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 a sign to his servant, who had been my cicerone, to go to him; in order, I suppose, to inquire who I was. After they had exchanged a few words together he approached the place where I was standing motionless, in order to contemplate his person as much as I could while his eyes were turned from me; but on seeing him move towards me, I found myself drawn by some irresistible power towards him; and without knowing what I did, I insensibly met him half-way. It is not easy to conceive it possible for life to subsist in a form so nearly composed of mere skin and bone as that of M. de Voltaire. He complained of decrepitude (he was then 76) and said, He supposed I was anxious to form an idea of the figure of one walking after death. However, his eyes and whole countenance are still full of fire; and though so emaciated, a more lively expression cannot be imagined."

He then inquired after English news, and talked of our poets of the day.

"During this conversation, we approached the buildings that he was constructing near the road to his chateau. 'These,' said he, pointing to them, 'are the most innocent, and perhaps the most useful, of all my works.' I observed that he had other works, which were of far more extensive use, and would be much more durable, than those. He was so obliging as to show me several farm-houses that he had built, and the plans of others; after which I took my leave."

After a lapse of several more years we have another glimpse of him at the age of eighty-two. A clergyman named Sherlock, provided with an introduction, paid him a long morning visit, and dined with him next day. The patriarch's dress is thus described:—

"On the two days I saw him, he wore white cloth shoes, white woollen stockings, red breeches, with a nightgown and waistcoat of blue linen, flowered, and lined with yellow. He had on a grizzled wig with three ties, and over it a silk nightcap, embroidered with gold and silver."