Old Pleury being dead, there is again a Vacancy in the Academy; place among the sacred Forty,--vacant for Voltaire, if he can get it.

Voltaire attaches endless importance to this place; beautiful as a feather in one's cap; useful also to the solitary Ishmael of Literature, who will now in a certain sense have Thirty-nine Comrades, and at least one fixed House-of-Call in this world.

In fine, nothing can be more ardent than the wish of M.de Voltaire for these supreme felicities.

To be of the Forty, to get his Plays acted,--oh, then were the Saturnian Kingdoms come; and a man might sing IO TRIUMPHE, and take his ease in the Creation, more or less! Stealthily, as if on shoes of felt,--as if on paws of velvet, with eyes luminous, tail bushy,--he walks warily, all energies compressively summoned, towards that high goal.

Hush, steady! May you soon catch that bit of savory red-herring, then; worthiest of the human feline tribe!--As to the Play MEROPE, here is the notable passage: "PARIS, WEDNESDAY, 20th FEBRUARY, 1743.