CHAPTER X.DEMON NEWSWRITER, OF 1752.
It must be owned, the King's French Colony of Wits were a sorry set of people.

They tempt one to ask, What is the good of wit, then, if this be it?
Here are people sparkling with wit, and have not understanding enough to discern what lies under their nose.

Cannot live wisely with anybody, least of all with one another.
In fact, it is tragic to think how ill this King succeeded in the matter of gathering friends.

With the whole world to choose from, one fancies always he might have done better! But no, he could not;--and chiefly for this reason: His love of Wisdom was nothing like deep enough, reverent enough; and his love of ESPRIT (the mere Garment or Phantasm of Wisdom) was too deep.

Friends do not drop into one's mouth.