had. undoubtedly, long mistaken JohnJames for some honest mechanic; the joy which he expressed at seeing him again, and the zeal with which he served him, conveyed to me, completely, an idea of the good nature which the sublime author of Emilius displayed in his most trivial actions. So far from seeking to shine in the eyes of any one whatever, he himself acknowledged, with a sentiment of humility not often to be found, and, in my opinion altogether unfounded, that he was not fit to take part in conversation of a superior style. "The least appearance of argument," said he to me one day, "is sufficient to overset me. My understanding comes to my assistance half an hour later than to other men. I know what the reply ought to be, precisely when it is out of time." That tardiness of reflection did not proceed from a maxillary depression, as is alledged, in the prospectus of a new edition of the works of John James, by a writer in other respects highly estimable: but from his strong sense of natural equity, which permitted him not to give a decision on the

most trifling subject, till he had examined it; from his genius, which turned it round and round, to get a view of it in every direction; and, finally from his modesty, which repressed in him the theatrical tone, and the oracular sententiousness of our conversations. Still less would he have submitted to exhibit himself as a spectacle among the great; but in a tète à téte, in the freedom of intimacy, and on subjects which were familiar to him, those especially in which the happiness of mankind was interested his soul soared aloft, his sentiments became impressive, his ideas profound, his images sublime, and his spoken, as ardent as his written, expression.

But what I prized still more highly than even his genius, was his probity. He was one of the few literary characters, tried in the furnace of affliction, to whom you might, with perfect security, communicate your most secret thoughts. You had nothing to fear from his malignity, if he deemed them to be wrong, nor from his perfidy, if they appeared to him to be right. p. 387.

What a difference between the age in which he lived and ours! In Penn's time, there was a religious belief; now-a-days, men no longer believe in any thing. p. 338.

All human things begin to fade as soon as they have reached the point of perfection.

While I was devising plans for the happiness of mankind, my own was disturbed by new calamities.

Where is the man, where is the writer, where is especially the unfortunate author, who has no fault to reproach himself with?

J. J. Rousseau had to encounter wants so pressing and friends so perfidious, that he was frequently forced out of the common road: there is reason to complain of the inequality of his temper, and of some errors in conduct, as he himself has published these, for the purpose of condemning them. But even when he deviates, and becomes the victim of others, or of himself; you see him for ever forgetting his own miseries, that

William Penn.

he may devote his undivided attention to those of mankind. He is uniformly the defender of their rights, and the advocate of the miserable. There might be inscribed on his tomb, those affecting words from a book on which he pronounces an eulogium so sublime; and of which he carried always about him some select passages, during the last years of his life: " HIS SINS, WHICH ARE MANY, ARE FORGIVEN; FOR HE LOVED MUCH."

There does not exist a nation, however savage it may be, that does not possess some ingenuity, from which a polished people may derive benefit; some ancient tradition, some rare production, which is peculiar to its own climate.

Even if we should be unable to find in Gaul any thing that can be useful in Egypt, or were we, by some accident, to lose the fruit of our voyage, still there will remain for us one thing, of which neither death nor tempests can deprive us; I mean the satisfaction of having done good.

"Observe," said he to me," these seafaring people, how robust they are! Bodily

exercise is the aliment of health. It dissipates an infinite number of diseases and passions, which spring out of the repose of cities. Human life is planted in the same manner as the oaks of my country. The more they are buffeted by the winds, the more vigorous they become. "The sea," continued he, "is the school of every virtue: there you live in privations, and dangers of every sort. You are there, under the necessity of being courageous, sober, prudent, patient, vigilant, religious." "But," answered I," how comes it that the greater part of the companions of our voyage possess none of these qualities? They are, almost all of them, intemperate, violent, impious, commending and blaming, without discernment, whatever they see performed."

"It is not the sea which has corrupted them," replied he; "they have brought with them the passions of the land. It is the love of riches, idleness, and the desire of giving themselves up to all manner of irregularities, when on shore, which determines a great number of men to enter into the sea