a polite court; direct rays there are from the oldest written Gospels
and the newest; from the great unwritten Gospel of the Universe itself;
and from one's own real effort, more or less devout, to read all these
aright. Let us not condemn that poor French element of Eclecticism,
Scepticism, Tolerance, Theodicea, and Bayle of the Bompies versus the
College of Saumur. Let us admit that it was profitable, at least that it
was inevitable; let us pity it, and be thankful for it, and rejoice that
we are well out of it. Scepticism, which is there beginning at the very
top of the world-tree, and has to descend through all the boughs with
terrible results to mankind, is as yet pleasant, tinting the leaves with
fine autumnal red.

Sophie Charlotte partook of her Mother's tendencies; and carried them
with her to Berlin, there to be expanded in many ways into ampler
fulfilment. She too had the sage Leibnitz often with her, at Berlin; no
end to her questionings of him; eagerly desirous to draw water from that
deep well,--a wet rope, with cobwebs sticking to it, too often all she
got; endless rope, and the bucket never coming to view. Which, however,
she took patiently, as a thing according to Nature. She had her learned
Beausobres and other Reverend Edict-of-Nantes gentlemen, famed Berlin
divines; whom, if any Papist notability, Jesuit ambassador or the like,
happened to be there, she would set disputing with him, in the Soiree at
Charlottenburg. She could right well preside over such a battle of the
Cloud-Titans, and conduct the lightnings softly, without explosions.
There is a pretty and very characteristic Letter of hers, still pleasant
to read, though turning on theologies now fallen dim enough; addressed
to Father Vota, the famous Jesuit, King's-confessor, and diplomatist,
from Warsaw, who had been doing his best in one such rencontre before
her Majesty (date March, 1703),--seemingly on a series of evenings, in
the intervals of his diplomatic business; the Beausobre champions
being introduced to him successively, one each evening, by Queen Sophie
Charlotte. To all appearance the fencing had been keen; the lightnings
in need of some dexterous conductor. Vota, on his way homeward, had
written to apologize for the sputterings of fire struck out of him
in certain pinches of the combat; says, It was the rough handling the
Primitive Fathers got from these Beausobre gentlemen, who indeed to me,
Vota in person, under your Majesty's fi