not walked four steps, when the one turned pale with rage, and the other leaped with joy, at the sight of a man who had been a long time in the temple, sometimes in one place, and sometimes in another.
This was the learned Fontenelle,
Who could in all the arts excel,
And on each branch of science threw
A light that pleased, because 'twas new;
He from a planet came post-haste
Back to the sacred shrine of Taste;
Reasoned with Mairan, with Quinault
Trifled away an hour or so;
And managed with an equal skill
The lyre, the compass and the quill.
"What!" cried Rousseau, "shall I see that man here, that man against whom I have written so many epigrams? What! shall Taste suffer in her temple the author of the Chevalier D'Her's letters, of an 'Autumnal Passion,' of 'Moonlight,' of 'A Brook in Love with a Meadow,' of 'The Tragedy of Aspar,' of 'Endymion,' etc."
"No," answered Criticism. "'Tis not the author of those works that you see before you; 'tis the author of the plurality of worlds, who composed 'Thetus and Peleus,' an opera that excites your envy, and the history of the Academy of Sciences, which you are not capable of understanding."
Rousseau was going to write an epigram, and Fontenelle looked upon him with that philosophical compassion which every man of an enlightened mind must have for a mere rhymer, and then went and
