice of every kind, of which his country was the slave.

The tragedy of "Brutus" was the first fruits of his journey to England.

The French theatre had not, since Cinna, breathed the haughty accents of freedom; and they had, there, been smothered by those of revenge. In "Brutus," the strength of Corneille was discovered with additional pomp and splendour, combined with that simplicity which Corneille wanted, and the uniform elegance of Racine. Never were the rights of an oppressed people displayed with greater power, eloquence, and even precision, than in the second scene of "Brutus." The fifth act is equally remarkable for its pathos. The poet has been reproached for having made love a part of a subject so awful and terrible, and particularly love, which is deficient in interest; but, had the motive of Titus been any other than love, he would have been debased, the severity of Brutus would not then have

rent the hearts of the spectators; and, had love been rendered too pathetic, it would have been to be feared that love would have destroyed the cause of liberty. It was after this piece had been acted that Fontenelle told Voltaire, "He did not think his genius proper for tragedy, and that his style was too boid, pompous, and splendid."-" If so," replied Voltaire, "I will go and read your pastorals."

He supposed, at this time, he might aspire to a place in the French academy; and he might well have been thought modest to have waited so long. But he had not so much as the honour of dividing the votes of the academicians. The fat De Bose pronounced in a dictatorial tone, that Voltaire should never be one of their dignified members.

This De Bose, whose name is now forgotten, was one of these men, who, with little mind, and not too much knowledge, obtain admission among men of rank and power, and succeed precisely because they neither have the wit to inspire fear, nor to humble the self-love of those who seek the reputation of patronizing men of letters. De Bose was become a person of importance. He exercised the office of inspector of new publications; which is a usurpation on the part of the magistrate over men of letters, to whom the avidity of the rich and the powerful have left no employments, but those whose execution requires the exertion of knowledge and talents.

After "Brutus," Voltaire wrote the "Death of Cæsar;" a subject which had previously been chosen by Shakspeare, some scenes of whom he imitated and embellished. The tragedy was not played till several years had elapsed, and then in a college; he durst not risk a piece on the stage, destitute of love and of women, and which was likewise a tragedy in three acts: for it is not the most trifling innovations which excite the least clamour among the enemies of novelty; little things necessarily impress themselves on little minds. Still, however, a bold, noble, and figurative, yet natural, style, sentiments worthy of the conqueror of the freest