er, it was an imposing sight; there are men of real distinction
now in the Academy, and Moliere would have a fair chance if he
were proposed to-day. Among the audience I saw many ladies of fine
expression and manner, as well as one or two _precieuses ridicules_, a
race which is never quite extinct.

M. Remusat, as is the custom on these occasions, painted the portrait
of his predecessor; the discourse was brilliant and discriminating
in the details, but the orator seemed to me to neglect drawing some
obvious inferences which would have given a better point of view for
his subject.

A _seance_ to me much more impressive find interesting was one which
borrowed nothing from dress, decorations, or the presence of titled
pomp. I went to call on La Mennais, to whom I had a letter, I found
him in a little study; his secretary was writing in a larger room
through which I passed. With him was a somewhat citizen-looking,
but vivacious, elderly man, whom I was at first sorry to see,
having wished for half an hour's undisturbed visit to the apostle of
Democracy. But how quickly were those feelings displaced by joy when
he named to me the great national lyrist of France, the unequalled
Beranger. I had not expected to see him at all, for he is not one to
be seen in any show place; he lives in the hearts of the people, and
needs no homage from their eyes. I was very happy in that little study
in presence of these two men, whose influence has been so great, so
real. To me Beranger has been much; his wit, his pathos, his exquisite
lyric grace, have made the most delicate strings vibrate, and I can
feel, as well as see, what he is in his nation and his place. I have
not personally received anything from La Mennais, as, born under other
circumstances, mental facts which he, once the pupil of Rome, has
learned by passing through severe ordeals, are at the basis of all
my thoughts. But I see well what he has been and is to Europe, and of
what great force of nature and spirit. He seems suffering and pale,
but in his eyes is the light of the future.

These are men who need no flourish of trumpets to announce their
coming,--no band of martial music upon their steps,--no obsequious
nobles in their train. They are the true kings, the theocratic kings,
the judges in Israel. The hearts of men make music at their approach;
the mind of the age is the historian of their passage; and only men of
destiny like themselves shall be permitted to write t