the mind; they may be benefactors or tyrants: in either case, they are
greater than the kings of the physical empire, because they defy armies
and laugh at the intrigues of state. From themselves only come the
balance of their power, the laws of their government, and the boundaries
of their realm. We sat down to supper. "Count Hamilton," said
Boulainvilliers, "are we not a merry set for such old fellows? Why,
excepting Arouet, Milord Bolingbroke, and Count Devereux, there is
scarcely one of us under seventy. Where but at Paris would you see
/bons vivans/ of our age? /Vivent la joie, la bagatelle, l'amour/!"

"/Et le vin de Champagne/!" cried Chaulieu, filling his glass; "but what
is there strange in our merriment? Philemon, the comic poet, laughed at
ninety-seven. May we all do the same!"

"You forget," cried Bolingbroke, "that Philemon died of the laughing."

"Yes," said Hamilton; "but if I remember right, it was at seeing an ass
eat figs. Let us vow, therefore, never to keep company with asses!"

"Bravo, Count," said Boulainvilliers, "you have put the true moral on
the story. Let us swear by the ghost of Philemon that we will never
laugh at an ass's jokes,--practical or verbal."

"Then we must always be serious, except when we are with each other,"
cried Chaulieu. "Oh, I would sooner take my chance of dying prematurely
at ninety-seven than consent to such a vow!"

"Fontenelle," cried our host, "you are melancholy. What is the matter?"

"I mourn for the weakness of human nature," answered Fontenelle, with an