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say you, grave stranger? addressing himself to a little olive-coloured man with a disdainful air.

I am called a philosopher, said the stranger, in an imperious and dogmatic tone.

Then, comrade, answered Gelanor, smiling, you are happy?

I happy! no, indeed.

And what prevents you?

Pride. I associated myself with some others like myself, and, among us, we formed a vast and hardy project. We wished to reign and domineer over the minds of men; and we had a celebrated magician for a chief, who gave us a talisman, on which were engraven these three words, Benevolence, Tolerance, Philosophy. My friend, said the magician, the virtue of these three words is such, that to obtain your end, you have only incessantly to repeat them, and rest faithfully attached and submissively to your chief. With this talisman, and my protection, you will want neither knowledge nor genius; you may daringly say and write all the extravagancies, which shall enter your imagination; you shall have an exclusive authority

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