Why does a bookseller publicly sell the "Course of Atheism," by the great Lucretius, printed for the dauphin, only son of Louis XIV., by order and under the direction of the wise duke of Montausier, and of the eloquent Bossuet, bishop of Meaux, and of the learned Huet, bishop of Avranches? There you find those sublime impieties, those admirable lines against Providence and the immortality of the soul, which pass from mouth to mouth, through all after-ages: _Ex nihilo, nihil; in nihilum nil posse reverti._ From nothing, nought; to nothing nought returns. _Tangere enim ac tangi nisi corpus nulla protest res._ Matter alone can touch and govern matter. _Nec bene pro meretis capitur, nec tangitur ira (Deus)._ Nothing can flatter God, or cause his anger. _Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum._ How great the evil by religion caused! _Desipire est mortale eterno jungere et una_ _Consentire putare, et fungi mutua posse._ 'Tis weak in mortals to attempt to join To transient being that which lasts forever. _Nil igitur mors est, ad nos neque pertinet hilum._ When death is, we are not; the body dies, and with it all. _Mortalem tamen esse animam fatere necesse est._ There is no future; mortal is the soul. _Hinc Acherusia fit stultorum denique vita._ Hence ancient fools are superstition's prey. And a hundred other lines which charm all nations--the immortal productions of a mind which believed itself to be mortal. Not only are these Latin verses sold in the Rue St. Jacques and on the Quai des Augustins, but you fearlessly purchase the translations made into all the patois derived from the Latin tongue--translations decorated with learned notes, which elucidate the doctrine of materialism, collect all the proofs against the Divinity, and would annihilate it, if it could be destroyed. You find this book, bound in morocco, in the fine library of a great and devout prince, of a cardinal, of a chancellor, of an archbishop, of a round-capped president: but the first eighteen books of de Thou were condemned as soon as they appeared. A poor Gallic philosopher ventures to publish, in his own name, that if men had been born without fingers, they would never have been able to work tapestry; and immediately another Gaul, who for his money has obtained a robe of office, requires that the book and the author be burned. Why are scenic exhibitions anathematized by certain persons who call themselves of the first order in the state, seeing that such exhibitions are necessary to all the orders of the state, and that the laws of the state uphold them with equal splendor and regularity?