et les Fondements de l'Inégalité parmi les Hommes (1755), he declaims against the rights of property. Julie, ou la Nouvelle Heloise, a novel, appeared in 1760; Du Contrat Social, ou principes du Droit Politique, in 1762; Émile, ou de l'Education, in 1762, and Les Confessions, suivies des Réveries d'un Promeneur Solitaire, in 1782. Besides these are a Lettre à d'Alembert sur les Spectacles, Lettre à l'Archevêque de Paris, and Rousseau's Correspondence. Emile, whatever may be thought of the logical outcome of its system, deserves the attention of every teacher. In the following extract from a letter written in his fiftieth year, and addressed to M. de Malesherbes, he pictures himself as he wished others to regard him.

DELIGHTS IN SOLITUDE.

Oh, why is not the existence I have enjoyed known to all the world! Every one would wish to procure for himself a similar lot; peace would reign upon the earth; man would no longer think of injuring his fellows, and the wicked would no longer be found, for none would have an interest in being wicked. But what did I enjoy when I was alone? Myself; the entire universe; all that is, all that can be; all that is beautiful in the world of sense; all that is imaginable in the world of intellect. I gathered around me all that could delight my heart; my desires were the limits of my pleasures. Never have the voluptuous known such enjoyments; and I have derived a hundred times more happiness from my chimeras than they from their realities. . . .

What period do you think I recall most frequently and most willingly in my dreams? Not the pleasures of my youth; they were too rare, too much mingled with bitterness, and are now too distant. I recall the period of my seclusion, of my solitary walks; of the fleeting but delicious days that I have passed entirely by myself, with my good and simple house-keeper, with

my beloved dog, my old cat, with the birds of the field, the hinds of the forest, with all Nature, and her inconceivable Author.

In getting up before the sun to contemplate its rising from my garden when a beautiful day was commencing, my first wish was that no letters or visits might come to disturb the charm. After having devoted the morning to various duties, that I fulfilled with pleasure because I could have put them off to another time, I hastened to dine, that I might escape from importunate people, and ensure a longer afternoon. Before one o'clock, even on the hottest days, I started in the heat of the sun with my faithful Achates, hastening my steps in the fear that someone would take possession of me before I could escape; but when once I could turn a certain corner, with what a beating heart, with what a flutter of joy, I began to breathe, as I felt that I was safe; and I said, "Here now I am my own master for the rest of the day!"

I went on then at a more tranquil pace to seek some wild spot in the forest, some desert place, where nothing indicating the hand of man announced slavery and power-some refuge to which I could believe I was the first to penetrate, and where no wearying third could step in to interpose between Nature and me. It was there that she seemed to display before my eyes an ever-new magnificence. The gold of the broom and the purple of the heather struck my sight with a splendor that touched my heart. The majesty of the trees that covered me with their shadow, the delicacy of the shrubs that flourished around me, the astonishing variety of the herbs and flowers that I crushed beneath my feet, kept my mind in a continued alternation of observing and admiring. This assemblage of so many interesting objects contending for my attention, attracting me incessantly from one to the other, fostered my dreamy and idle humor, and often made me repeat, to myself: "Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these!

The spot thus adorned could not long remain a desert to my imagination. I soon peopled it with beings after my own heart; and, dismissing opinion, prejudice, and

all factitious passions, I brought to these sanctuaries of Nature men worthy of inhabiting them. I formed with these a charming society, of which I did not feel myself unworthy. I made a Golden Age according to my fancy; and, filling up these bright days with all the scenes of my life that had left the tenderest recollections, and with all that my heart still longed for, I affected myself to tears over the true pleasures of humanity-pleasures so delicious, so pure, and yet so far from men. If in these moments any ideas of Paris, of the age, and of my little author-vanity, disturbed my reveries, with what contempt I drove them instantly away, to give myself up entirely to the exquisite sentiments with which my soul was filled.

From the surface of the earth I soon raised my thoughts to all the beings of Nature, to the Universal System of Things-to the incomprehensible Being who enters into all. Then as my mind was lost in this immensity, I did not think, I did not reason, I did not philosophize. I felt, with a kind of voluptuousness, as if bowed down by the weight of this universe; I gave myself up with rapture to this confusion of grand ideas. I delighted in imagination to lose myself in space. My heart, confined within the limits of the mortal, found not room; I was stifled in the universe; I would have sprung into the Infinite. I think that, could I have unveiled all the mysteries of Nature, my sensations would have been less delicious than was this bewildering ecstasy to which my mind abandoned itself without control, and which, in the excitement of my transports, made me sometimes exclaim, "O great Being! O great Being!" without being able to think or say more.

Thus glided on in continued rapture the most charming days that ever human being passed, and when the setting sun made me think of returning, astonished at the flight of time, I thought I had not taken sufficient advantage of my day. I fancied I might have enjoyed it more; and, to regain the lost time, I said, "I will come back to-morrow!" I returned slowly home, my head a little fatigued, but my heart content. I reposed agreeably on my return, abandoning myself to the impression of objects, but without thinking, without imagining, without

doing anything beyond feeling the calm and the happiness of my situation. Lastly, after having taken in the evening a few turns in my garden, or sung a few airs to my spinet, I found in my bed repose of body and soul a hundred times sweeter than sleep itself.

These were the days that have made the true happiness of my life-a happiness without bitterness, without weariness, without regret; and to which I would willingly have limited my existence. Yes, let such days as these fill up my eternity! I do not ask for others, nor imagine that I am much less happy in these exquisite contemplations than the heavenly spirits. But a suffering body deprives the mind of its liberty. Henceforth I am not alone, I have a guest who importunes me, I must free myself of it to be myself. The trial that I have made of these sweet enjoyments serves only to make me with less alarm await the time when I shall taste them without interruption.

ROWE, NICHOLAS, an English poet and dramatist, was born at Little Berkford, in Bedfordshire, about 1673; and died December 6, 1718. He came of an old family, and was the son of a sergeant-atlaw. Educated at Windsor under Busby, he became a sound classical scholar, but at sixteen was entered at the Middle Temple, to follow his father's profession, the law. His father's death left him his own master and in independent circumstances. He forsook law for literature and the stage, and his first play, The Ambitious Stepmother (1700), was successful. It was followed in 1702 by Tamerlane, in which Louis XIV. was represented unfavorably as Bajazet, and William III. very favorably as a wise and virtuous Tamerlane. This drama was therefore very successful, and, so late as 1815, was performed in London on the anniversary of the day of King William's landing. The Fair Penitent (1703) was founded on Massinger's Fatal Dowry, and Jane Shore (1714) was an imitation of Shakespeare. Rowe was Under-Secretary of State to the Duke of Queensberry, until the accession of the Tories to power. With the enthronement of George I. he was made poet-laureate and received other and lucrative appointments. "His plays are distinguished by the melody of their verse." Pope, who praises "his vivacity and gayety of disposition," wrote his epitaph, not that however on his monument in Poets' Corner, West