of style and harmony of versification is still more so for the blasphemies and cynical licentiousness that pervade it.

Edipus, which was the first theatrical composition of Voltaire, while it seemed to promise a worthy successor of Corneille and Racine, evinced but too plainly the turn of his mind. Persons of religious feelings discovered in it many reprehensible expressions, and among others, were offended with these captious verses:

"Les pretres ne sont point ce qu'un vain peuple pense,
"Notre credulite fait toute leur science."

"Priests are not what the thoughtless crowd conceives
"But only wise, because fond man believes."

Many lines of the Henriade seem to be fashioned on the same anvil; and when the young poet showed his work to the famous and unfortunate Rousseau, this sublime writer shocked at the tone of declamation, satire and hardihood which the youthful author had assumed, advised him to take Virgil, rather than Juvenal for his model, and to respect what mankind had always deemed respectable.

To forget, if he could, some disappointments and affronts, which he had experienced in France, Voltaire retired to London in 1726, where in the society of the English deists, who were very numerous at that time, he wrote his famous Lettres Philosophiques, which were afterwards condemned to the flames by the parliament of Paris. This work appears to be dictated by an inveterate, blind and furious hatred to the christian religion. Historical forgeries and misrepresentations, antithesis and epigram constitute its principal merit and strength. Religion either directly or indirectly is the constant subject of his attacks, which by their unparalleled virulence resemble the fierce voracity of a vulture gorging itself with its prey. In this work indeed he pays some insidious compliments to the quakers, but that respectable body will not thank him for doing it at the expense of other christian societies.

Christianity under every form is treated with less tenderness than the systems of paganism of which the infamous divinities and licentious fables found a worthy advocate in Mons. Voltaire. The historical anecdotes, with which these letters abound are generally calculated to disfigure and depreciate religion, and

observations merely of a philosophical nature are mixed up with critical reflections upon its tenets. When any translations are made from English writers, they are almost always such as foster the spirit of unbelief, and the excess of their extravagance is made the standard of their merit.

It was during this visit to England that Voltaire was introduced to Pope; and being invited to dine with him, he talked, at table, with so much indecency, especially with regard to religion, that the poet's mother was obliged to retire. He was once also in company with Dr. Young, the sublime author of Night Thoughts; when Paradise Lost happening to become the subject of conversation, Voltaire threw out many indecent observations, not merely upon Milton's allegorical characters, but upon the sources whence they were drawn. This at last provoked Young to address Voltaire in these well known lines,

"Thou art so witty, profligate and thin,

Thou seem'st a Milton's Devil, Death, and Sin."

But the most conspicuous edifice which Voltaire has raised to the genius of irreligion, is, without controversy, his "Essay on General History," so deservedly proscribed by the French clergy in 1765. A man of wit has observed, that the following title would be very suitable to this work: "A System of universal "History, in which the author arranges his facts according to his "fancy, in order to prove that religion is an atrocious chimera, and << man a brutal and mischievous animal, the everlasting sport of "blind fatality: a work well calculated to form honest and vir"tuous men!"

But what is the conclusion which every reader will draw from the perusal of this history, which the enthusiastic admirers of Voltaire have presumed to prefer before the sublime discourse of Bossuet. Is it not, "that whoever is in no fear of a God, is unacquainted with the means of troubling the world?" Fatalism is every where represented as triumphant; an imposing catalogue is exhibited of all the splendid villains, who have lived in prosperity, and died in peace: and to this is opposed a long list of virtuous men and conscientious sovereigns, who have perished

miserably amidst wretchedness and disgrace. In writing the history of wars, the author never forgets to remark, that the most just have always been the most unfortunate and disastrous.

The picture indeed which he draws of the misfortunes experienced by virtuous persons, would appear to the eye of wisdom as a conclusive argument, that there is another life in which compensation will be made to suffering virtue, and all the seeming irregularities of this world will be adjusted. But this judicious historian has no such ideas; chance alone is his constant and supreme director of the universe. The soul of an animal of which he has no knowledge, furnishes him with an unanswerable proof that his own is nothing but a modification of matter; that all men are mere machines, which a capricious being annihilates as soon as they have acted their destined parts in the world. That there is a wonderful resemblance between a child, and a puppy; and that the whole difference between a Newton and a mole consists in a more or less degree of organic refinement.

The soul of man once removed, revelation falls of course, and this great historian, accordingly, opens his strongest batteries against it. He gathers up all the fables of ancient and modern times; dives into Indian traditions, and displays all the absurdities of mahometism, and after endeavouring to throw an air of consequence over these fooleries, he gravely places them by the side of christ anity, where they seem to hold a preference to our holy religion.

The evidence of facts causes but little embarrassment to our author. He boldly denies, or covers them with ridicule. The most authentic' claims, the most ancient histories, and monuments that have escaped the ravages of time, all sink under the prejudices and misrepresentations of this literary dictator. That religion which had triumphed over the fury of Cæsars, and the hatred of philosophers, was established, he tells us, like other sects, without opposition nay, it was favoured and patronised by the virtuous Nero, the sage Dioclesian, by their ministers and their executioners. These certainly are wonderful discoveries; but it was reserved to a poet to make them, whose walk lies chiefly in the regions of fiction.

The same air of flippant pleasantry and misrepresentation runs through his Philosophical Dictionary, where it assumes a more undisguised appearance. As an author grows old he should cease to be squeamish, and this maxim was adopted by Voltaire in all its latitude. The pruriency of his imagination increases with his years. To be convinced of this the reader needs only to open this dictionary, the Pucelle, or Candide. Persons the most familiar with licentiousness cannot read these works without indignation. Every page is defiled with vulgar pleasantry, gross impieties, and disgusting ribaldry. No respect is paid to the Deity, none to religion, to virtue, or to morals, and, we may add, none to taste; for what can be more opposed to taste, to the perception of what is true, refined and beautiful, than a low and grovelling style delineating manners still more base and contemptible; than a crude collection of puerile incidents, improbable adventures, and forced witticisms, which would disgrace the character of a footman.

But, it is when he attacks his adversaries that Voltaire totally renounces his claim to good breeding. The most outrageous abuse then flows from his pen, and all respect to rank and character is entirely thrown aside. The venerable archbishop of Auch, and the bishop of Puy are assailed in terms as opprobrious, as Grub-street or Billingsgate could furnish. In a pamphlet which is entitled Defense de mon Oncle, he adds to the vilest abuse the most revolting indecencies. Some of the chapters are entitled, On Sodomy, On Incest, On Abraham and Ninon de l'Enclos, &c. &c. the contents of these chapters fully answer their titles. What astonishes us is, that at the age of seventy, a man, who calls himself a philosopher, could display such moral depravity by publishing to the world these degrading productions. He might have meant to render his libels more saleable, but they too clearly evince the base passions that gave them birth. They have, indeed, raised a blush upon the face of many of his admirers, for who not born and educated amidst the dregs of society would not blush at such outrages against the common decencies of life.

It was by these and similar disgusting effusions of his bile that in his retreat at Ferney, which he describes as a paradise, Voltaire endeavoured to compensate his feelings for the privation of the pleasures of Paris, of Berlin and the court. In vain did he affect to des

pise grandeur and distinctions. They were the constant subjects of his regret, his irritation, and his grief. He reflected in the bitterness of his soul, that it was once in his power to live happily with Frederick the great; but presuming to indulge himself in some unbecoming familiarities with this monarch, to insult his favourites, to displace the president of his academy and circulate some atrocious satires, he was obliged to leave Berlin with precipitation and disgrace. How he employed his time during his retirement at Ferney, how he sickened over the rising fame of Rousseau, exposed the weakness of his best friends, and spared no invectives and calumnies against his enemies, may be seen in the journals and travels of that period. After an absence of twenty-seven years, he was induced to visit Paris once more; where he was welcomed with extraordinary, and enthusiastic honours, which plainly evinced the decay of moral and religious principle in that capital. They proved however too oppressive for this feeble old man, and he died within a few days suffocated with the incense of theatrical adulation. Many accounts of his last moments have been circulated; but the following it is believed is the most authentic, it appeared in the Annual Register for 1778.

"The marquis de Villette, with whom Voltaire resided in Paris, "when he perceived his visitor's death approaching, sent for Mons. "Bonnet, curè of St. Sulpice, to persuade him if possible to comply "with the usual forms of their religion, in order that the proper "honours might be paid to his remains. The curè began by ques"tioning Voltaire if he believed in the divinity of Christ; but was "hastily stopped by the wit's saying "ah! mons. le Curè, if I pass "that article to you, you will demand if I do not also believe in "the Holy Ghost, and so on, until you finish by the Bull Unigenitus. "The curè departed, but in a few hours after, a great change appear❝ing, he came a second time, and began by putting his hand on the "dying man's head, as he lay in bed; upon which Voltaire raised his "own hand to the curate's head, and pushed him away, saying; "I

came into the world without a bonnet, (a cap) and will go out of it "without one, therefore let me die in peace." He accordingly turned "his back towards the cure, and died in a few minutes, without "speaking another word; on the 30th May 177-.”