of the ancient country of the Atlantidæ, and now engulfed. Bailly rather
places that nation at Spitzbergen, Greenland, or Nova Zembla, whose
climate may have changed. We should also have to seek for the Garden of
the Hesperides near the Pole; in short, the fable of the Phoenix may
have arisen in the Gulf of the Obi, in a region where we must suppose
the sun to have been annually absent during sixty-five days.

It is evident, in many passages, that Bailly is himself surprised at the
singularity of his own conclusions, and fears that his readers may
rather regard them as jokes. He therefore exclaims, "My pen would not
find expressions for thoughts which I did not believe to be true." Let
us add that no effort is painful to him. Bailly calls successively to
his aid astronomy, history, supported by vast erudition, philology, the
systems of Mairan, of Buffon, relatively to the heat appertaining to the
earth. He does not forget, using his own words, "that in the human
species, still more sensitive than curious, more anxious for pleasure
than for instruction, nothing pleases generally, or for a long time,
unless the style is agreeable; that dry truth is killed by ennui!" Yet
Bailly makes few proselytes; and a species of instinct determines men of
science to despise the fruits of so persevering a labour; and D'Alembert
goes so far as to tax them with poverty, even with hollow ideas, with
vain and ridiculous efforts; he goes so far as to call Bailly,
relatively to his letters, the _illuminated brother_. Voltaire is, on
the contrary, very polite and very academical in his communications with
our author. The renown of the Brahmins is dear to him; yet this does
not prevent his discussing closely the proofs, the arguments of the
ingenious astronomer. We could also now enter into a serious discussion.
The mysterious veil that in Bailly's time covered the East, is in great
part raised. We now know the Astronomy of the Chinese and the Hindoos in
all its detail. We know up to what point the latter had carried their