than that of God, and the general government of the congress; to the maintenance of which independence we solemnly pledge to each other our mutual co-operation, our lives, our fortunes, and our most sacred honour.'

The resolutions forming the declaration of independence were drawn up by Dr. Ephraim Brevard.

Several original documents relating to this event, and signed by persons, who took an active part in the Mecklenburgh convention, have been published within a few months past in the Raleigh Register. They have been procured by the exertions of Mr. Joseph Gales, editor of this paper; the Hon. Nathaniel Macon, senator in congress; and Col. William Polk of Raleigh, who was present in Charlotte, when the declaration was read to the people. This evidence we take to be such as must produce entire conviction, and the fact, which it goes to establish, speaks for itself. We leave it to our readers to make their own reflections on the patriotic zeal, and lofty spirit of freedom, which glowed with so much feryour in the bosoms of the North Carolinians at a period, when almost every other part of the country was yielding to despondency, perplexed with anxious doubts, or acting with timid caution.

Of Williamson's history of North Carolina, the title of which we have placed at the head of this article, we have little more to say, than that we have seldom attempted to read, in the shape of history, so meagre, and so unsatisfactory a performance. It contains but few facts, and these, one would suppose, the author took pains to select from the most unimportant of such as had fallen in his way. It is but just to say, that Dr. Williamson did not reside long in the state, and that his means of obtaining information seem to have been limited. It is certainly unfortunate, that his book should go abroad purporting to be an accurate and complete history. North Carolina was among the first states that were settled ; many events in its history are of the most interesting kind; and it would be no less a gratification and benefit to the public, than an honour to the state, to have them faithfully and fully recorded by some able hand.

ART. III.-Vie Privée de Voltaire et de Madame du Châtelet pendant un séjour de six mois à Cirey; par l'auteur des Lettres Peruviennes, suivie de cinquante lettres inédites, en vers et en prose, de Voltaire. 1 vol. 8vo, Paris, 1820.

THE letters, which compose the greater part of this work, were written by Madame de Graffigny during a visit of six months at the Château of Cirey, the residence of the Marquis and Marchioness du Châtelet, and where Voltaire was also at the same time a guest. The name of the writer is not much known in the literary world, and she published nothing in her life time but the Peruvian Letters,' a work which we have not had the pleasure of inspecting, but which we understand, belongs to the class of sentimental novels, and enjoys a pretty high reputation in the boarding schools. The present series of letters is also a sort of romance, though a narrative of real events; and to our taste even more interesting than the sorrows of the tender Zilia in the novel just mentioned, as far as we can form a conjecture in regard to the latter. The story of this little romance of real life is briefly the following. Madame de Graffigny had long been inflamed with an eager desire to make the acquaintance of Voltaire, under the influence of the common delusion, that the conversation and social habits of a distinguished author must be as agreeable as his writings. Her wishes had long been frustrated by the same cause which now prevents our worthy countryman, Captain Symmes, from exploring the interior of the earth through the opening which he has discovered at the North Pole; the want of disposable means.' Chill penury had for a long time repressed her noble rage, for Madame de Graffigny, though rich in sentiment and even familiar in the best society, in regard to funds was poor indeed, as we shall see hereafter. By great good luck, while she was on a visit at the residence of one of her friends, which she pleasantly denominates the Château de l'Ennui, another of the number arrived on a visit with her own equipage. An opening was thus made for Madame de Graffigny to take her projected journey free of expense, of which she availed herself at once. < The first compliment I made her, says our author, was to ask the loan of her horses, which was granted,' and the next morning she commenced her expedition at sunrise, and proceeded very prosperously till half past one o'clock. Thus far every thing

went well, but at that time, for reasons not sufficiently explained, the coachman refused to go any farther, our sentimental traveller was obliged to resort to the post, and after floundering along dismally over the most detestable roads, and wallowing half the way on foot through the mire to avoid being overset, she arrived at last at Cirey, at two o'clock at night, having spent ber last sol upon her horses and postillions. Il ne me restait pas ce qu'on appelle un sol. Two o'clock at night would be rather an unpropitious hour in ordinary cases to arrive at a friend's house in the country upon a visit; but the inhabitants of Cirey kept no ordinary hours, as we shall see. They were all up and doing. The Nymph and the Idol, as she ingeniously styles Madame du Châtelet and Voltaire, were each hard at study, in their respective cabinets. She first paid her respects to the former and then repaired to her own apartment, where the Idol immediately came up to see her, and received her with great kindness. Your idol came up a moment after, holding a little candle in his hand, like a monk. He lavished a thousand caresses upon me, and the expressions of his joy at seeing me were quite extravagant. He kissed my hand ten times, and inquired after my health with an air of the most touching interest.'

Such is the opening of the little sentimental drama we are reviewing, all flowers and sunshine. Madame de Graffigny approached the shrine of her Idol, with the same enthusiasm that our young travelling scholars now feel, when they are admitted to an interview with Lord Byron, or Sir Walter Scott; and for eight or ten days, all went on very well. The conversation is delightful, the suppers are divine, and the manuscripts they give her to read irresistible. Voltaire is always charming, always attentive. She sees that he is afraid she shall be ennuyée, but he is much in the wrong. Ennuyée in the same house with Voltaire, impossible! She has not even leisure to remember that there is such a thing as ennui in the world. She is as hearty as the Pont Neuf, and as busy as a mouse, and she sleeps like a child. The Nymph is indeed a little cold, but she soon grows familiar. Our author cannot help laughing in her sleeve, at their ridiculous fanaticism about Newton and geometry, but upon the whole she finds them the most agreeable companions, and Cirey quite an enchanted Castle.

This fine weather lasts unfortunately but a little time, and

it is soon pretty evident from the style of the letters that a storm is gathering. The inmates of Cirey, like most other persons of genius, or in other words of keen sensibility, were humorous and susceptible, and they speedily took mortal offence at a proceeding on the part of Madame de Graffigny, which, taking her own account of it to be true, appears to have been really very innocent. Voltaire employed himself occasionally at this period of his life in writing cantos of a Poem, called the Maid of Orleans, which he used to read in private to his particular friends, but had pretty good reasons for keeping entirely from public view. Madame de Graffigny was treated with a hearing of one of these precious compositions ; and about the same time or soon after intelligence was conveyed to the Idol, that copies of the same canto were in circulation at Luneville, the residence of the correspondent of Madame de Graffigny. For the better understanding of the grounds of this quarrel, it may be proper to observe, that the inmates of Cirey were in the laudable practice of opening all the letters, that passed to and from their guests. Having found in one addressed to Madame de Graffigny, by her correspondent the following phrase, Le chant de Jeanne est charmant, they naturally enough put the two circumstances together, and concluded that she had taken a copy of it by some underhand means and sent it to her correspondent, who, we may remark en passant was Mr. Deveaux, reader to the ExKing of Poland, Stanislaus Leczinski, then resident at Luneville. In her sportive moments she gives him the polite and endearing title of great dog. Madame de Graffigny confidently maintains in her letters her innocence of the charge in question, declaring that she had only made some remarks upon the plan of the canto, and that in the phrase above cited, the word plan should have been used instead of chant. As these letters are private communications to the very persons. to whom the canto was supposed to be sent, her justification is certainly plausible. But with all our respect for the delicate feelings of this very sentimental person, we must be permitted to remark that, under all the circumstances, and with the same means of information possessed by the Nymph and Idol, we should hardly have hesitated in drawing the same conclusion ; and we are even not without some suspicions that the charge was substantially true.

Be that as it may, the discovery of this offence, real or

pretended, was followed by a terrible explosion; and from this moment the face of things at the castle changes entirely for Madame de Graffigny; no more charming conversations, no more divine suppers, no more delicious manuscripts. Her eyes grow dim with weeping; she is attacked by the vapours; and this residence, where the name of Ennui was never heard of before, is now the dullest spot in the world. C'est l'endroit du monde le moins divertissant. The very resource of her ordinary friendly and confidential correspondence with Great Dog fails her; since she finds that her letters are regularly opened. But how to get away without a sol in her pocket? This last difficulty aggravates all the rest. She worries along in blank sadness and continual tears two or three months, till at length an intimate friend, having, it would seem, some pretensions to a nearer title, makes his appearance, ostensibly to relieve the distressed damsel from her tedious thraldom. His presence revives her hopes, restores her health and eyes, drives off the vapours, and gives the castle and her correspoudence all its former gaiety. But this is only a prelude to the last and that the unkindest cut of all. The correspondance terminates abruptly by a short letter, in which the broken hearted fair-one informs her friend, that the supposed lover had made her the tender avowal of his complete indifference, and we are even left entirely in the dark about the manner, in which she found her way back to Paris. Thither however she went, and not long after published the Peruvian letters. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. The Editor intimates that the disastrous catastrophe we have just mentioned suggested the plan of this, we doubt not, very instructive work; the writer having depicted her own feelings in those of the tender and desolate Zilia, and represented her cruel and perfidious lover under the character of the false hearted Aza; with what success we must leave it to the fair readers of their history to judge.

Such, if we may be allowed to moralize a little on a subject of this importance, is the ordinary course of things on a small scale, as well as on a great one. When delusive dreams and exaggerated hopes lead the van, disappointment early and complete is pretty sure to bring up the rear. But we confess that we have hardly seen, within so small a compass of time, place and action, so entire a change of views upon the same subject; and we have derived no small amusement from comparing New Series, No. 5.

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