practises revenge. The philosopher of Sans Souci talks of vengeance, but exercises love.

Fred. In the first ebullitions of anger, in the paroxysms of rage,-I certainly pronounced of him, I deemed him an ingrate but, in my cooler moments, I reflected on the vanity and irritableness so generally found in the literary character, and pardoned all.

Mac. A truly christian temper, whatever atheistical notions your majesty might entertain when in the world of men but you received, I doubt not, the first tinct of irreligion from him by whom you have been attacked on that very head.

Fred. I am obliged to you for thus expressing your good opinion of my christian disposition, as you have already done of my lesser virtues. I have long banished from my remembrance, and given to the winds, the sarcasms, and the invectives, which were thrown out against me by the bitter M. A. De Voltaire. How far I am to be commended for this, or whether it accords with the doctrines set forth by the Saviour of the world, is not for me to determine. I shall rest content with producing a single passage from the writings of the scoffer himself. "I will only ask one question: Who has most religion, the calumniator who persecutes, or the accused who forgives?"

"Out of thine Thus says your

Mac. No proceeding can be fairer. own mouth shalt thou be judged." majesty, and so entirely do all human resentments appear to have subsided in your breast, that should you chance, wandering in these happy groves, to meet this modern Theomachist, this literary Typhæus, you will, no doubt, hail him again as a friend.

go down

Fred. Joyfully, as I would have done on earth. "Let not the sun," says the scriptural precept, upon your anger."

Mac. Nothing can be more to your honour.

err is human, to forgive divine."

"To

Fred. You allow too much to me on the score of

forbearance. With the bodily form, I necessarily lose the prejudices and passions of man.

Mac. I allude to your conduct when in a state of trial, and not to inevitable consequences in this after-life. You had, by your own confession, divested yourself of prejudices and passions, before you put on incorruption; even then, you were evidently desirous of being ranked with immortals. This it is which places you so much above your peers; this, indeed, is true ambition; justly to soar above humanity, and aspire to the glories of a superior nature.

Ambition first sprang from the blest abodes,
The glorious fault of angels and of gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,

And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.

Fred. Enough of the malice and ingratitude of Voltaire. But you will acknowledge that my literary career was attended with fame ;-not so great indeed as that acquired by my military skill, but yet sufficient to make me vain. It is certain, however, whatever may be imagined to the contrary, that the peaceful province of literature was far more agreeable to me than the clamorous field of war. That I was frequently engaged in battle, is true; that I fought for glory, is likewise certain; but I knew to temper that glory with a love of mankind. That I was not hurried on by a savage impulse, that I had not an insatiable thirst of renown, the lines in the exergue of the medal which I caused to be struck on the taking of Prague will sufficiently evince :

By war, O Lord, make wars to cease,

And may this victory lead to peace.

Mac. Aut Cæsar aut nullus, yours was not, it must be owned, the common cry of princes. You possessed the extraordinary merit of being able to set bounds to your ambition; universal empire was not your aim: but, notwithstanding this your moderation, you have been grossly vilified by some. I should hope, however, that

the future historian of the yet far-famed Frederic, as indeed of every other distinguished character, will be guided in his representations entirely by truth. On this

head, I shall adduce a passage or two from the writings of Plutarch, and which cannot be too frequently insisted on and recommended to the attention of the biographer. "As we choose that a painter, who is to draw a beautiful face, in which there is yet some imperfection, should neither wholly leave out, nor entirely express, what is faulty, because this would deform it, and that spoil the resemblance; so, since it is very hard, or rather impossible, to find a man whose life is wholly free from blemish, let us in the same manner follow truth, describing fully whatever is commendable; and, if any errors occur, which have been occasioned by the emotions of a sudden passion or the necessity of the times, let us look on them rather as defects of virtue than as vices, and carry the pencil gently over them, out of respect to human nature, which never formed a beautiful object that was complete and faultless, nor a virtuous character that was entirely free from blame." Such are the noble and generous sentiments of the Greek philosopher, who, still more to his honour, practises all that he advises in his work. But I must now bid you farewell, once more observing, that in almost every action of your life you have shown yourself deserving of the eminent title you bore. In fine, that you have, by an uncommon display of virtues and abilities, proved yourself, in the truest sense of the word, a King: "Aye, every inch a King."+

*KING, of Konnen, Sax. to know ;-by reason of the eminent knowledge and prudence with which we expect him to be endued.

+ Shakspeare's Lear.

DIALOGUE II.

SCENE-AN OPEN COUNTRY.

MISANTHROPOS and LEVICULUS.

Misan. (Enters repeating.)

Here do I,

A dedicated beggar to the air,

With my disease of all-shunn'd poverty,
Walk like contempt alone.

Yet wherefore should I murmur: why appear dissatisfied? I cannot indulge myself, it is true, in any of the luxuries of life, but I still am able to furnish out the necessaries of it.-How lovely, how diversified is the prospect before me! Nature, in her gayest attire, smiling and rosy as a cherub, scatters forth her bounties on unthankful man. In contemplating the works of the great Creator, I feel lifted above the earth. How pleasing, how grateful, the sensation! I could, I think, be happy nay, sometimes imagine that I am really so. But, alas! in the world's estimation I am poor. All men fly me, therefore, as they would contagion: all men shun me as a criminal of the blackest dye. This at one time produces mortification, at another it reconciles me the more to myself. "Who venerate themselves the world despise," says a poet of no little eminence. But I cannot entirely approve the sentiment. It exhibits an ostentatious humour, an arrogance dishonourable to the human character,-which should, after the example of our glorious Redeemer, be lowly and humble in spirit, doing good and eschewing evil. No; despise the world I cannot. It has done me wrong. But, thank Heaven! I can bear to be secluded from it; and learn to venerate myself.

Levic. (Enters repeating.)

Bring with thee

The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty.

And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew:

To live with her and live with thee,

In unreproved pleasures free.

Ha! Misanthropos. Ever moping and musing. Were I not of the true Horatian, the right Anacreontic, disposition, thy melancholy would indubitably infect me, since I so frequently encounter thee in my walks.

Misan.

The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears :

Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears.

Thou art an enemy to melancholy: a decrier of the sublimest affection that can possibly infuse itself into the human mind, only from being a stranger to its celestial nature. Let it for a moment have possession of thy breast, and thou wilt fancy thyself lifted at once into the third heaven into the empyreum of the immortals. How beautifully the poet, who felt the divine influence of which I speak in all its force—

To the pure soul by fancy's fire refin'd

Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy,

When with the charm compar'd of heavenly melancholy.

Levic. Well, I had always supposed that the melancholy Jaques was a creature of the poet's imagination; but I now find the character realized in the philosophical Misanthropos.

Misan. I am obliged to you for the compliment, however; for, to be a philosopher in the present temper of the world is somewhat to the honour of a man. I consider a calm and philosophical disposition as the first of human blessings. The most valuable of all mundane possessions is not equal to it.

Levic. I am of a different opinion. How can moroseness, sheer crabbedness, be considered as a desirable. quality in any one?