enlivens his narrative with satirical sallies against the follies of these personages, often not less prominent than their crimes; and this, it may be safely said, was the only way of treating with success the barbarous and bloody period which he had chosen for his subject. The work loses something of its interest by the extreme rapidity with which the reader is carried from one event to another. The introductory volume was written at a later period of life when the author's abhorrence of fanaticism had degenerated into fanaticism itself, and has but little value. The Age of Louis XIV is even more finished and agreeable, as a piece of composition than the Essay, but the writer with all his philosophy appears to have been dazzled by the military glory of the early part of this reign, or else was making court to his hero's The picture of Louis is too much flattered, and the historian dwells with a foolish complacency upon the showy pageants which were exhibited at court, and which, as every one knows, are not only too frivolous to be worth the public attention, but are mortally tiresome to every body engaged in them, even while they are going on. The age of Louis XV is an unfinished sketch, but contains some fine passages, as the description of the battle of Fontenoy. The History of Charles XII is a charming little work with all the interest of a novel, and is probably more read than any other historical production. The other two are of inferior merit.

successor.

Besides the works now mentioned, which compose the solid materials of the reputation of this great genius, there is a crowd of lighter and smaller productions in prose and verse, that are almost eclipsed under the superior splendor of the larger works, but which, had he never written any thing else, would have conferred upon their author the most brilliant reputation. Some of them are tainted in a greater or less degree with a vice which luckily for his

reputation, is not to be found in his more important works. Candide is of this class, the sharpest satire that ever was composed, and one which has gaiety enough, if such a thing were possible, to redeem its grossness. The fine little story of Zadig is free from this exception. It was written expressly for a princess of the royal family of France, and in her house. In addition to this mass of publications in almost every walk of literature, Voltaire found time for an extensive correspondence with most of the distinguished literary characters, and many of the first political ones in Europe, as Frederic the Great, Catharine II of Russia, the Maréchal de Richelieu, President Henault, D'Alembert, and others. The greater part of this correspondence has found its way into the collection of his works, and will probably, as we have hinted before, form not the least interesting portion of it, in the opinion of posterity. As one of the multitude of proofs with what a reverence approaching to idolatry, this celebrated person was regarded, it may be remarked that it was debated in the French Academy after his death, whether the chair which he had occupied in that body should not be left forever vacant. The proposition passed in the negative, but as far at least as regarded his immediate successor, it seems to have been acted upon in substance. Ducis, a small poet of the day, took his place, and found himself as much at ease as the snail in La Fontaine's Fable, that froze to death in a lobster shell.

We shall draw these remarks to a close with a trifling anecdote, which perhaps may be new to our readers, and which we lately met with in a French newspaper. We think it carries internal proof of authenticity. It relates to the etymology of the name Voltaire, which this writer has rendered so illustrious, and which we believe is commonly thought to have been either entirely arbitrary or taken from some little estate, according to the custom

with French gentlemen of that day. It is now said however to be merely a transposition of the letters composing the original signature which he employed in early life. His family name, it is well known, was Arouet, and having an elder brother he used to sign his name when young Arouet l. I;-le Jeune. The word Voltaire is an anagram or transposition of the letters in this signature.

In conclusion we have to observe, that we have not so far distrusted the moral sentiment of our readers, as to imitate the example of some of the most distinguished of our brethren abroad, and fall into passionate exclamations upon the immorality disclosed by this work, as well in the state of society as in the individuals, whose names occur in our article. No person needs be told that many in the higher classes abroad-we are not aware that any considerable exception is to be made of one country over others -are scandalously corrupt, in the article of private morals. We read their works, recognize their talents, do justice. to their accomplishments, mingle as one may say in their company, with this exception, and are on our guard on this point. We indeed, in this country, where the suspicion of laxity in the sacred relations of domestic life fixes a stigma on its subjects, might claim a right to bear loud testimony, did it serve any good purpose, against European corruption. But we would gently hint to our English brethren to abstain from any similar denunciations of French society, till that great scandal of the civilized world now under the consideration of the peers of the British realm, shall have been disposed of.

201

THE ART OF BEING HAPPY.*

[North American Review, July, 1828.]

THE author of the little work before us has not attempted any regular definition of happiness; but assuming that we all know pretty well what it is, has employed himself principally on inquiring how we may attain it. We are not sure that a more thorough investigation of the nature of the end would not have modified in some degree the notions of Mr Droz, in regard to the means. However this may be, it appears that he has made, as he conceives, some important discoveries, or at least greatly simplified and improved upon received notions. He has methodized his principles into a series of rules, which he entitles The Art of Being Happy; and he believes that by a steady and judicious application of them, a man may realize the summum bonum with a good degree of certainty. The subject is of so much importance, that all theories respecting it are worth examining, should they even turn out to be somewhat less original and valuable than they are considered by their authors.

Mr Droz commences by expressing his surprise at the apparent indifference of most persons to their own good.

'Our object in life,' he remarks, 'is happiness. One would think this a sufficiently familiar truth; but how often is it overlooked or depised! To see the restlessness and agitation of

* Essai sur l'Art d'Etre Heureux, par JOSEPH DROZ, de l'Académie Française. 4me Edition. 12mo. pp. 335. Paris. 1825.

many persons, one would suppose that the great affair was not to be happy, but to be rich, or to obtain some office.'

And again;

'Make happiness the principal object of your life. When one of your neighbors says to you, "My speculations are successful; I shall certainly become immensely rich;" and another, "I shall doubtless carry my election, and am on the high road of political advancement; " reply with equal self-satisfaction, "As for me, I hope to enjoy many happy days."'

Although the mass of mankind, in aiming at various unsubstantial objects of pursuit, overlook, in the opinion of our author, the search after happiness, he admits that there are some illustrious exceptions; and reckons among them our countryman Dr Franklin, of whom he speaks in the following high terms.

'We see, from time to time, appearing among us, some of those rare individuals whom nature intended as models of moral beauty. Such was Benjamin Franklin, the pride of the new world. I have often perused the pages in which he describes his plan for aiming at moral perfection, and which he concludes as follows. "Although I have not attained the perfection at which I aimed, and have even fallen very far short of it, my endeavors have nevertheless rendered me better and happier than I should have been if I had not made the attempt, as a person who tries to improve in penmanship by imitating a copperplate model, although he should not equal the correctness and elegance of the engraving, may yet acquire a more easy and legible hand than he had before. It may be interesting to my posterity to know that I owe, under Providence, to this little artifice, the happiness which I have constantly enjoyed up to my seventy-ninth year, in which I write these lines. Should the rest of my life be disturbed by misfortunes, the recollection of the preceding period will enable me to support them with resignation."'