Voltaire has lately published a small work called Candide, ou l’Optimisme.  I shall give you a detail of it.  But what is all this to my book, say you?  My dear Mr. Smith, have patience; compose yourself to tranquillity.  Show yourself a philosopher in practice as well as profession.  Think on the impotence and rashness and futility of the common judgments of men, how little they are regulated by reason on any subject, much more on philosophical subjects, which so far exceed the comprehension of the vulgar—­

Non, si quid turbida Roma
Elevet, accedas:  examenve improbum in ilia
Castiges trutina:  nec te quaesiveris extra.

A wise man’s kingdom is his own heart; or, if he ever looks farther, it will only be to the judgment of a select few, who are free from prejudices and capable of examining; his work.  Nothing, indeed, can be a stronger presumption of falsehood than the approbation of the multitude; and Phocion, you know, always suspected himself of some blunder when he was attended with the applause of the populace.

Supposing, therefore, that you have duly prepared yourself for the worst by all these reflections, I proceed to tell you the melancholy news that your book has been very unfortunate, for the public seem disposed to applaud it extremely.  It was looked for by the foolish people with some impatience; and the mob of literati are beginning already to be very loud in its praises.  Three bishops called yesterday at Millar’s shop in order to buy copies, and to ask questions about the author.  The Bishop of Peterborough said he had passed the evening in a company where he heard it extolled above all books in the world.  The Duke of Argyle is more decisive than he used to be in its favour.  I suppose he either considers it as an exotic, or thinks the author will be very serviceable to him in the Glasgow elections.  Lord Lyttelton says that Robertson and Smith and Bower[107] are the glories of English literature.  Oswald protests he does not know whether he has reaped more instruction or entertainment from it, but you may easily judge what reliance can be placed on his judgment.  He has been engaged all his life in public business, and he never sees any faults in his friends.  Millar exults and brags that two-thirds of the edition are already sold, and that he is now sure of success.  You see what a son of the earth that is, to value books only by the profit they bring him.  In that view, I believe, it may prove a very good book.

Charles Townshend, who passes for the cleverest fellow in England, is so much taken with the performance that he said to Oswald he would put the Duke of Buccleugh under the author’s care, and would make it worth his while to accept of that charge.  As soon as I heard this I called on him twice with a view of talking with him about the matter, and of convincing him of the propriety of sending that young gentleman