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the affection, of his friends — disturbed the peace neces-sary for his convalescence.

The vital principle was still strong, and he recovered.He made use of his renewed strength to visit theacademy, and to he present at the representation of histragedy. The enthusiasm was at its height. He wasalmost crushed to death both at the Louvre and thetheatre, notwithstanding the exertions of the soldiersto keep a passage clear. The academicians receivedhim rather as the sovereign of literature than as anequal. At the theatre his reception was still more;!j' flattering. His bust was crowned on the stage, andjj the audience were in a transport of delight ; tearsof enthusiasm and joy marked the feeling of thespectators, who saw his attenuated figure with sorrow,and every one was eager to offer him assistance whenhe left the theatre. His triumph failed only in thatthe court still looked askance on him; and his verypresence in Paris was rather connived at than per-mitted. Still the manifestations of public favour mightsatisfy a man even insatiable of applause. He wasdeeply touched. “ They wish to smother me withroses,” he exclaimed, as he felt his feeble frame sinkfrom exhaustion.

At this moment, at the very zenith of human glory,—when the whole population of the then most civilisedcapital in the world seemed to breathe his name only,to see him only in the world, to crowd round him inadmiration and triumph, — and while their cry, “ Thereis the saviour of the Calas,” rewarded him for his bene-£ volent exertions, — then, had he retired to his tranquili seclusion at Ferney, he might have prolonged his exist-I ence. But this he was not permitted to do. MadameI Denis was heartily tired of the mountain solitude,K which, as Voltaire grew older and more averse to show1 himself, became a complete seclusion. He earnestly| desired to return ; but, day after day, the solicit-I ations of his friends induced him to prolong his stay,o' His secretary, Wagner, gives a lively picture of the