But enough has been said on the victims of religious delusion; and we must now turn our view to persons of a different class. The fertile author of little short of thirty works, and the editor of an equal number, nearly all of which are forgotten, Lenglet Dufresnoy, who was born at Beauvais in 1764, was perhaps a more frequent visiter to the Bastile than any other person. It is said that he was so accustomed to lettres de cachet, that as soon as he saw M. Tapin, the officer, enter his apartment, he would greet him with, “Ah, M. Tapin, good day to you;” and then say to his servant, “Come, be quick; make up my little bundle, and put in my linen and my snuff;” which being done, he would add, “Now, M. Tapin, I am at your service.” Between 1718 and 1751, he was at least five times in the Bastile. He was also acquainted with Vincennes and other jails. His first committal to the Parisian state prison was perhaps the one which was most dishonourable to him; he was sent there to act the part of a spy, and worm out the secrets of the persons who were in durance for being concerned in the Cellamare conspiracy. It is asserted, that he had already appeared in a similar degrading character at Lille, in 1708, where he was paid for intelligence by the allies and the French, and betrayed both parties. Lenglet was of a quarrelsome and caustic disposition, which involved him in personal disputes, and he appears to have paid little respect to truth; but he had at least one estimable quality, an unconquerable love of independence,—no offers, however flattering or lucrative, could prevail on him to place himself under the galling yoke of the rich and the great. His death, which took place in 1755, was occasioned by his falling into the fire while he was asleep.