yet with extreme moderation.  No trait reveals, no fact even foreshadows in the author, the future President of a reforming National Assembly, still less the Mayor of Paris, during a revolutionary effervescence.  The author may make Charles V. say that he will discard favour, and will call in renown to select his representatives; it will appear to him that taxes ought to be laid on riches and spared on poverty; he may even exclaim that oppression awakens ideas of equality.  His temerity will not overleap this boundary.  Bossuet, Massillon, Bourdaloue, made the Chair resound with bold words of another description.

I am far from blaming this scrupulous reserve; when moderation is united to firmness, it becomes power.  In a word, however, Bailly’s patriotism might, I was about to say ought to, have shown itself more susceptible, more ardent, prouder.  When in the elegant prosopopoeia which closes the eloge, the King of England has recalled with arrogance the fatal day of Poitiers, ought he not instantly to have restrained that pride within just limits? ought he not to have cast a hasty glance on the components of the Black Prince’s army? to examine whether a body of troops, starting from Bordeaux, recruiting in Guienne, did not contain more Gascons than English? whether France, now bounded by its natural limits, in its magnificent unity, would not have a right, every thing being examined, to consider that battle almost as an event of civil war? ought he not, in short, to have pointed out, in order to corroborate his remarks, that the knight to whom King John surrendered himself, Denys de Morbecque, was a French officer banished from Artois?

Self-reliance on the field of battle is the first requisite for obtaining success; now, would not our self-reliance be shaken, if the men most likely to know the facts, and to appreciate them wisely, appeared to think that the Frank race were nationally inferior to other races who had peopled this or that region, either neighbouring or distant?  This, let it be well remarked, is not a puerile susceptibility.  Great events may, on a given day, depend on the opinion that the nation has formed of itself.  Our neighbours on the other side of the Channel, afford examples on this subject that it would be well to imitate.

In 1767, the Academy of Berlin proposed a prize for an eloge of Leibnitz.  The public was somewhat surprised at it.  It was generally supposed that Leibnitz had been admirably praised by Fontenelle, and that the subject was exhausted.  But from the moment that Bailly’s essay, crowned in Prussia, was published, former impressions were quite changed.  Every one was anxiously asserting that Bailly’s appreciation of his subject might be read with pleasure and benefit, even after Fontenelle’s.  The eloge composed by the historian of Astronomy will not, certainly, make us forget that written by the first Secretary of the Academy of Sciences.  The style is, perhaps, too stiff; perhaps it is also rather declamatory; but the biography, and the analysis of his works, are more complete, especially if we consider the notes; the universal Leibnitz is exhibited under more varied points of view.