Quoi serais-fe forme par un Dieu bienfaisati? Ah! s'il etait si bon, tendre pour son ouvrage"-- --Husht, my little Titan! "And now, ye promoters of sacred lies, go on leading cowards by the nose, in the dark windings of your labyrinth:--to me the enchantment is ended, the charm disappears. I see that all men are but the sport of Destiny. And that, if there do exist some Gloomy and Inexorable Being, who allows a despised herd of creatures to go on multiplying here, he values them as nothing; looks down on a Phalaris crowned, on a Socrates in chains; on our virtues, our misdeeds, on the horrors of war, and all the cruel plagues which ravage Earth, as a thing indifferent to him. Wherefore, my sole refuge and only haven, loved Sister, is in the arms of Death:-- Ainsi mon seul asile et mon unique port Se trouve, chere soeur, dans les bras de la mort." [OEuvres, xii. 36-42; is sent off to Wilhelmina 24th August.] 2. WILHELMINA TO VOLTAIRE, WITH SOMETHING OF ANSWER (First of certain intercalary Prose Pieces).--Wilhelmina has been writing to Voltaire before, and getting consolations since Kolin; but her Letters are lost, till this the earliest that is left us:-- BAIREUTH, 19th AUGUST, 1757 (TO VOLTAIRE).--"One first knows one's friends when misfortunes arrive. The Letter you have written does honor to your way of thinking. I cannot tell you how much I am sensible to what you have done [set Cardinal Tencin astir, with result we will hope]. The King, my Brother, is as much so as I. You will find a Note here, which he bids me transmit to you [Note lost]. That great man is still the same. He supports his misfortunes with a courage and a firmness worthy of him. He could not get the Note transcribed. It began by verses. Instead of throwing sand on it, he took the ink-bottle; that is the reason why it is cut in two." --This Note, we say, is lost to us;--all but accidentally thus: Voltaire, 12th September, writes twice to friends. Writing to his D'Argentals, he says: "The affairs of this King [Friedrich] go from bad to worse. I know not if I told you of the Letter he wrote to me about three weeks ago [say August 17th-18th: this same Note through Wilhelmina, evidently]: 'I have learned,' says he, 'that you had interested yourself in my successes and misfortunes. There remains to me nothing but to sell my life dear,' &c. His Sister writes me one much more lamentable;" the one we are now reading:--