When young Prince Zemire succeeded his father on the throne of Persia, he summoned a convocation of all the learned men of his kingdom, and addressed them thus: "My revered teacher has impressed upon me that kings would be less liable to error if they were acquainted with the history of the past. Write me a history of the world, and make certain that it is complete." After the lapse of twenty years the learned men reappeared before the king, followed by a caravan composed of twelve camels, each bearing 500 volumes. The secretary of the society made a short speech and presented the 6000 volumes. The king, whose time was fully occupied with the affairs of the State, expressed his gratitude for the trouble taken, but added: "I am now middle-aged, and even if I live to be old I shall not have time to read such a long history. Abridge it!" After labouring twenty years longer the learned men returned, followed by three camels bearing 1500 volumes, and said: "Here is our new work; we believe that nothing essential is omitted." "That may be; but I am an old man now. Abridge still further, and with all possible speed!" After the lapse of only ten years they reappeared, followed by a young elephant, bearing only 500 volumes. "This time we have been exceedingly brief." "Not yet sufficiently so," replied the king. "My life is almost over. Abridge again!" Five years passed, and the secretary returned alone, walking with crutches, and leading a small ass, whose load was one large book. "Hurry!" called an officer. "The king is at the point of death." "I die," said the king, "without knowing the history of mankind." "Not so, sire," answered the aged man of learning; "I can compress it for you into three words: They were born, suffered, and died." We see how it is that France, in spite of his great gifts as an investigator, has not become a historian, but a novelist and story-writer. He is not, however, so pessimistic as we might conclude from the closing words of his fable. The human beings whom he describes have pleasures as well as pains, and he invariably advocates pleasure as superior to every kind of abnegation of nature, and combats the theory that there is good in suffering. But this scepticism with regard to history is typical of his sceptical spirit generally. The danger of extreme intellectual refinement is that it disposes to doubt. The interest in humanity of the man who sees the many-sidedness of everything is apt to be swallowed up in contempt for humanity. And once this has happened he is quite likely, from sheer pessimistic reasonableness, to become the supporter of high-handed tyranny. France has run this danger. Ten years ago it seemed as if the course of his development were quite as likely to lead him, practically, to reaction as to Radicalism.