Above all, no man more distinguished himself from the herd of sceptical philosophers by the gallantry and fervour with which he combated materialism, and vindicated the necessity of faith amidst a chaos of unbelief.

It may also be observed, that Cazotte, whatever else he learned of the brotherhood of Martines, learned nothing that diminished the excellence of his life and the sincerity of his religion.
At once gentle and brave, he never ceased to oppose the excesses of the Revolution.

To the last, unlike the Liberals of his time, he was a devout and sincere Christian.

Before his execution, he demanded a pen and paper to write these words: "Ma femme, mes enfans, ne me pleurez pas; ne m'oubliez pas, mais souvenez-vous surtout de ne jamais offenser Dieu." ("My wife, my children, weep not for me; forget me not, but remember above everything never to offend God.)--Ed.) "Ah, is it possible! You are one of that theurgic brotherhood ?" "Nay, I attended their ceremonies but to see how vainly they sought to revive the ancient marvels of the cabala." "Such studies please you?
I have shaken off the influence they once had on my own imagination." "You have not shaken it off," returned the stranger, bravely; "it is on you still,--on you at this hour; it beats in your heart; it kindles in your reason; it will speak in your tongue!" And then, with a yet lower voice, the stranger continued to address him, to remind him of certain ceremonies and doctrines,--to explain and enforce them by references to the actual experience and history of his listener, which Cazotte thrilled to find so familiar to a stranger.
Gradually the old man's pleasing and benevolent countenance grew overcast, and he turned, from time to time, searching, curious, uneasy glances towards his companion.
The charming Duchesse de G-- archly pointed out to the lively guests the abstracted air and clouded brow of the poet; and Condorcet, who liked no one else to be remarked, when he himself was present, said to Cazotte, "Well, and what do YOU predict of the Revolution,--how, at least, will it affect us ?" At that question Cazotte started; his cheeks grew pale, large drops stood on his forehead; his lips writhed; his gay companions gazed on him in surprise.
"Speak!" whispered the stranger, laying his hand gently upon the arm of the old wit.
At that word Cazotte's face grew locked and rigid, his eyes dwelt vacantly on space, and in a low, hollow voice, he thus answered (The following prophecy (not unfamiliar, perhaps, to some of my readers), with some slight variations, and at greater length, in the text of the authority I am about to cite, is to be found in La Harpe's posthumous works.

The MS.