equally awful and profound, often new, and always just; in "Candide," his power of thought is bewildered by provoking mirth; and sympathy for misfortune, pain, suffering, poverty, starvation, and all the deadly evils that can be heaped upon the race of man, is swept away before a torrent of ludicrous associations, and a constant repetition of the most piercing, pungent, and malignant sarcasms on human nature, which must have puzzled even profligacy itself to invent and multiply in such endless variations. Man's weakness and his wants can neither be strengthened nor relieved by unfeeling humor, although his natural preference may be to laugh rather than to weep. It may appear strange, but it is no less true, that there are not wanting critics of fair literary pretension, who have compared "Rasselas and Candide," and have given the palm of general merit to the latter. We blockheads, men of letters, poets, historians, makers of academical harangues, celebrate by our pens these great exploits; yet, observe, there is a monarch who performs them, and is the only person to pronounce their condemnation.' Voltaire passed a considerable time in England, and took much trouble to acquire the language, which he spoke fluently, and occasionally ventured to write. We subjoin a letter to Bubb Doddington, afterwards Lord Melcombe, as a specimen of his English style. The sentiments go for nothing, as they are evidently tricked up for the occasion: "A Monrion pres de Lausanne, 4 Fevrier, 1756. "SIR,-I was very sick in the month of January, at the foot of the Alps, when a handsome youth did appear in my cabin, next to Lausanne, and favored me with your kind letter, written in September; the date from Eastbury The country about Geneva, which you have seen, is now much improved; noble houses are built, large gardens are planted. Those who say the world impairs every day are quite in the wrong-are quite in the wrong as to the natural world; 'tis not the like in the moral and political one. Be what it will, I have pitched upon two retreats on the banks of that lake you are pleased to mention in your letter. Such a country would not, perhaps, agree with a Frenchman of twenty-five; but it is most convenient to old age: when one is past sixty, the place of reason is a private station. Yet, though I am mightily pleased with these lands of peace and freedom, I would gladly visit another land of liberty again before I die. I would have the honor to see you again, and renew to you my sincere and everlasting gratitude for all the tokens of kindness I received from you when I was in London. During the period of Voltaire's intimacy with Frederick the Great, he was intrusted with the task of correcting the monarch's works. When they quarrelled, in due course, and he was commanded to leave the kingdom, he purloined the heavy volumes, intending to make such use of them as might gratify his spleen. The king discovered the theft, and ordered him to be arrested before he reached the frontier. "Get back my books," said he, in his instructions, "and then let him go to the devil." In the "History of his own Times," Frederick had spoken the truth, quite contrary to the usual practice of kings and conquerors, when commenting on their own actions. "I was led away by ambition," said he, "by interest, and by a desire to make myself talked of, and so I entered Silesia. Add, then, to these considerations, an excellent body of troops, ready for action, my treasury full, and the spirit of my character, and who will wonder that I made war against Maria Theresa, Queen of Hungary ?" The mind of Voltaire was tortuous as a cork-"My good countrymen have sometimes upscrew; he found this confession too honest braided me for having too much of the Engand straightforward, and persuaded his royal lish spirit in my way of thinking; it should patron to expunge it. Yet afterwards, when be but just I should pay a visit to those who he wanted a moral reflection to wind up a have drawn that reproach upon me; be sure, particular subject, he expressed his regret for dear sir, none was more guilty than you. I having given this advice. "For," adds he, hope I should find you in good health, for "since there have been in the world either you are born as sound and strong as nature conquerors, or men of ardent minds who made me weak and unhealthy. I hope the wished to be conquerors, I believe the King evening of your day is serene and calm; 'tis of Prussia is the only person that has fairly the best lot of that hour; you have enjoyed entered into the reasons of his conduct. So all the rest. rare and so open a confession should have gone down to posterity, and have served to make known the grounds of all our wars. "I am, with the tenderest respect, sir, your most humble and obedient servant, "VOLTAIRE." have been reading the preface to your Richard the Third. It appears to me too short. When a man has so good an argument, and has joined to his knowledge reflections so sound, and a style at greater length. Your father was a great minso vigorous, it is to be wished that he had spoken ister, and a most convincing speaker, but I question if he could have written as well as you. I have always thought with you, sir, that we ought ever to receive ancient historians with caution. All professed letter-writers have an eye to posthumous fame, and indite their epistles with a view to their being kept and circulated by those to whom they are written--a mode of publication which escapes expense and direct responsibility. The apparent ease and light discursive variety of these compositions are laboriously studied; their telling points are arranged and calculated with mathematical precision, and their spontaneous sentiments are elaborately artificial. Madame de Sevigné may be named as an eminent example; Pope supplies another; Swift and Horace Walpole must be added to the list; Gray bestowed more painful corrections on his letters than even on his few poems; and Voltaire never took pen in hand, even to exchange the ordinary compliments of the day, without a determination to astonish and produce an effect. In 1768, when in his seventy-made fourth year, he courted a correspondence with Horace Walpole, by requesting a present of "Historic Doubts; and some oily letters passed between them, mutually insincere, but teeming, on both sides, with ostensible respect and admiration. In one of these letters, the French wit propitiates and cajoles the English courtier, by endeavoring to exculpate himself from the long-continued charge of undervaluing Shakspeare; with what amount of success the reader must judge for himself. This remarkable epistle exhibits a "picture in little," of all the writer's auctorial peculiarities; the facility of language, the critical acumen, the happy irony, the looseness of morals, and disrespect for religion, by which he is invariably distinguished. In such an encounter he would not venture to use a foreign tongue, but confined himself to the language in which his thoughts and expressions flowed more naturally. The letter is, in fact, an epitome of the man, a compendium of his mind, and a cabinet edition of his literary opinions. It has reference also to subjects of English literature in general, and the standard rules of dramatic composition. We are not aware that it has been before translated, although printed in the original in several "Colectanea," and therefore venture to give it as follows: "Forty years have passed since I dared to speak English, and you speak our language very fluently. I have seen some of your letters; they are written just as you think. For my part, my age and infirmities refuse the use of my hand; but you shall have my thoughts in my own tongue. I See, among others, "Bibliotheque de Levizac." For Horace Walpole's "Letters to Voltaire," see his "Correspondence," published by Bentley (1840), in six volumes, 8vo. Fontenelle, the only man of the age of Louis XIV. who was at once a poet, philosopher, and sage, used to say, 'their relations were convenient fables;' and it must be acknowledged that Rollin has but too often introduced chimeras and contradictions.* After reading the preface to your History,' I turned to that of your romance (The Castle of Otranto'). You jest a little with me; we Frenchmen understand and enjoy raillery, but I shall answer you gravely. You have almost persuaded your nation that I undervalue Shak speare. On the contrary, I am the first who has Shakspeare known in France. I translated detached portions of his works forty years since; as also of Milton, Waller, Rochester, Dryden, and Pope. I can assure you that, previous to this, Frenchmen knew nothing of English poetry. I was persecuted thirty years by a swarm of bigots, for having asserted that Locke is the Hercules of metaphysics, who has prescribed the boundaries of the human understanding. 66 My ambition was always to be the first who should explain to my countrymen the discoveries of the great Newton, which some amongst us even yet call an hypothesis. I have been your apostle and your martyr; in truth, the English complain speare had lived in the time of Addison, he would of me unjustly. I have always said that if Shakhave united with his genius the elegance and purity that rendered Addison so estimable. I have said that his genius is his own praise, and his faults are to be attributed to the age in which he flourished. He resembles, in my mind, Lope de Vega, of Spain, and Calderon. There are the charms of nature, but rude and uncultivated; no regularity, no discrimination, no art; the despicable associated with the lofty, the ludicrous with the terrible: it is a chaos of tragedy, in which there are a hundred rays of light. The Italians, who restored tragedy an age before the English and the Spaniards, have not fallen into this error: they wisely imitated the Greeks. There are no I greatly suspect that this rude custom had its buffoons in the Electra and Edipus of Sophocles. origin in our court fools.' We were all tinctured with barbarism on this side the Alps. Every noble had a fool in his establishment. Illiterate princes, the nurslings of ignorance, were incapable of appreciating the sublime pleasures of intellect; they degraded human nature even to the paying knaves for abusing them. Hence came our Mère Sotte; and till the time of Molière they had a court fool in nearly all their comedies. The practice is abominable. I have said, it is true, as But very sparingly, when compared with the practice of his critic. you relate it, that there are some serious comedies, such as the Misanthrope, which are masterpieces; that there are very humorous ones, like George Dandin-that the comic, the serious, and the pathetic, may very rationally meet in the same play. I have said that every style is good, except the drowsy, but grossness is not a style. I have never presumed that it was proper to introduce in the same situation Charles V. and Don Japhet of Armenia; Augustus and a drunken sailor; Marcus Aurelius and a street buffoon. It appears to me that Horace thought so in the most refined of ages. Consult his Art of Poetry.' Enlightened Europe thinks so at this day, and Spain begins to escape from bad taste, at the same time that it proscribes the Inquisition; for good sense is alike hostile to both. "You so acutely perceive how greatly tragedy is debased by the mean and the low, that you reproach Racine for making Antiochus say, in Berenice, "Hither the emperor's apartments lay, And this to Berenice's leads the way.' "These, certainly, are not lofty verses; but have the goodness to remember that they form part of an expository scene, which ought to be simple. Here is no beauty of poetry, but there is the beauty of exactitude, which ascertains the situations of the characters, and at once fixes the attention of the spectator to the scene before him, while it informs him that all the persons will meet in a saloon, which is common to all the apartments; and without this intimation it would scarcely appear probable how Titus, Berenice, and Antiochus should always speak in the same chamber. "Clear and determinate be the scenic ground,' says the judicious Boileau, the oracle of good taste, in his Art of Poetry,' equal at least to that of Horace. Our excellent Racine has scarcely ever violated this rule; and it is worth observing, that Athaliah appears in the temple of the Jews, and in the same place where we have just before seen the high priest, without any offence to probability. You will rather pardon Racine when you reflect that the play of Berenice was, in some measure, the history of Louis XIV., and your English princess, the sister of Charles II. They both lodged on the same floor at St. Germain's, and a saloon alone divided their bed-chambers. "Allow me to observe, en passant, that Racine introduced on the stage the amours of Louis XIV. with his sister-in-law, and yet the monarch took it in good part. A weak tyrant would have punished him. It must be remembered, also, that this saine Berenice, so soft, so amiable, so disinterested, to whom Racine insinuates that Titus owed all his virtues, and whom he was on the point of making empress, was nothing better than an insolent and debauched Jewess, whom Juvenal calls an incestuous barbarian.* I shall again ob *Berenice is introduced by Juvenal (Sat. vi. v. 156), incidentally, to illustrate the extravagance of Bibula. Racine, in his perversion of historical fact, has been followed, amongst others, by Mason, in his "Elfrida." serve, in the third place, that she was forty-four years old when Titus repudiated her; and a fourth remark is, that this Hebrew mistress of Titus is spoken of in the Acts of the Apostles. She was then young, when she came, according to the recorder of the Acts,' to see the governor of Judea, Festus; and when Paul, being accused of having polluted the temple, defended himself, maintaining that he had been always a good Pharisee.* 66 But, quitting the pharisaism of Paul, and the gallantries of Berenice, let us return to the rules of the theatre, which are more interesting to men of letters. "You disregard, you free Britons, all the unities of place, time, and action. In truth, your works are not the better for it; probability ought surely to stand for something. The art is certainly rendered the more difficult by these observances, but infinitely more praise and pleasure arise when they are successfully combated. Permit me, altogether English as you are, to take, in some degree, the part of my own country. I have so often told her of her faults, that it is but fair to praise her, when there is sound reason for doing so. I have ever thought, I do think, and shall continue to think, that Paris is superior to Athens in the composition of tragedies and comedies. Molière, and even Regnard, appear to my mind as much to surpass Aristophanes, as Demosthenes is superior to our bawling advocates. I tell you boldly, that all the Greek tragedies appear to me the works of schoolboys, compared with the sublime scenes of Corneille and the perfect tragedies of Racine. It was so Boileau thought, admirer as he was of the ancients; he did not hesitate to write under the portrait of Racine, that this great man had surpassed Euripides, and equalled Corneille. Yes, I think it proved that there are more men of judgment in Paris than in Athens. We have more than thirty thousand admirers of the fine arts, and Athens had but six thousand. The lower class in Athens were never admitted to the spectacles, nor indeed with us, except when an exhibition is allowed them gratis, on some solemn or ridiculous occasion. Our continual intercourse with the other sex has imparted greater elegance to our sentiments, much refinement to our manners, and peculiar delicacy to our taste. Leave us, then, our theatre; leave the Italians their rustic fables (favole boschereccie); you are still rich enough in better things. It must not be denied that wretched pieces, barbarously constructed and ignorantly written, have attained extraordinary success at Paris, supported by a cabal, the spirit of party, fashion, and the temporary protection of men who had talked themselves into the importance of oracles. This was the intoxication of the moment, but in a few years the illusion vanished. Don Japhet of Armenia and Jodelett are returned to the vulgar, and the Siege of Calais‡ is esteemed only at Calais. It is necessary I should say a *"Graces au ciel!" exclaims the President Montesquieu, exultingly, "l'esprit ne m'a pas corrompu le cœur." Voltaire desired not to make the same boast. † By the celebrated Scarron. By De Belloy. few words on the subject of rhyme, with which you reproach us. Almost all Dryden's works are in rhyme, and they are so much the more difficult. Those verses which are perpetually quoted from memory are in rhyme; and I maintain that the Cinnia, Athaliah, Phædra, and Iphigenia, being all written in rhyme, whoever should endeavor to cast off the burden in France, would be regarded as a feeble artist, unable to wield its power. With the garrulous characteristic of an old man, I will relate to you an anecdote. I one day demanded of Pope why Milton had not written his Paradise Lost' in rhyme, while other poets used that style in imitation of the Italian? His answer was, Because he could not.' "I have now opened my heart to you; but I confess that I am guilty of a heinous fault in not remarking that the Earl of Leicester was originally called Dudley; but if you have an inclination to enter the House of Peers, and change your title, I shall ever remember the name of Walpole with the highest respect! Before the departure of my letter, I have had an opportunity of reading your Richard III. You make an excellent attorneygeneral; you calculate all the probabilities, but it is evident you have a secret partiality for the hunchback. You insist that he was a handsome, and, at the same time, a very gallant man. [Here follows in the original a profane allusion, dragged in for the sake of a sneer at Christianity] Tam inclined to think with you, that the third Richard was neither so ugly nor so wicked as he is reported; but I cannot say I should have volunteered to have had any dealings with him. Your red rose and your white rose had terrible thorns for the nation Those gracious kings are all a pack of rogues.' To say the truth, when reading the history of York and Lancaster, and many other dynasties, we are tempted to think we are perusing the lives of robbers on the highway. As to your Henry VII., he was little better than a pickpocket. And now, whether you are a minister or an antiminister, a lord or a philosopher, I shall, with an equal respect, subscribe myself, &c., &c., &c." send me, is a proof that you are one of those truly great and rare men, who know at once how to conquer or to pardon." It is rather a curious feature in Voltaire's character, that he never appears to represent religion or virtue favorably, except in his plays. We cannot give him the credit of supposing that in this he was biassed by conviction; he sought rather novelty and variety. Corneille had exhausted the grand and sublime; Racine, the tender and pathetic; Crebillon, the startling and terrible. Voltaire sought to combine the several styles in blended, although unequal, proportions, and to recommend proprieties rather than to hold up to execration gigantic crimes. But his dramas do not keep possession of the stage, and are seldom revived, while those of his two greatest predecessors are constantly in requisition. This variegated genius lived in three reigns, and reached the patriarchal age of eighty-four; he is supposed to have hastened his death unintentionally, even at that advanced period, by taking a large dose of opium, contrary to the advice of his physician. He died in May, 1778, eleven years before the breaking out of the terrible revolution, of which he sowed the seeds, but lived not to witness the fruit. The same year also disposed of Rousseau, a congenial spirit, and coadjutor in all that could pervert or influence the public mind. We conclude our brief notice with a school anecdote. At the seminary where the writer received his early education, there was a select library, exclusively intended for the use of the scholars. Amongst the collection there had crept in, somehow or other, a strange book for such a place the Abbé Barruel's "Memoirs for a History of Jacobinism, Impiety, and Anarchy." The title is alarming, but there is no great harm in the five volumes, except that they contain rather more of fiction than fact, and the subject is somewhat above the mark of boys from eight to thirteen years of age. One day, the head-master (who was a clergyman) happened to be turning over the work for some reference, and found a scrap of paper between the leaves, on which the following lines were written : 66 Against the Majesty Divine And was this beauteous world then form'd, Is there no Power that rules above, Ah! foolish thoughts! too late thou'lt find,, There is a God 'fore whom thou must appear." The master was much struck by the power of thought contained in this short effusion, and commanding general silence and attention by three raps of his ferula, read it aloud, with a brief exordium, and then called upon the author to step from his desk and acknowledge himself. After much hesitation and repeated demands, a smallish urchin (of twelve years old) was pushed forward, in fear and trembling, and in expectation of some horrible punishment. "Did you write these lines ?" "Yes, sir." By yourself, without assistance or suggestion from any one else?" Ye-s, sir.' "They do great credit both to your head and heart, and you shall have any reasonable reward you ask. Now, what would you like to have?" "A holiday for the whole school," was the ready answer. "Granted," said the potentate; and in five minutes there were more joyous spirits bounding over that play-ground, and a greater burst of genuine merriment than Voltaire and Barruel had ever dreamed of producing through their indirect and unintentional agency. We have no wish to deny the talents of Voltaire, while lamenting their perversion and expressing our disgust at his indelicacy and irreligion. Lord Byron, in a comparison between him and Gibbon, discriminates the French author with vigor, poetic beauty, and sajacious judgment. The portrait inclines to the favorable side, but there are those who may think the features are not delineated with a too partial hand : "The one was fire and fickleness-a child From the North British Review. THE WONDERS OF THE SHORE .* THE study of Natural History has become, | nowadays, an honorable one; and the successful investigator of the minutest animals takes his place unquestioned among the men of genius, and, like the philosopher of old Greece, is considered, by virtue of his sci ence, fit company for dukes and princes. Nay, the study is now more than honorable; it is even fashionable. Thanks to the works which give occasion for this article, and to innumerable others on kindred branches of *1. A Popular History of British Zoöphytes or Corallines. By the Rev. D. LANDSBOROUGH, D.D., A.L.S., &c., &c. London. 1852. 2. A Popular History of British Sea - Weeds, comprising their Structure, Fructification, Specific Characters, Arrangement, and General Distribution, with Notices of some of the Fresh-water Alga. By the Rev. D. LANDSBOROUGH, A.L. S., &c, &c. London. 1851. 3. Gosse's Rambles of a Naturalist on the Devonshire Coast. (Van Voorst.) London. 1852. science, which have appeared of late, every well-educated person is bound to know somewhat, at least, of the wondrous organic forms which surround him in every sunbeam and every pebble; and if Mr. Gosse's presages be correct, a few years more will see every clever young lady with her " aquarium;" and live sea-anemones and alga will supplant "crotchet" and Berlin wool. Happy consummation!-when women's imagination shall be content with admiring Nature's real beauties, instead of concealing their own idleness, to the injury of poor starving needle-women, by creating ghastly and unartistic caricatures of them. What a change from the temper of two generations since, when the naturalist was looked on as a harmless enthusiast, who went "bug-hunting," simply because he had not spirit to follow a fox. There are those now alive who can recollect an |