better, he accepts it, and will not make it worse by murmuring. When
the chain galls him, he can at least revenge himself by making jests on
it. He will temper the despotism of nature by epigrams. He has read
Aesop's fable, and is the last man in the world to relinquish the
shabbiest substance to grasp at the finest shadow.

Of nothing under the sun was Montaigne quite certain, except that every
man--whatever his station--might travel farther and fare worse; and
that the playing with his own thoughts, in the shape of essay-writing,
was the most harmless of amusements. His practical acquiescence in
things does not promise much fruit, save to himself; yet in virtue of
it he became one of the forces of the world--a very visible agent in
bringing about the Europe which surrounds us today. He lived in the
midst of the French religious wars. The rulers of his country were
execrable Christians, but most orthodox Catholics. The burning of
heretics was a public amusement, and the court ladies sat out the play.
On the queen-mother and on her miserable son lay all the blood of the
St. Bartholomew. The country was torn asunder; everywhere was battle,
murder, pillage, and such woeful partings as Mr. Millais has
represented in his incomparable picture. To the solitary humourous
essayist this state of things was hateful. He was a good Catholic in
his easy way; he attended divine service regularly; he crossed himself
when he yawned. He conformed in practice to every rule of the Church;
but if orthodox in these matters, he was daring in speculation. There
was nothing he was not bold enough to question. He waged war after his
peculiar fashion with every form of superstition. He worked under the
foundations of priestcraft. But while serving the Reformed cause, he
had no sympathy with Reformers. If they would but remain quiet, but
keep their peculiar notions to themselves, France would rest! That a
man should go to the stake for an opinion, was as incomprehensible to