In 1784 the success of the first volume of his travels threw open to him the doors of the French Academy, where he was elected to fill up the vacancy occasioned by the death of D’Alembert. The circumstances attending his reception into this celebrated literary body were particularly flattering. Never, according to the records of the times, had there been collected together a more numerous or more brilliant assembly. The discourse of the traveller was finely conceived, and executed with ability. The subject was, of course, determined by usage; it was the eulogium of his predecessor. Having, according to custom, by which all such things are regulated, occasion to allude to the birth of D’Alembert, he executed this delicate part of his task in a manner so judicious and manly, that from a circumstance, in itself unfortunate and dishonourable, he contrived to attach additional interest to the memory of his predecessor. “And yet,” said he, “what was this celebrated man, whom Providence had destined to extend the boundaries of human knowledge? You understand me, gentlemen; and why should I hesitate to express what I consider it honourable to feel? Why should I, by a pusillanimous silence, defraud his memory of that tribute which all noble minds are fond to pay to unfortunate virtue and genius in obscurity? What was he?--An unhappy, parentless child, cast forth from his cradle to perish, who owed to symptoms of approaching death and the humanity of a public officer the advantage of being snatched from amid that unfortunate multitude of foundlings, who are kept alive only to remain in eternal ignorance of their name and race!” It was on this occasion that he received one of those compliments which men of genius sometimes pay to each other, and which, when deserved, are among the most cherished rewards that can be granted to distinguished abilities. Delille, whom he had long numbered among his friends, eagerly seized upon the opportunity which was now offered him of expressing his admiration of his enthusiasm and taste. He accordingly drew forth from his pocket a splendid fragment of his poem entitled “Imagination,” which was not published until twenty years afterward, and read it to the academy. It related to Greece, which Choiseul-Gouffier had visited and depicted. He represents the forlorn genius of that ancient country singling out from among the crowd of ordinary travellers one young lover of the arts, recommending to his notice the glory of her ancient monuments and brilliant recollections, and promising him as his reward the academic palm in a _New Athens_. The verses, in spite of the national vanity of comparing Paris with Athens, and some other defects which I need not pause to point out, are highly poetical and beautiful; and the reader will not, I think, regret to find them here subjoined.