he day is not we may be sure, very far distant when man
will cease to attach much interest to his past. I am very much afraid
that our minute contributions to the Academie des Inscriptions
et Belles-Lettres, which are intended to assist to an accurate
comprehension of history, will crumble to dust before they have been
read. It is by chemistry at one end and by astronomy at the other, and
especially by general physiology, that we really grasp the secret of
existence of the world or of God, whichever it may be called. The one
thing which I regret is having selected for my study researches of a
nature which will never force themselves upon the world, or be more
than interesting dissertations upon a reality which has vanished
for ever. But as regards the exercise--and pleasure of thought is
concerned--I certainly chose the better part, for at St. Sulpice I was
brought face to face with the Bible, and the sources of Christianity,
and in the following chapter I will endeavour to describe how eagerly
I immersed myself in this study, and how, through a series of critical
deductions, which forced themselves upon my mind, the bases of
my existence, as I had hitherto understood it, were completely
overturned.

[Footnote 1: Paris, 1609-1612.]

[Footnote 2: First Edition, 1839; second and much enlarged edition,
1845.]

[Footnote 3: An essay which describes my philosophical ideas at this
epoch, entitled the "Origine du Langage," first published in the
_Liberte de penser_ (September and December, 1848), faithfully
portrays, as I then conceived it, the spectacle of living nature as
the result and evidence of a very ancient historical development.]

[Footnote 4: In the French the phrase is, "L'ile de Chio, fortunee
patrie d'Homere."]

[Footnote 5: I went a short time ago to the National Library to
refresh my memory about the _Comte de Valmont_. Having my attention
called away, I asked M. Soury to look through the book for me, as
I was anxious to have his impression of it. He replied to me in the
following terms:

"I have been a long time in telling you what I think of the _Comte
de Valmont._ The fact is that it was only by an heroic effort that I
managed to finish it. Not but what this work is honestly conceived and
fairly well written. But the effect of reading through these thousands
of pages is so profoundly wearisome that one is scarcely in a position
to do justice to the work of Abbe Gerard. One cannot help being vexed